Dogs are man's best friend. Except, you know, when they're shooting a gun at you.
Eric Pfeiffer's first line tickled me to death. You know my mind when it comes to animals, and I could just hear the dog in my head.
"No. No more, dude." The man grinned, even turned his back to him. Scratching behind his floppy ears, Fido wondered why he should help Hunter. The ducks had never done anything to him. In fact, he enjoyed a sunny day in the meadow chasing a couple birds he'd become familiar with. So, it had come to this. Reaching for the gun, Fido said, "How about I shoot you in your ass?" His supposed best friend still ignored him as he tied up the boat. That was the last straw. Picking up the 12-gauge shotgun, his paw itched to do what he had wanted to do for a long time. He thought about every late meal, every time he was left out in the cold and rain simply because he had to take a piss. It's my turn. BANG! "How's that shit feel?"
Well, it didn't quite go like that. You can read Pfeiffer's full story at The Sideshow news blog link above.
Here's another (unedited) storyline:
The sulfuric stench of fire and brimstone assaulted Nolan’s nostrils as he entered Omen’s. Smelled worse than hell itself. Destruction left in the wake of the devil’s eldest son, Bane, rivaled the putrid scent of burning flesh and fur. “Peris, shut her the fuck up.” Standing behind the bar, Monique’s sobs grew louder. Reading the woman’s mind, Nolan pieced together what transpired. $Shit. “Bane is banned from coming above.” Chairs scraped against the floor, tables banged loudly as they were turned right side up by Guyer, one of the toughest gargoyles alive who helped watch over the club in Nolan’s absence. Most creatures cut a wide berth around the giant bastard.
Anger flashed from Guy’s golden eyes as he pushed a barstool in Nolan’s direction. “Tell Bane that next time you see him.”
Killing any of the Devil’s children was out of the question, but Nolan could make them wish they were dead. He hated returning from Slayer duties to find chaos. Fatigue wrapped around him like a shroud and all he wanted to do was rest, have his cock sucked, and fuck somebody’s brains out. “I’ll handle it.”
Sweeping his arms in a circular motion, Nolan created a gaping black hole in the floor. Battered and bloody bodies, along with the lingering stench, were swiftly sucked into a violent vortex that led to the Devil’s doorstep. $I’m coming, Bane.$ Dark powers garnered long ago from Satan allowed Nolan to send his words laced in the debris straight to Hell. If there was even a drop of Bane’s sweat mixed with the ash hurtling headlong into the bowels of earth, it would search the motherfucker out.
The words would reach his ears wrapped in shiny black shards of ice.
Being a cold bastard had its perks.
That's a snippet from my newly contracted short story: A Thirst to Die For. It'll be released soon by Razor's Edge Press. It's the sequel to Thirsty which is available now.
Growl and roar-it's okay to let the beast out.-J. Hali Steele