Sunday, May 28, 2023

DEALER OF DEATH or, HE WHO SMELT IT by John Bruni




 “Dude. Pull my finger.” 

Todd looked at Pete who held out his index finger, waiting. Snot bubbled in his nostril, and his two front teeth were adult. He lacked many of his baby teeth, and those remaining looked like pieces of gravel. He smelled kind of like hotdog water. 

“No way, dude,” Todd said. 

“Come on. You know you want to.” 

“Fuck no. I’m not stupid.” 

“Come on! If you don’t, I’ll do it. And I’m gonna make it worse for you.” 

Todd weighed his options. Pete’s farts were notorious not just through third grade but throughout all the school. He also had a habit of farting on people. Judging by his general uncleanliness he probably didn’t wipe well. It was too possible that Todd would get some brown on him. 

“Fine.” 

Pete laughed so hard he snorted. “Go for it!” 

Todd sighed and gripped Pete’s greasy finger. He gave it a pull. Pete lifted his leg like a dog about to piss, and something ripped out of him. It sounded more powerful than a mere fart. At first Todd thought it was a joke, but the sound kept coming out of Pete. 

“Dude! Stop it!” 

Pete laughed, and the fart sounded like a jet taking off. It had a chemical reek to it, and Todd gagged. The back of his throat burned with bile, and he spat to clear it out. 

Pete strained, his face red, sweat popping out of his forehead, and the back of his jeans blew out, sending ripples of fire out behind him. It scorched the tree back there, sending flames dancing to the tippy top. 

The sound increased, and a gust of wind flared out with hurricane level winds. Birds caught in the vortex turned to jelly as their wings flailed like the arms of an inflatable dealership prop. 

Worry crossed Pete’s eyes. Brown fluid gushed out his ass and washed away the world behind him, drowning every living creature in sight. 

“Make it stop,” he whispered. “Please.” 

Todd couldn’t answer. His lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to speak or even scream. His chest strained, and it felt like he was suffocating. His mucous membranes ripped, and his insides flopped out of his orifices like flags on a windy day. The pain overtook him, and he died before his organs were sucked out and away. 

Pete started to cry, and when he tried to cover his naked doom-spouting butt his hands exploded into flames, singeing them off to the wrists. He gaped at his cauterized stumps, hoping this was all one big dream. 

The earth behind him simmered with a heat wave mirage. The air rippled as fire spread across town, incinerating everything in its path. People and animals died screaming in the ever-growing conflagration. Swimming pools evaporated in seconds. Titanium melted. The ground collapsed in on itself, sending magma up to the surface. 

Pete could no longer make sound. His organs cooked inside his melting body. His eyes steamed away, and his body oozed in on itself. 

America perished under blood red clouds and puddles of lava. The rest of the world’s presidents, kings and leaders screamed in terror at their approaching deaths. The oceans died in clouds that blocked out the sun. Fire lit them to a bright orange that rolled across the face of the earth, killing anything unlucky enough to be alive. The crust of the planet was eaten by the magma that constantly flowed like pus on a teenager’s face. 

The seven angels with seven trumpets blew them before they, too, melted in the unholy fire that had consumed the earth and now consumed Heaven and Hell. God shrieked in horror. He thought He’d known it all, but He’d never seen his own death coming. 

A research team in Antarctica were the last humans on earth, and they’d gotten reports from all other nations as humanity perished in the fart death cloud. They had no loved ones to say goodbye to. They’d already died. They huddled together, clutching each other for comfort as Death closed the curtain on the human race. 

THE END 

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