SICKLE

“You want to know who I am?” Jack asked having the sickle-shaped bone penetrate and scratch at the open wound. Charlie grit his teeth as the pain increased. Jack decided to suck the tentacle back in. Jack leaned into Charlie’s face. “Let me help remind you,” Jack said sternly. He stood back up and held his chin, making a thinking face. “Well let’s see . . . ,” Jack continued. A small, thin tendril creature squirmed out of his hand and fell to the sand. After it hit the sand, it went under the surface. “First, you slammed my head into a locker,” Jack went on. The second he said locker, the creature came up from the sand, instantly wrapping its thin body around Charlie’s neck and slammed him into the ground. The sand and his body made a big thud as they collided. Charlie was weak, he didn’t moan or say anything, he just breathed. Jack began to pace back and forth thinking of the past; as well as trying to think of a way to inflict pain on Charlie in a similar way. “You broke my nose with a basketball,” Jack said. Jack put his foot on the back of Charlie’s head. Applying pressure, he twisted the head, breaking Charlie’s nose. Charlie cried out in pain the whole time, his volume getting louder with each pound of pressure. After that, for no reason Charlie got back up, sitting back on his knees. “Oh and let’s not forget you kicking-,” Jack’s voice got louder as he jumped towards Charlie. A sitting duck, Charlie made no effort to move. Jack’s knee collided with Charlie’s head and continued through, forcing the injured man back to the ground. “-Me, in the face.” Jack’s knee had hit Charlie’s temple, so no extra blood was splattered. Charlie crawled over to Jack and looked up to grovel. His face had plenty of blood and an inch and a half welt formed between the eye and temple. It was a disgusting sight to look at. Jack looked down holding the joint between his lips. All he could think of was how pathetic Charlie looked. Timing it right, Jack took his leg and foot swept one of Charlie’s arms. The weak body collapsed, unable to hold itself up. “Do you remember me now?” Jack asked placing his foot on the back of the flattened body. The weight was heavy and wasn’t supposed to hurt, too much. But the hole through his stomach and ribs made it a whole lot worse. Charlie tried to speak, but he couldn’t, he was exhausted. Jack glanced over at the gun in the sand behind Charlie’s shoes. A loan, thin tendril popped out, hovering over the legs and grabbed the gun. It wrapped its body around the beaver-tailed handle. As Jack picked it up, it was loose and just felt weird. He never fired a gun with anything but his hands. So it made sense that his tendril would have trouble holding the gun. “Well?” Jack asked louder as the gun reached his hand, and then stuffed it in his pants. Charlie’s voice grunted trying to force out some words. It took a lot of effort trying to force out some words, but he managed. “I . . . I don’t know you. I don’t know you man. I’m sorry, so sorry,” he cried out frantically. “Please don’t kill me,” Charlie pleaded. Jack smirked, pleased with Charlie’s pleading. He had never had someone beg for his life before, it was nice. Jack was well aware he wasn’t God, but he still enjoyed the power. He had figured Charlie had forgotten him. Turns out, it didn’t really bother him as much as he thought it would. Charlie looked up at this man who was torturing him, awaiting more of the calm voice that had gone quiet. Jack opened his hands, barely revealing the holes in his hands. Out popped four thin long tendrils from each hand, eight total. Charlie watched as they squirmed around him, finding fallen spots of blood, drinking the evidence. The injured man became more scared as the blood disappeared, realizing just what they were doing. The open wound in his stomach ached even more at the sight. Then, just like the blood, the creatures disappeared as well; diving down deep under the ground. Charlie’s anxiety skyrocketed. The adrenaline was basically covering his immense pain at this point. Once again, Charlie got back up to his knees. His body was incredibly tired; he probably didn’t have much time. The victim looked up at his attacker. All he could see was a dark shape and a blurry red circle from the tip of the joint. Time slowed way to quickly, his statement of “please don’t kill me” seemed like it was an hour ago. A sudden cold feeling crawled upon him, literally. The sand-digging tendrils slowly reappeared. Their cool bodies chilled Charlie’s body as they wrapped around his bare legs, climbing, randomly slithering upwards, occasionally overlapping one another. That “hour”, those long five seconds, were all Jack needed. That smirk never left his face. Jack leaned down, his head parallel with Charlie’s. Charlie turn his eye’s toward Jack. He would of moved his neck but the tendrils were already at his neck, he didn’t know if moving was the right thing to do. “About being sorry . . . ,” Jack broke the silence, returning time to normal. He tilted his head down and paused for a second, giggled, and then picked his head back up to eye level. “Don’t be,” his voice said in a dark manner, “I like who you made me.” Those words terrified the weakened Charlie. His eyes widened, almost bulging out from his head. He could feel Jack’s smile as well. The white teeth emerging, shinning burning rays at his neck. Jack returned to an upright posture; once again taking a hit from the marijuana. He glanced down at Charlie, admiring his work. “I won’t kill you Charlie,” Jack reassured. Charlie closed his eyes in painful relief. He thought maybe now he could get to a hospital in time. “The crabs will,” so much for reassuring.