Boiled Alive


I know they’re hungry, but I’m poison to the soul. I’ll irritate any bowel and corrupt all vitality. They lick their lips. Impatience will never boil water.

They light the fire.

I sit and bask—my arms rest upon the warm black pot. They whisper to each other as bubbles pop and splatter my broth.

Steam rises.

Skin scalds.

Sweat drips.

They want me to beg. But not I. No. They will not have the pleasure of tasting an agonizing appetizer before their meal.

Water boils.

I’ll relax until my heart is overcooked…until my outward self drips from bone…I’ll become boiled alive—ready to poison the soul who sips my stew.


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About Dead Donovan (179 Articles)
You look a little pale....oh!...forgive me! My name is Dead Donovan. SlasherMonster is devoted to the dissection of horrific material: articles, short-stories, poems, photography, graphic art -- the stuff that makes your heart shrivel.

16 Comments on Boiled Alive

  1. A tasty tale. Pass the butter and the bib. Great illustrations.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Monochrome nightmares // October 11, 2016 at 3:40 pm // Reply

    Pass the salt please. 😃

    I could eat a skinny horse
    between two bread vans. 😎

    Nice piece Fly. 💀

    Liked by 3 people

  3. I enjoyed the way this was told. The reveal towards the end was wonderful! ^_^

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Savory meal with a pinch of poison! Badass words.

    Oh, Flyobster goes well with your yummy poem. Lol. He did turn out well; well done, that is. 😜

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Better than your regular boiled leather shoe stew.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. That’s the spirit!

    Liked by 2 people

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