And with eyes shut , an unseen force shredded his shirt open . His face running with red tears , Mr . Rutherfurd cried out for help , his tongue flopping between his slack lips . I watched his chest open as if by a zipper , the flesh and bone coming undone until all that was left was a black-red mash . And though the vision horrified me so utterly , I could not help but smile .
Now as I stand on the hill , watching Mr . Rutherfurd ’ s remains being lowered into the ground , I fear I ’ ll never smile again . The debt collectors are coming , which forces me to keep my eyes open and alert . When I do close my eyes , I see tiny figures in the distance , redskinned and hobbling , making me angrier by the second . The longer I close my eyes , the closer they get , their horned heads looking just like the one that appeared on my own wrist .
And I know what will happen when they reach me .
Steven Lombardi is an award-winning speculative fiction writer and copywriter who resides in New York City . Graduating from the School of Visual Arts with a degree in screenwriting , Steven has gone on to work with Marvel Entertainment , Museum of Natural History , Capital One , Microsoft and others . His fiction has been published in various magazines and anthologies and received Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future contest .
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