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Quick Kills No. 6

Mr. Chippy

Bliss, if I had to describe it, sucking the lions disembodied tooth whilst trudging through bush country. Mind aloft while bits of tartar and plaque came off as chunks of sour candy, the still bloodied root tandem too jerky. Sticks, brush, and rock made way before my very boot falls, it was a wonder I didn't eat shit, reminiscing fondly on the night. There's no way I'd make it back before sunrise, even though this section of hill was all beaten down bike trails. They, either lead to a flat base or a river jump, I needed the river, all rivers lead to a vestige of the sewers, around here anyway. Sparing a moment, silence was heavy, it was peace, to be alone like this, I began to wonder just how much heat this prize I suckled would bring me. Not that it mattered, what's the worst they could do? Kill me? Hah! Just means I don't have to deal with cocksuckers anymore,

"Hmm~" I hummed a pleasant sigh to myself at the thought,

"Oblivion, what a delight." That sort of fuzziness akin to finally meeting your penpal at the air port filled my lungs. My pleasantries were rudely interrupted by the cantankerous roaring whine of I think a wood chipper some where down the hill. Taking in my current dress, I was still covered in Mrs. Bird which had dried and cooled off significantly,

"Let's go say hello." No way they wouldn't mind parting with a pair of clothes to a bloodied stranger emerging from the woods, right?

Wasn't long before I came upon a clearing, and the source of an out right ear brazing, it was a basset hound, bulbous in a jean bib, chipping a day's worth of cutting. I slipped around him, hugging the shadows while he was absorbed in his work, making my way to a rather nice log cabin in the backdrop. Once inside, silence was the play, I was no longer a dragon but a bloodied church mouse, sniffing around for new fur. Besides the fine smell of lacquered pine there wasn't anything special about this place, a simple family home, given away by photos of the hound and two definitely adopted gray wolf cubs.

"They look happy." Growling out loud, wondering if the hound were a sole adoptive father or a cuck, noticing a gradual look of unease across the photos. I'd gotten too lost in my internal detective work to catch the chipper outside dying down. No, it was the gentle half step of a small paw, shattering porcelain followed snapping my gaze around. Before me, just at the end of the main hall, stood one of two said cubs, shivering not at me but more terrified at what he'd just dropped. His hands held the side of his head, he paid me no mind at all, absolutely absorbed at the shattered bits at his feet. I slipped off right to a small guest room as sounds of felling boots neared. Not sure it was his boots or his words that entered first,

"What in the Sam Hell!?" The small cub squeaked in terror, I watched through door sliver as a six foot something hounds hand bore down, sending him.

"I told you I was gonna have your hide the next fuck up, EITHER OF YOU MADE!" Shivering, desolate, the cub tried raising his head, landing just before me, snout oozing blood with a blackened, probably broken eye socket. This wasn't new for him, sadness of a terrible norm set in his face as fine jewels in a crown. For what ever reason, he looked up to me from the floor, I'll never understand these ensuing moments, they are fun though.

A singular index claw held itself to my lips, the rest curled in a confident fist, there wasn't much to my hiding place. What one would consider a normal guest housing hole, one small bed, cozy stone fire place, stack of split wood. I watched on, the cub looking up, pleading for help, foot falls nearing, I looked back, never breaking eye contact. My claws curled themselves around a perfectly shaped log, both corners on my scaly mug raised, drawn by the impending catch.

He saw it, at the last second new fear found the cub, right as he lurched from view by his tail I moved. In one fell swoop, the door flung open, the hounds jean bib immediately filled with cheap beer and excrement. Not that many wouldn't, it's not everyday you get a surprise bloody dragon in your house, in two seconds it was over. The large mass of fur tumbled back, blood trickling from the top of his head, eyes praying.

"Huh." I stepped forward, the log popped his top with ease. All was still for a moment, another soft set of paw steps joined us, following with a gasp. I turned, now both cubs were sat, shivering, holding each other, twins even. Neither sat there free of marks, leftover from beatings,

"I'll make you a deal," The basset groaned just from behind, a quick tap with my boot and he went back to sleep.

"Forget I was here and I'll make him go away, he'll never hurt either of you again." My claws out stretched, its scales on end. Oh I missed this, THIS! was what I missed from Mrs. Bird, the bartering for flesh. Something about it, Mmph, does a devil right, the one who'd gotten stomped reached up and shook with me. Eyes glowing hot as coals, I grinned,

"Wait until the chipper runs out of diesel, call the cops, he had an accident. Understand?" I eyed both of them until receiving a nod from each,

*****

"Hohhoooooh I've always wanted to do this." Managing between grunts, fucker was heavy, I held his head against me so at least there wouldn't be a blood trail.

"Let's see." Claw rubbing intensifies,

"Key ignition." She churned to life with a cough of unburnt fuel at idle,

"Engage the clutch." Slowly, ever so gently, pushing the clutch lever in, too fast and she'd slip or die.

"Aaaaand, THROTTLE!" Rabbit gets the wood, her large tooth lined drum whirling to speed.

"God these things are loud." Love it when noise conceals an area for you, like walking in a pool without caring about making ripples. One hefty heave and his ears were almost snagged by the feed rollers, it was right here, in this very moment I had an out of character experience. For the first time in my life I was shocked by my actions,

"WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING!?" Claws grabbing my webbed ears, yanking in shear disbelief, hurriedly pulling him away to safety,

"I can't believe I almost did that." He stirred in my hands, bloodied face looking up to me, glowing eyes, grin, and all.

"Feet first." Shoving at his torso, the feed rollers snagged both boots, and WE WERE OFF! I stepped back and watched the show, I'm glad he came too, just coherent enough to scream for me. The soft churn of shredding boot leather was but a preamble to his disaster, lancing chirrups exploded into wet violence, defecated as a loose soup from its shoot. I'd never seen an obese man flail and fight like that before, lead on by a painful, baleful howl. Whipping to and fro as more of him churned out the back end, disappearing with his scream turning to gurgles. An average speed of most chipper feed shoots is several feet a second, I remember counting,

" One........two.......three........four." Maybe five but it was kind of, satisfying, watching two meaty forearms and their digits disappearing between the feed rollers.

"And just like that, it was over. I always thought my first time with such an experience would be, so much, more than it was." Reality is often so disappointing, whoever wrote that was either amidst a delightful bender or upon the precipice of a depression driven long fall. My god though, it could never have been more on point, looking on, there wasn't anything left.

"Huh." Proceeding to leave, something heavy caught my foot and I finally ate shit. Snout first into dirt, patchy field grass, and rock wondering just what the hell that was. I turned back to see my boot caught in the full wrap handle of an old red chainsaw. Black and smudged with grease, covered in wood paste, I'd always wanted one. Looking over to the pile of red sludge, spattered amongst the woodland foliage, I took it with me. Why not? Two trophies from this evening.

Knowing the hounds of hell now, I wonder what they ended up doing to this man. Maybe I should go ask, pleasant thoughts I suppose.

Post,

There was a story on reddit, I think is still there, about a chipper accident. The guys on sight with him said he screamed until it turned into wet gurgling, this particular chipper was slower than most on feeding and the whole thing took, seven, seconds.

Followed by the most devilish comment,

"How many people counted to seven?"