by David D. West

Broðir grunted as they made the incision in his naked stomach. His captors reached two fingers in, hooked a section of long intestine, and pulled. Broðir shuddered at the squelching sound, the painful heat spreading through his midsection. They staked the organ into the earth beside the oak.

“Walk,” they commanded, prodding him with their weapons.

Broðir did. His intestines unspooled with each step he took, marching ever closer to death. But he smiled as he walked, knowing this heroic end would never bring back their fallen king. His job finished, entrails trailing behind him, he welcomed a warrior’s death.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. When he is not teaching or writing, he is exploring the grey beaches and dark forests of southwest Washington with his wife, son, and their dog, Buster. 

Find him on Twitter/Instagram @DavidWestWrites.

Website: davidwestwrites.wixsite.com