SodaToast
Toastosterone
In his fury, his anger, his despair, he ripped the action figurine apart.
Limb by limb, he disassembled the toy with brute ferocity.
Pieces flew everywhere, ricocheting off the walls and floors, filling the cramped, dimly lit room with a storm of debris.
When there was nothing remaining, the fragments of the toy scattered, he fell down onto his knees, his face hid within his hands. He pulled his hair, clawed his face, and whimpered.
The thundering of booming footsteps interrupted, causing him to freeze.
Even the cold, stone walls quivered in fear as the rumbling increased in volume.
The boy’s eyes widened in terror.
Suddenly, the roof was cleanly lifted off of the room, as if it were never fully attached in the first place. A rough, grisly hand appeared from above, reaching down.
The callused, raw fingers latched around his waist and squeezed, its grip impenetrable.
He knew struggling was futile. As he was lifted out of the room, his thoughts returned to the figurine he had mutilated it in his anger.
He remembered the snap as its limbs were cleanly separated from its body and the crunch as its neck was snapped and the pop as its head flew off.
His heart pounded against his ribs and, out of the slits of his half-shut eyes, he watched as a second hand, large enough to block his entire view, approached his arm, its fingers twitching in eagerness.
He had enough time for one last glance at his room before he heard the ever familiar snap and his piercing scream filled the air, shattering the eerie silence.
Just like the figurine was his toy, he was theirs.
Limb by limb, he disassembled the toy with brute ferocity.
Pieces flew everywhere, ricocheting off the walls and floors, filling the cramped, dimly lit room with a storm of debris.
When there was nothing remaining, the fragments of the toy scattered, he fell down onto his knees, his face hid within his hands. He pulled his hair, clawed his face, and whimpered.
The thundering of booming footsteps interrupted, causing him to freeze.
Even the cold, stone walls quivered in fear as the rumbling increased in volume.
The boy’s eyes widened in terror.
Suddenly, the roof was cleanly lifted off of the room, as if it were never fully attached in the first place. A rough, grisly hand appeared from above, reaching down.
The callused, raw fingers latched around his waist and squeezed, its grip impenetrable.
He knew struggling was futile. As he was lifted out of the room, his thoughts returned to the figurine he had mutilated it in his anger.
He remembered the snap as its limbs were cleanly separated from its body and the crunch as its neck was snapped and the pop as its head flew off.
His heart pounded against his ribs and, out of the slits of his half-shut eyes, he watched as a second hand, large enough to block his entire view, approached his arm, its fingers twitching in eagerness.
He had enough time for one last glance at his room before he heard the ever familiar snap and his piercing scream filled the air, shattering the eerie silence.
Just like the figurine was his toy, he was theirs.