Stalky's Nightmare 4: Severance


Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

Her poor body, weakened already by the roughness of the routine, gave way and was pinioned on the interior of the false head's neck, ripping the costume open and causing a greenish gush to flow onto the stage, catching weakly at the shards of glass left after the footlight there had shattered. It was mayhem, it was horrible, and nobody there could help but cry out in dismay.

Ridiculous though it was, she could still hear the boss stage-whispering at her: "Get up, get up!"

But there was no way: no way to rise after this; not so soon. Her torso had been nearly sheared in half, and the gummy flow was not nearly ready to congeal yet, the fibers not ready to extend back towards each other. Her left arm, forced floorward by the heavy head, had snapped, and it was hanging forward, mostly resting on the stage, a single slender column of the stalky arm still attached, pulled forward and down from her body like a badly bitten bit of celery.

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