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UNTIL. . .

Dedication: To all the people who say my stories are not gory enough. Ye who have weak stomachs: BEWARE.

As the cool and refreshing North winds were blowing across the rooftops of the little town of Susantown, the smell of blood oozed from under a small basement near the city hall. Inside there were rows of human bodies, 3 layers deep in places, both male and female. Suddenly a scream rose through the room. It came from a door on the north side. Inside there was a young, teenage girl, 16 at most, who was being killed. She was strapped to a bench with knives on both sides, and next to her two men were standing. Suddenly one grabbed her stomach and started to squeeze upward. The screams lengthened. Then the other took a long poker and began to stab at her face. The blood gushed outward, covering her eyes and drooping inward past her teeth. The screaming stopped. They took out a weird looking machine and hooked it up to her. Suddenly a great roar was heard and the men laughed. The machine pushed on her internal organs until. . .

Her head popped off and all her guts rushed toward the South Wall.

Oh, Hello. Welcome to Susantown's one and only blood bank. Uhh--next?

 © 1983, 

T. G. Taft

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