OldDogNewTits












For this week’s Trifecta challenge, I’m teaming up with two of my favorite writers to bring you a spooktacular (yes, I said spooktacular) Halloween trilogy. Our  instructions are simple.  Create a story between 33 and 333 words using the 3rd definition of the following word:

DEATH
1a : a permanent cessation of all vital functions : the end of life
b : an instance of dying <a disease causing many deaths>
2a : the cause or occasion of loss of life <drinking was the death of him>
b : a cause of ruin <the slander that was death to my character — Wilkie Collins>
3 capitalized : the destroyer of life represented usually as a skeleton with a scythe

And, before you read any further, I will explain that my entry represents the third and final installment of this story. Thus, I strongly encourage you to read Part 1 (penned by my friend, Mel at AccordingToMags) and Part 2 (penned by the incomparable El Guapo) before mine. Only then can my entry be best appreciated. Enjoy!

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Death Takes A Holiday – Part 3

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Death and George crowded into the restaurant while Nausea headed over to the bar. “I can do some real damage in there. They’re running a tequila special,” he called out, running ahead of the other two.

“Dimwitted dilettante,” Death condescended under his noxious breath. George laughed, remembering a time when his old friend had that same insatiable glimmer in his apocalyptic eye. “Why are you smiling, George?” Death asked, as the hostess escorted them to their usual booth. “Are you amused by his enthusiasm … or have I unintentionally entertained you in some way?”

“Don’t you remember?” George began. “There were none more eager than you. But now … CPR, defibrillators, the Heimlich Maneuver. Why have you allowed these measures to interrupt your delicate work?” George was just getting started when the waitress interrupted him. “Good evening, gentlemen. Will anyone else be joining you?” Nausea was now bellying up to his third victim since they’d arrived. “No. Just the two of us,” answered Death, matter of-factly. “And we’d like to start with a couple of glasses of Richebourg Grand Cru.”

“Yes, of course, sir. Are we celebrating anything special?” she asked. “Yes,” answered Death. “My friend and I are celebrating my first holiday. A day off for Death. Do you know there’s no way you can die right now, young lady?”

“I beg your pardon?” she stammered.

“I said that you cannot die today.” Death explained. “There is nothing you or anyone else can do to make that happen. Do you understand?”

Mouth agape, she managed, “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” then turned too quickly directly into a busboy and the business end of the steak knife he was carrying.

Death rolled his eyes. He placed his hand on her bleeding abdomen. “I said nothing,” he reiterated, clearly vexed at the need to prove himself. He removed his hand from her now unscathed stomach and returned to his seat.

“Wow,” said George. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

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