Final Hours

Toby wishes he was dead.

    Toby's shredded, bloody fingers struggled to hold on as they slipped from the pole as

the boil, encrusted fiend dragged him by the chain. The links clanked on the moldy

ground as the fiend picked Toby up flinging him onto the hook in the wall. The fiend knelt

on the floor, wrapped the chain tighter around his three, fingered hand and yanked Toby

farther down onto the hook. Toby writhed as the hook ripped through the soft flesh of his

shoulder.  The fiend threw his head back as spittle drooled from his mouth yelling, "This is

just the beginning Toby."


Word Count: 100 words