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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Horror/Scary >> ID #1386852 |
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Written For Struck By Lightening - Prompt: A Heart Shaped Box
Word Count: 465 The heart shaped box sat on the glass topped coffee table. Who sent it? Where did it come from? The red velveteen outside, fringed with a gold lace doily, stared up at her. A red liquid leaked onto the table, surrounding the heart. Her breath caught in her chest as she placed her fingers on the edge of the lid and prepared herself to lift it. “Honey,” a voice came from behind her. Her husband smiled at her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said. He held a bouquet of roses, large obnoxious balloons shouted his love for her, and a gorilla holding a heart sat tucked in the crook of his elbow. “Oh,” she said, standing to look at the goodies he brought for her. “I thought this was my gift,” she motioned to the box on the coffee table. His eyes widened. He licked his dry lips. “What’s wrong?” She asked him, a curios look played in her expression. “Cherry cordials, right?” She smiled. “They are my favorite, you know!” “Uh,” her husband stammered. “No, no, don’t open that.” “What?” She didn’t understand. Was it not a gift from him? She realized the box had appeared there on the table before he came home. “What is it, dear?” “Just… don’t open it.” She turned and looked at the box. “What’s in the box.” She stated this, demanded to know why she shouldn’t open it. Before he could answer, however, she turned and grabbed the box. The red liquid oozed against her hands. The metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils. She dropped the box and looked at her hands covered with the crimson fluid. The box landed on the sofa, bounced once, leaving a heart shaped stain on the white leather, and as it hit again, the lid popped off. Inside the box, in the place of decorative candies, eyeballs with their severed optic nerves sat nestled among the brown crinkled wrappers. She screamed as the front door burst open. A man in a dark suit, her ex-lover, shot her husband several times in the chest, then turned toward her. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you bitch,” he said. He pulled out a strange tool that looked like scissors, but instead of sharp blades it had two spoons. In his other hand he held a pair of wire cutters. Strong arms gripped her from behind and the man in the dark suit loomed closer, opening and closing the spoon apparatus closer and closer to her face. With a quick movement, he plunged either end into her eye socket and extracted her left eye, she shrieked in pain and shock. He clipped the optic nerve with the wire cutters and dropped the eye into the heart shaped box. She passed out before he could do the other one.
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