Coming This Friday, December 3rd, all day, loads of old and never seen before fiction. Come check out the Grim One’s new direction…or delve into the dark and dismal past…where it is colder than frozen shit down her underground…

"BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale", Kindle, 2010

Satan has brought to you an excerpt from "BELLY". Enjoy...

“BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale”

Chapter One

Our hapless prophet finds himself in the
Wrong damn place at the wrong damn time:

THE blood that blossomed from the center of his chest was only a trickle when it should have been a torrent. The sharpened ice pick stuck there quivered like a plucked piano chord. The dealer eyed the plastic dirty duct taped handle, then the emaciated junkie bitch that had just stabbed him. The fiend still crowed about his weak shorted sack whilst the dealer grasped the pick with his strong hand. He tugged fiercely, but it would not budge. The ice pick was buried in the hard bone of his sternum. He should have been grateful. Two inches to the left and there would be one less nigga in The Harbor.
No matter how hard the dealer tried it would not pull free. The dealer was staring at it, getting more and more frustrated at the bone encased ice pick. The fiend’s pealing was getting on his tits and that was a problem he could solve. The dealer let go of the ice pick and a hidden snub-nose emerged from his waistband. He pointed it at the whiny little bitch and made the angry spewing face vaporize in an instant red fog. It was finally quiet enough to think, the loud fuck.
As if on cue everybody ran but a long greasy-haired Jonah. “Shouldn’t even be here,” he mumbled.
The shaken dealer having heard yet another motherfucker open his pie hole turned and pointed the hot muzzle at Jonah. His face paled. Too frightened to move He shit himself. Jonah was going to die right here, right in the very last place he wanted to be. Jonah found himself staring at a loaded gun pointing bleak and hard into him.
The dealer fired point blank into Jonah’s chest. He felt the concussion shove him away. He folded his shoulders to each other and collapsed backwards onto the walk. Another customer standing beside Jonah made a dumb move on the dealer; the snub-nose stopping him dead in his tracks. Pieces of junkie speckled the others, dying as he fell.
Jonah’s chest was bloodless and clean. He searched the front of his torso and found nothing. Jonah couldn’t believe it. There were no wounds of any kind; not one. He looked up a grinning fool relieved. The dealer was not amused. And Jonah’s smile lasted not long.
The dealer seeing Jonah unscathed stepped up again. This time the dealer dropped to one knee to get closer to him and pressed the smoking muzzle to Jonah’s shiny-slick forehead. It hissed where it touched his sweaty fearful skin. He pulled the trigger and Jonah’s bowels erupted again. The smell of fear and waste was thick fudgey-goo, but he remained alive and unmolested.
The dealer stood and stepped back. Confusion smeared across his sweating face as he stared at his smoking gun trying to determine why Jonah was still standing while the other junkie lay dead at his feet.
The dealer’s face then contorted from confusion to unquenchable pain as the chest-buried ice pick moved all on its own. As if grasped by an invisible hand the pick burrowed deeper fast into the sternum with a sloppy crunch. Then a quick snap handle right. The sharp point tore into heart muscle ripping great blood vessels as it traveled, stopping suddenly.
Blood drained wide from the dealer’s face as his chest filled with the blood that was supposed to feed his brain. Silent, he fell and all was quiet. For about six and a half seconds the dealer was a dropped stone. He folded in a crumpled heap right next to a stunned Jonah.
He was then in the dead man’s pockets as if by rote without thinking. The rest of the fiends standing close by followed suit, but not before Jonah was able to procure a healthy sack. It contained dealer weight and probably shouldn’t be in his pocket.
Not one to look a motherfucker in the mouth Jonah pushed the free dope down by his nuts and turned to run. A big man with long chin braids stood tall before him. He smiled at Jonah like he knew him. And man he was a big fucker too. He seemed like he was waiting for Jonah to say something to him, but he don’t know this apparition.
“See you later, Jonah,” chin braids told him.
Jonah blinked and chin-braids vanished. He dissolved right before his astonished eyes. Who the hell was that and how does he know my name?
Jonah heard shouting now and decided it would be prudent to quickly get the fuck up out of there. So, he ran.
Jonah was out of there in a flash. He quickly skirted the nearby park, running hard. Jonah looked over his shoulder, his out of shape breathing making much noise. The dead dealer’s shorties were hard on his ass. Skinny fourteen year-olds are fast and these little niggas had guns. They were gaining on him.
Jonah glanced behind him and saw the lead shorty raise an auto pistol. He loosed a girlish squeal and turned left on a dime. He was ducking and covering my head like the sky was falling. Chips of brick building peppered his exposed skin, bullets tearing up the wall. Jonah negotiated another sharp turn. He exited the park running full bore between two buildings. He quickly emerged into a residential block of tight two-story houses.
Jonah leaped a low chain linked fence and landed in a darkened backyard. The occupants of the still quiet house were long asleep. His fear was over-ripe and all reason a glimmer, causing Jonah to dive head-first into the occupied doghouse. The chained animal awoke. Before he even knew what was what Jonah had the dog’s head twisted all the way back around on itself. The neck broke hard, but was muffled by the bear-like fur. He hoped it was quiet enough. The dog stared over its back at its own tail through dead eyes. Jonah let loose the dog’s head and set it quiet down. He had never killed anything in his life, but Jesus shit Jonah was scared.
Jonah tried to slow his breathing and the ragged noise that came with it. He hoped he’d outrun his pursuers, but it was not to be. The shorties were there. Jonah could hear them moving about. He closed tight his eyes and bit his knuckles. Jonah wished desperately to vanish, to will himself away, but he could not.
After a few fearful moments when Jonah heard not a sound he forced open his eyes. He stared out the doghouse and up at the night. No stars out tonight only feet.
Jonah saw baggy-ass jeans and the way they terminated into a pair of size twelves. The owner of which began to squat on his haunches. The auto pistol touched the grass and a young boy’s face appeared sweat-dotted sideways in the doghouse opening.
The boy smiled at Jonah, not saying a word. He guessed it was interesting to the little dude to see a grown man cry. He was dragged whimpering from the doghouse by the pair of gun-toting shorties. They had Jonah by the scruff of his shirt and were pulling him kicking across dew-damp grass beneath a bulging yellow moon.
The two boys stood over Jonah’s cowed ass. A third stopped before the group panting hard.
“That him?” the new arrival asked as he fought to catch his breath. They nodded. “Well,” top dog continued, “put your shit in his mouth.”
The boy that found Jonah first put the evil auto pistol end to his lips. “Open up sweetheart,” he ordered.
Jonah responded by uselessly turning his head away. The other two kicked him viciously in the stomach and my legs. For fun they stomped his feet. Jonah exhaled with an involuntary grunt. The auto slid roughly into his opened mouth with all the finesse of a prison date.
Jonah turned red. His eyes bulged impossibly. His diaphragm was an immobile spasm and the cold metal rattled Jonah’s expensive dental work.
“Get the Plata off the fuck and push out his wig,” the top dog ordered.
The shorty on standby put his weapon on the doghouse and bent to Jonah. The boy undid the belt. Then he unbuttoned and unzipped him. Jonah was flustered and red-faced. The boy began to tug Jonah’s chinos roughly down when they were greeted with fecal assault. The boy stood and cursed. He backed away from Jonah and the stink. Top dog covered his nose and mouth. He looked to the auto pistol holder. The boy kept his shit in Jonah’s mouth, but blinked and coughed. He appeared to be on the verge of dumping his pork chops.
“Fuck it,” top dog decided, “Kill the motherfucker. Then hose his ass off and get the dope.”

–end excerpt.

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