TV Dinners from Hell by Amber Fallon

Author:Amber Fallon [Fallon, Amber]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: horror, collection
Publisher: Fresh Pulp Press
Published: 2017-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

DEMOLITION DERBY

The roar of the crowd mingled with the salty-sweet aroma of blood, bandages, beer, and stale popcorn. The clatter of roller skates on the polished and pitted wooden track added to the din as the girls rounded a corner, speeding after one another in a mayhem ballet, a tournament of turbulence and destruction.

* * *

Huddled below one of the plastic bench seats in the Bleeder Box at the forefront of the arena, a small boy watched the action from a rat’s-eye view. The tot was separated from the gruesome track only by a section of dirty chain link fence that had bits of something reddish—rust or maybe blood—clinging to it at random intervals.

Headphones that were far too large for the boy were clamped over his small head like a vice, leaving his pale blond hair sticking out at odd angles. Smooth, resounding notes of classical music played through the earpieces, drowning out the din and adding to the illusion of some sort of ghastly dance being acted out in front of him - a haunting melody that acted as a backdrop as Terrifying Tara ripped Deadly Darlene to shreds.

The lean, long-limbed forms of the combatants whirled and twirled in violent motion much like a passionate tango. Only inches between them at times. A crescendo peaked as blood splashed across the shining hardwood, speckled with teeth and bits of bone and gore.

Tara ripped through Darlene’s torso with a long blade fastened to her forearm with thick bolts, sending bits of gristle and a ropey length of intestine into a cluster of rabid fans pressed up against the fence that confined the violence to the Trauma Track.

Darlene arched back, blood spraying in a crimson fountain as an aria contrasted with the gruesome scene, everything reflected in the small boy’s huge eyes.

Terrifying Tara licked her shining blade and grinned at the crowd. The patchwork of multihued flesh, held together with uneven stitches and gleaming staples, stretched and pulled in slightly different directions across her ghoulish face.

Tara soaked in the cheers and catcalls, pausing for just a moment—a fatal mistake. In that second, when Tara swam in her reverie, drinking in the glory of her kill like wine, Gory Goldie dashed forward, laying on a burst of speed, coming around the corner with a shattering surprise—a bone-splintering bludgeon to Tara’s head.

Tara went down inches from the Bleeder Box, mismatched fingers twitching as she spasmed. Death—and defeat—a dire welcome.

Gory Goldie threw up her arms in triumph, but she would not make the same mistake as her unfortunate victim. She swung around in one fluid motion, with the beauty and grace of the woodwinds that crested over the small boy’s headphones, and swung her weapon, acting almost on instinct.

A dark length of battered metal connected solidly just under Violet Viscera’s chin, sending her reeling and spinning, crashing against the fence where the bloodthirsty spectators tore her to bits, their hungry, grasping hands reaching through the wide links and finishing the job for a grateful Goldie.

Now

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