Fred's Last Bite - Writing Contest Submission : CafeDread | Torhoo darknet markets

Fred was a problem. Like a pitbull with a history of violence, Fred was a problem. One bite? Strange. Two bites? A pattern. Three bites? Fred. Fred was a problem.

But Fred was not a dog. Fred was a problem. It was an open secret around town that he bit. That he chewed. When in doubt? Bite the fucker. Take a piece out of him. Use your canines. Chew. Taste the blood. Eat the flesh. Savor the taste.

Fred had a dog that followed him around. He didn't feed it. He didn't need it. But it followed him around all the same. Latched onto him. Slept in Fred's bed. Ate Fred's food. Played Fred's poker. Drank Fred's liquor. Used Fred's mirrors. Shaved in Fred's bathroom. Wouldn't leave old Fred alone. Fred was annoyed. Poor Fred. Fred had a problem. Fred's dog was here to stay.

Night had fallen. This is when Fred would bite. Fred quickly chose his victim. A street vendor. Just asking for a bite. Fred broke in. Fred was biting hard this time. Biting and biting and biting. Fred did what Fred did. Fred bit. Teeth shining. Fred bit so hard his victim bled out. Fred was a problem. Fred's dog licked the blood and looked up for justice and approval. This time Fred kicked. His coiled hatred released in one unholy instant.

Fred got bit. Fred got chewed. Fred got torn. Fred got shredded. Fred couldn't bite. Fred was panicking. Fred had met his match. Fred got bit. Fred got ripped. No one helped. No one saw. No one around but dogs, birds and two pools of fresh blood. Fred bled out. Fred's kidneys gave out. Fred's heart stopped pumping. Fred's lungs stopped breathing. Fred's mind stopped thinking. Released. Retreated. Fred's dog. Vicious. Howled. Fred's dog marked. Fred's dog ran.

Fred's dog was free.

Fred's dog was a problem.

Fred's dog bit.