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Weekly Contest #313
The Taste of Damnation His blood was cold on my tongue. It flowed slowly and thickly, clots running through it made me want to gag. Its iron tang overlaid the acrid flavour of rotted meat that came from the hand clamped over my mouth. I had bitten my attackers finger in the hope that it would persuade him to let go of me. It didn’t work. In fact the favour was returned, with interest. I felt his teeth tear into my throat. They weren’t sharp. They opened my neck, not by cutting, but by ripping the skin apart with brute force. Moments passed b...
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