MicroHorror

A sickening crunch. A searing bolt of agony. Delilah fell onto the kitchen floor, sending her coupons flying with a single reflexive sweep of her arm. She had never felt such pain. It raced like fire up and down her spine and sent needles of torment through her limbs. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t find her breath. A crack, and another spasm. Her eyes bulged as she twitched and writhed on the linoleum. Blood began to well up in her mouth. Another crunch, and all sensation began to fade into an icy anesthesia. She couldn’t feel her arms or legs. Her vision turned to blackness, and as she died her lips silently formed the name of her young son. James…

Outside the house, James hummed a tuneless melody as he skipped across the fragmented sidewalk tiles towards home.