Edward Baconhands

December 19, 2011

No light.

No sound.

He didn’t really know what had happened to him.

Last thing he remembered, he was walking home from work at the factory and took that short cut through the alley…

Dammit.

That alley.

He knew it would come back to bite him in the ass sooner or later. It wasn’t well lit at all, and thugs ran rampant in that part of town. But, it shaved ten minutes off the walk home, so a long day at the factory usually meant he wanted a shorter trip home.

It may have been the last walk he’d ever take.

He couldn’t see the room that held him, but he could feel it.

The walls were barely arm length apart. His greasy fingers ran along the pitted concrete walls.

The ends of his fingers made a scraping sound as they passed along the perimeter has his cell.

His phone…

It had a light. With it, he might be able to see the room.

No such luck. His phone had been taken from him.

His slick fingers moved from the walls to his head. He tugged at his hair, wondering what to do.

Blood. It crusted the hair on the back of his head.

A gash somewhere above it was the culprit.

It was clear what had happened. He must have been jumped when he was strolling home from the factory.

They must have bashed the back of his head in and left him for dead in the alley. Whoever it was made off with his phone and wallet and placed him in some kind of room.

A sound filled the room.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t help him figure out where he was. It was just his stomach.

He must have been in the room for days.

His stomach was grinding, a feeling that caused him to double over in pain.

He knew he had to eat something, and after a quick search of his pockets, he realized he didn’t have any to eat. Not even bits of paper or old hard candies or even sweaty pocket lint.

He knew what he had to do.

Self-cannibalism.

He had to eat some part of himself.

But… what part? He didn’t have any tools or objects at cut bits of himself off, so eating bits of his leg or buttocks was against the question.

He realized he would have to do his bite to chew off one of his fingers.

His spine stiffened. His jaw tightening as he prepared to lose a finger.

Snap.

Bacon.

The taste of greasy bacon.

It must have been a medical experiment. Someone must have replaced his  fingers with bacon!

He could survive after all. He’d just have to eat his fingers, which was easy. They were made of bacon.

After a few minute, he snapped his last thumb and index finger off with his teeth and enjoyed the salty taste. With ten fingers down, he would survive.

But another noise.

His stomach growled again. It wasn’t satisfied.

 

ghjr

————————————————————————————————-

This in not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sean Lee for this inside joke that clearly went too far.

You never dreamed that an off-hand comment about an Edward Scissorhands with bacon instead of scissors would turn into a tasty (READ AS: bacony) bit of horror-tinged microfiction, did you?

I bet not.

Truly ghjr

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