Number Thirteen: Death by Blob
Scott shuddered at the memory of Logan in tights. He would never forget that image, no matter how many times he died. It was just too horrible to think about. Logan didn’t have a bad singing voice, however... anyway. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and everywhere Scott went he imagined them holding spoons out at him. In fact, he’d wandered down the street mumbling “the spoons! No, not the spoons!”
So, there he was, wandering down the street mumbling to himself about spoons (like you do) and along came Blob.
Blob sat on him.
Have you ever heard someone’s bones slowly crack? And the splat as various internal organs burst? And the accompanying screams, followed by a deathly silence? No, I haven’t either, but I hope you can imagine it.
And I hope you can also imagine the completely pancake flat Scott having to be scraped up off the ground later on, all messy and... just imagine.
Next death
