Severed Connection

Many of you know I have a very dark sense of humor. When I was thinking about bones and what stories I could post during this Blog Party one jumped to mind. This is from an anthology of short stories I wrote for a project I did back in 9th grade titled "The First of the Last at the Start of the End." This was the story that landed me a meeting with my teacher over whether I was in my right mind or not when writing:

Severed Connection

          The hand lay on the ground, rotting in its state. Maggots feasted on its flesh tearing in little by little. There was nobody attached to it; it was just a hand. It rested under the bush shielded from view but not from scent.

The hand gave off a stench worse than anything anyone could possibly imagine. It was the complete and total stench of death; a stench of damned odor, seemingly coming strait from hell itself.

            A man ambled passed the bush and stopped at the stench. He breathed in deeply, the odor caressing his nostrils. He exhaled, smiled, and bent down to examine the rotting specimen.

            He reached down with his red stained hands, and squatted over the hand. He pulled back the bush wiping the red substance on the lower hanging vegetation. The substance was not his. He smiled again and picked up the hand trying to shake off the maggots that held on tightly.

            “Ahh… I knew I forgot something.”