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Bucket


Samantha wakes to the faint rattle of a chain somewhere ahead of her. Her eyes blink open, but the pitch black cell offers nothing to see. It’s only in the renewed awareness of where she is that the fear comes. She is cold, and with this memory she curls, hugging her shivering body.
When the key turns, she feels a jolt of fear run through her. The door is thrown open and thunders against the cell wall.

“Ah, there we are, Basty.” As a beam of bright light pierces her shaking body, an elderly voice accompanies a pudgy silhouette of a short figure, a small bucket dangles in one hand.
“This one should do for the feast, eh, Basty boy?”
The giant in the background grunts in response.
They approach her, the heavy footsteps of the giant forces her to tremble beyond the bite of the cold.
“Knife, Basty,” the short one calls, placing the bucket down at his feet. An icy zing and one of the giant’s heavy fists comes to her vision. The blade within is long and dull, the light from the doorway catching only splotches of its metal among patches of rust.
“Heh,” the short one chuckles. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.” She feels his small hand behind her head feeling for a tuft of particular thickness.
“A good one you’ll be for me, yes,” Then in a wrench of pain, her head is yanked back and the short one’s face is inches from hers. “A good one you’ll be for me, yessss.”
A wave of wet rotten meat and sour ale washes over her and her eyes capture his face. Drooling pustules ooze across his leather yellow visage. Samantha takes short breaths so as not to lose consciousness from the smell. His beady green eyes ogle her and she lets out another cry as he pulls again on her hair, taming her as he takes several long licks on the cheek he’s made available.
He swallows before addressing the giant again.
“Make it quick, then, eh, Basty? Eh?”

The giant grunts.

“The master says we can share your head,” the short one says. She can almost feel him smile as his small hand pets her head. She feels his fingers, sticky now from the tuft he’s ripped away.
“It’s not often we have intimate evenings,” he snorts. “Eh Basty? Mmm?” The snorts turn into laughs. Samantha’s tears are both from his smell, and the cold, and her thoughts.
“Your head will do fine, so fine, yes!”
Samantha’s eyes quiver along with her body now, and tears drip jagged along her face.

“Basty!” He yells, His small hand grabs again and pulls, and Samantha head is drawn back.

The giant’s blade against her neck is soft at first. At least it’s soft.

“Yes! Yes! Your head will do fine!”
And as the giant saws back and forth in easy dumb motions, Samantha whines. And the last sounds she hears before her body stops shivering are the happy chants of the short man at her side.

    “Off of her body and into the bucket!”
    “First we cut it, and then we…

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