Is this prompt the codename of your next assassination victim? Or have you acquired a new family pet? :)
The skunk The estate was fourteen miles outside of Cortega, nestled into the jungle. On three sides there were high walls of local pink stone; if you could get up high enough to see the top of the walls you could see that metal plates were set into all the way along. What you couldn't see is that they were electrified -- a generator in the basement of the colonial-style mansion that the walls protected ensured that. The fourth side was open to the jungle for five hundred metres, and then, literally, fell off a cliff. As did people who crossed Javier Navarro, also known as Chupacabra, who owned the mansion. At the foot of the cliff was a shingled strip of sand that formed the bank of the Trito river as it carved itself a canyon, and scattered amongst the water-smoothed rocks and pebbles were bones and skulls eaten clean by the wildlife. The Skunk, his body odour as overpowering as always, dangled from his wrists over the edge of the cliff. When the wind blew he swung, the steel wire that bound him cutting into his flesh, and the scent of the orchids, musky and vanilla-like, hit him like Javier's wife's perfume. Knowing that was mostly what had got him stuck in this position in the first place. He whimpered as he swung again, pain flaring in his wrists as the wires cut closer and closer to the bone and overwhelming the dull fiery ache of the overstretched muscles in his arms. Blood had crusted over the wires hours ago and now there was only the slightest trickle down towards his elbows as the scabs shifted, lifted and pulled. Insects buzzed around his head, landing on his arms now and then and drinking the protein-rich blood. Some seemed to doze on him, unwilling to leave this source of food even after satiating themselves. "Skunk," said a voice, somewhere above him. He turned his head, squinting against the afternoon sun, but could only make out a silhouette. The movement caused his body to start turning though, and the steel wires cut newly deep. He moaned; his voice had given out from screaming the previous day. "The boss says you're reassigned," said the voice. The Skunk racked his brains, trying to place the voice, but nothing came up. Then his brain caught up with his ears, and his eyes flicked open in surprise. Reassigned made no sense. The voice chuckled, and the Skunk shivered; it sounded exactly like Javier in one of his sadistically creative moods. There was a clank and a creak and two more men stepped into the Skunk's line of sight holding the metal frame that let them haul up people who didn't just die out here and rot until they fell to the river below. They said nothing but started assembling it, and the Skunk found himself wanting to laugh at the thought that they might do all this just as the wires cut through his wrists and he'd fall to his death anyway. "You'll be working for me," said the voice, and Skunk looked over that way again. Now the other men were casting shadows and he could see the man clearly for the first time. As he recognised the face he froze for a moment, then started yanking on the wires, pulling them deeper into his flesh, trying to rip his own hands off so he could fall to the river below and a peaceful death. Because working for Charles Asciugimento, Head of Security, was surely a far worse fate.
2 comments:
Is this prompt the codename of your next assassination victim? Or have you acquired a new family pet? :)
The skunk
The estate was fourteen miles outside of Cortega, nestled into the jungle. On three sides there were high walls of local pink stone; if you could get up high enough to see the top of the walls you could see that metal plates were set into all the way along. What you couldn't see is that they were electrified -- a generator in the basement of the colonial-style mansion that the walls protected ensured that. The fourth side was open to the jungle for five hundred metres, and then, literally, fell off a cliff. As did people who crossed Javier Navarro, also known as Chupacabra, who owned the mansion. At the foot of the cliff was a shingled strip of sand that formed the bank of the Trito river as it carved itself a canyon, and scattered amongst the water-smoothed rocks and pebbles were bones and skulls eaten clean by the wildlife.
The Skunk, his body odour as overpowering as always, dangled from his wrists over the edge of the cliff. When the wind blew he swung, the steel wire that bound him cutting into his flesh, and the scent of the orchids, musky and vanilla-like, hit him like Javier's wife's perfume. Knowing that was mostly what had got him stuck in this position in the first place.
He whimpered as he swung again, pain flaring in his wrists as the wires cut closer and closer to the bone and overwhelming the dull fiery ache of the overstretched muscles in his arms. Blood had crusted over the wires hours ago and now there was only the slightest trickle down towards his elbows as the scabs shifted, lifted and pulled. Insects buzzed around his head, landing on his arms now and then and drinking the protein-rich blood. Some seemed to doze on him, unwilling to leave this source of food even after satiating themselves.
"Skunk," said a voice, somewhere above him. He turned his head, squinting against the afternoon sun, but could only make out a silhouette. The movement caused his body to start turning though, and the steel wires cut newly deep. He moaned; his voice had given out from screaming the previous day.
"The boss says you're reassigned," said the voice. The Skunk racked his brains, trying to place the voice, but nothing came up. Then his brain caught up with his ears, and his eyes flicked open in surprise. Reassigned made no sense. The voice chuckled, and the Skunk shivered; it sounded exactly like Javier in one of his sadistically creative moods.
There was a clank and a creak and two more men stepped into the Skunk's line of sight holding the metal frame that let them haul up people who didn't just die out here and rot until they fell to the river below. They said nothing but started assembling it, and the Skunk found himself wanting to laugh at the thought that they might do all this just as the wires cut through his wrists and he'd fall to his death anyway.
"You'll be working for me," said the voice, and Skunk looked over that way again. Now the other men were casting shadows and he could see the man clearly for the first time. As he recognised the face he froze for a moment, then started yanking on the wires, pulling them deeper into his flesh, trying to rip his own hands off so he could fall to the river below and a peaceful death. Because working for Charles Asciugimento, Head of Security, was surely a far worse fate.
Greg - as you saw... sort of a new pet :)
Hah, was not expecting Charles at the end there. Also: that's a hell of a description of the wires cutting into the Skunk's wrists.
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