The Last Collection

Avatar Author: Robert Quick A no-name, aspiring author who can't stop writing. Looking ahead, he strives for perfection. Shackled by various forms of entertainment, he dreams of success. Most stories here are an invitation to YOU, to join me in cre... Read Bio

The circle of hunched and twisted figures, descendents of centuries of small town inbreeding, held me down with thick grubby hands that held surprising strength. A frightful man lurched forward through the crowd of men, woman, and filthy naked children, dragging a smoking cattle brand behind him. Once he was in front of me, he brandished the torturous implement as if it was a sword.

I could feel the heat from the red-hot brand hanging in mid air over the gap where my shirt had been ripped away.

“’Tain’t noways impossible, be it?” He paused. “Bank… man.”

Twisting away from the hot iron, I yelped, “Don’t do this! Help! Help!”

Throaty chuckles echoed all around me. “They’s no one hereabouts. ‘Cept me an’ my kin.”

“Wait! I can get you money! You need money!”

“Whar’ll ye git the money?”

“The bank! I work at the bank.”

He shook his head and thrust the brand into my chest.

I screamed as the pain seemed to go on forever.

The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a husky voice say, “I smells bacon!”

View this story's details


Oh no! This story doesn't have a prequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?


Oh no! This story doesn't have a sequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?

Comments (1 so far!)

  1. Avatar August 2nd

    Solid writing, Robert, and you maintain the tone well. The last line is golden. I had trouble imagining how your protagonist, who is obviously not one of the inbred, got himself into this predicament. I suppose that he works for a bank in a different town, the town described not having a bank of its own, and he’s there to foreclose on something or something like that.