“Hear that, Skell?” Joe McShoots shouted, eyes wide. “The Black Death! I’m gonna try me some o’ that!”
“Lad,” Skellian said. “Don’t ye think you’re bein’ a tad, well, fucking stupid? I mean, the damn drink has the word ‘death’ in the name!”
Joe McShoots let out a laugh. “Don’t be so bloody stupid, Skell. Just because it’s called death, don’t be meanin’ i’m gonna drop dead! Silly man, you.”
Magery o’ Barrels started laughing like a man possessed. His teeth were wobbling around in his mouth and his head flung back and bobbed around like it was broken. “Of course, young one. This won’t kill ye! Well … I don’t think so, anyway. Try some!”
Joe McShoots shot one more look at Skellian, smiled, and said “it’ll be fine, Skell. You’ll see.”
He undid the stopper in the top of the bottle, letting out a pungent aroma into the air. Joe McShoots brought the bottle to his lips, and tipped a small amount of the liquid straight down his throat. He grimaced and spat, then started coughing uncontrollably. His eyes were watering, and his nose was streaming. Joe McShoots dropped to the floor, as dead as a wooden table.
Skellian wailed. His arm reaching for the sword at his side. “McShoots! No!” He rammed the blade through Magery o’ Barrels eye, and tore it upward, cleaving his head in two. He turned to find Stoogey struggling to open the door and run out. Skellian hacked at his legs with the blade until Stoogey was crawling along the floor, blood pooling from his leg stumps.
Stoogey cried out for help, tears streaming down his face. Skellian was crying, and swearing, and hacking at him still. “Bastard!” he yelled. “Fucking bastard!” Skellian flipped Stoogey over and stabbed him through the stomach, yanking the sword sideways. Stoogey’s intestines spilled out all over the floor.
Skellian dropped to his knees, holding the sword before him. Large tears covered the length of the blade. “McShoots …” he cried. “MCSHOOTS!”
Skellian turned the blade on himself and rammed it into his stomach. The weapon fell from his hands, and coldness came upon him.
FIN. (OR IS IT?)
statistic0n's writing 