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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
August 20, 2008
I Will Fight You by ~AnonDesu is a darkly humurous piece of flash fiction that I enjoyed reading.
Featured by lovetodeviate
Suggested by Knight-Gawain
Literature Text
When Jake awoke, he was in a bathtub filled with ice, an unnecessarily long scar where his liver should've been.
Towering above him, a man in a ski mask, a bloodied scalpel still in his hand. Seeing that his victim had awoken, he put the knife down, running his hands through the sink.
"Dude, what the hell?" Jake asked, not all too pleased with the removal of his vital organs, consent explicitly not given, at that. "I was using those."
The man ignored Jake and wiped his hands off. Picking up a fine pair of kidneys from the operating table, he slipped his hands into them, rolling his fingers as he tested out his new boxing gloves. The man turned to Jake.
"I will fight you."
Towering above him, a man in a ski mask, a bloodied scalpel still in his hand. Seeing that his victim had awoken, he put the knife down, running his hands through the sink.
"Dude, what the hell?" Jake asked, not all too pleased with the removal of his vital organs, consent explicitly not given, at that. "I was using those."
The man ignored Jake and wiped his hands off. Picking up a fine pair of kidneys from the operating table, he slipped his hands into them, rolling his fingers as he tested out his new boxing gloves. The man turned to Jake.
"I will fight you."
Literature
People Are Awful
People Are Awful
If I’d known what was going to happen that day, I probably would have broken up with him by phone. It’s not even my problem. It’s Ben’s problem. He was late. He’s always late. Not so much now, but anyway. He was late, and he knew I’d be angry. But I wasn’t angry because I knew that all I was going to say to him was:
It’s over, we’re finished, I’m ending it, I never want to see you again, we’re breaking up, you disgust me, I’m leaving, don’t call me.
So it didn’t bother me whether he was five minutes o
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PROSE What Spies Do
My dad is a rock. He is solid, he is powerful. He can still pick me up and toss me over his shoulder. He is never seen to cry, he can never be swayed or damaged by opinion. He is a real estate agent, and he pushes those deals and sways those clients with confidence and experience. He flexes his arms at the dinner table when I ask him and points exactly which way it is to the beach or the gun show. He is a tree, a mountain, a thick and formidable presence in any room, in any place, against any person.
“He’s late,” my mom said, and pursed her lips through the ste
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Small hands or big kidneys?
(Thanks to Ahmad for the conversation and Bacongod for the term.)
(Thanks to Ahmad for the conversation and Bacongod for the term.)
© 2008 - 2024 AnonDesu
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I still cry errytime