It was a damp night. Too damp by the smell of it. The smell could even burn the freckles off of a red-headed step child. Something like old gym socks with decaying mice inside, and then someone sneezed on the mouse. Anyway, while George was busy ralphing from the smell, Larry knew what he must do. He had known for weeks, months maybe, that if he didn’t do it, that it would be the end. The end for so many helpless saps like George and his family. Saps. So with reluctance he reached his hand down into the Hole of Death. Not knowing if when he brought his hand out, his hand would still be there. Then suddenly he stopped. He ralphed a little himself. Then he pulled the object out that he knew would end of all the suffering, the suffering and the ralphing. It was no bigger than a tennis ball. Soft and slimy from the dampness, Larry almost dropped it back into the stench pit. That would have sucked. So he gripped it all the tighter. Then, much to Larry’s amazement at his strength, it popped. Gross, just horribly gross.
The End
