Horror Pop


  The only thing convincing Lance he wasn’t the star of some popcorn-piece of Hollywood was the very real, very warm blood that pulsed in spurts out of the wound in his side. A glancing blow courtesy of the reclusive psychopath. He limped through the  snow, his own ragged breaths rattling out of him uncontrollably. It wasn’t so long ago he’d seen the bastard slice Brad’s face clean off. The image was still sickeningly vivid in his mind, and he threw up what was left of the afternoons Big Mac and fries accordingly.

  “Son of a bitch,” he managed, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, “I’ll kill you you son of a bitch!” he called, louder now, out into the inky abyss of woods before him. Why, why had he even agreed to come on this trip.

  “Oh my father has a cabin up by Cedar Lake, it’ll be totally awesome” he said, mimicking Cindy Peterson’s high pitched squeak. He’d watched enough horror movies with Debbie Baxter – or at least made out through enough of them – to know never to go to a cabin, ever, in his life, but Cindy’s boobs were perky and Debbie was on the rag so whatever, you know?

  “Stupid, stupid,” he berated himself, “boobs get you killed. Horror 101. Especially cheating cabin boobs, God damn it.” He briefly wondered whether Debbie would be more hurt over his death or his betrayal. And Susie – God – Susie must be laughing her ass off, that pretentious virgin. Everyone knows the virgin survives. Still, she’d have to be the one to end him. Like, with a gnarly stake or something. That kind of responsibility has to suck.

  “I hate you,” Lance said, glancing in the general direction of his penis, “I hate you so much.”

Dedicated to my good friend AJ, who has been in somewhat of a dark place as of late. Hope this cheers her up!!… hmm… poor genre choice?


~ by Joseph Blame on December 5, 2010.

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