The Worst Way to Die

Everyone has a way they’d absolutely not want to die.

I remember my mom telling me about when she almost drowned as a kid. Since then she’s been afraid of deep water and would rather walk through fire than drown. My kid brother’s terrified of getting cancer. He saw it take our dad. It was slow, painful, and we went through every moment of it with him.

I had a strange one. See, I’m scared of snakes. Always hated them. Especially pythons. Those fuckers can swallow a crocodile whole. I’m not the size of a crocodile. I would be lunch. I cried when my mom read Jonah and the Whale for the first time. Imagining being inside the belly of a beast gave me nightmares for weeks. So that’s how I wouldn’t want to die.

Being eaten alive.

I didn’t consider there was something worse than simply being swallowed whole.

I moved into this house last week. Small place, owned by an elderly couple that passed away. Apparently their cats had gotten to them before they were found though. Least they chased the furry bastards out. They’d gotten a taste for human meat.

My first week there was pretty standard, if I’m honest. I skyped my mom on Friday. My brother came over, had a beer before he went to work at the night shift. Had a few more myself. Went to bed, relaxed with the fact I had next week off to get settled into my new place and finish unpacking.

When I woke up, I was handcuffed to the bed and stripped completely naked.

Furious and terrified, I yanked and pulled and shouted, praying that this was just my brother playing some sort of demented trick on me. I screamed for help, forgetting how thick the walls of this house were- no one would hear a damn thing.

Soon, the weight on my mind was soon on my bladder. As in I really had to piss.

“Kyle, this isn’t funny anymore! Let me go! I gotta pee!” I screamed, my voice growing hoarse.

I felt a tickling sensation on my leg and in panic, thinking it was a spider, kicked wildly. God I hated spiders.

I heard a shrill screech before something sharp penetrated my leg.

I froze before I finally craned my neck up to see what the hell was on me.

It was a tiny man.

This guy was no bigger than a potato chip. The stabbing had come from the needle he’d jabbed into my leg, as an attempt to stay connected.

I thought I had to be tripping balls at this point.

The man grunted before he pulled the needle back up and continued his way up my body. He walked along side my thigh like it was a path, his needle dragging behind and lightly scratching my skin. His path continued up my stomach to my chest, where I really got a good look at him.

He wore a tiny green outfit and had a thick brown beard, I was reminded of the garden gnomes that used to be in the front yard before I pitched them. His head cocked to the side before he put a finger to his lips.


It was a very quiet shhh, and so high pitched I could barely hear it. But he’d said his piece, so he jumped off the bed and I saw a tiny parachute made of probably the remains of silk panties fly up to slow his descent.

I’d lost my mind. I’d officially lost it.

But I was starting to realize this nightmare was going to soon be my reality.

More little people started pouring into my room. Little men with thick beards, ladies with long skirts, and babies that were the size of my thumb nail. They chattered with each other in the same high pitched tone of the first one, and the sound soon became deafening, like the squeaking of a door that needs to get oiled.

Mice drew carts of match boxes and a lone cat pulled a shoebox cart. The cat and the mice curled up together in the corner of my room near the heat vent.

The matchboxes were full of camping supplies. Tents and shelters were quickly pitched, and they made a fire of twigs and leaves in the center of my room. Why the fire alarm didn’t start screeching and permanently deafen me, I had no idea.

But the contents of the shoebox were much more concerned.

Knives. Kitchen knives from my own collection and others I couldn’t place, likely from the previous owners.

I screamed again and the small people scattered, hiding under the bed and in my closet. Within a few minutes, they came back, and it was then I picked out the leader.

He was the tallest of them all, which wasn’t saying much given he was probably the size of my middle finger. He raised a staff made of twigs with a child’s marble on the top and began to speak. I could only pick out every third word or so, but he spoke of a banquet and how everyone needs to work together.

Then the ladies climbed onto my face and sewed my lips shut.

Two of them pulled my lips together forcefully while the other three armed the needle and drove it through my skin. The scream burbled up my throat but the women managed to hold me together, and the job was done surprisingly fast. Efficient bastards.

My legs were tied together with belts, the small men grunting and pulling them tight. I was stuck and couldn’t even scream for help without permanently shredding my lips.

I still shredded my lips when the men dragged the knives onto the bed. In my fear my bladder emptied, a fact the little people pulled a face at and looked so disgusted about. As if they had room to judge.

They went about cutting off my feet as men would saw a tree- back and forth, sawing through the meat and the bone. The threads tying my lips shut ripped apart as I wailed, trying to struggle but it was pointless.

Blood pooled onto the bed and I almost passed out half way through but some sort of sick demon made sure I stayed awake… at least for the right foot. When they started on the left I finally gave away to unconsciousness.

I woke up when I smelled my flesh cooking.

Despite myself, my stomach growled, and I looked up to see my stumps. Somehow they’d managed to stop the bleeding, and I assumed that judging by the blood soaked clothing iron by my bed that they’d cauterized the wounds. The cat insisted on licking the iron too. I retched at the sight.

The little people were having a feast of my toes and a can of Pringles they’d stolen from my cupboard. I saw them pop open the can of beer and shout in praise as the foam exploded out. For them it was like a whole keg.

Couples danced. Children played games. It was a carnival to them.

Meanwhile I was trapped to my bed, still in shock that tiny demons had taken my feet and eaten them. They’d gone through the trouble of cleaning the urine off my thighs though… which meant they weren’t anywhere near done.

Breakfast the next morning was my ears and my tongue. I’d ended up biting off one of the little men’s arms, pure instinct from my point of view. He howled and screeched and they dragged him off in an attempt to stem the bleeding, but they weren’t going to get the little sucker’s arm back.

I had swallowed it.

They knocked out my teeth with a rusty hammer to stop anything like that from happening again. My teeth were smashed and pulled until my gums weren’t much more than sticky lumps of flesh.

For lunch they took my calves and complimented it with cheese and more beer. It had been a lot harder to get them off than my feet, so out came the hammer again. I’d passed out in fear when I saw it raise into the air.

My cooking flesh smelled fucking amazing. Like pork or veal. My stomach was running completely on empty and I was so ashamed of myself.

For dinner they took my arms.

I begged them to just take my legs, I could live without my legs, but they paid no mind to me. I’m not sure how they managed to stop me from bleeding out but they did. I became conscious just in time to see them dragging my right arm out of the room, like ants with an extra-large piece of food. I swear there were even more of the little bastards now, and they were dead set on feasting tonight. Chunks of flesh were cut free and roasted over their fire, and they gorged until there wasn’t much left than my bones on the floor.

The next day my eyes, nose, and strips of flesh from my face were skinned free. I could hear it frying. It sounded like bacon.

I don’t know how long it’s been. But I can feel them crawling on my stomach and thighs. I feel tiny hands lifting up my penis and examining it like one might examine a cow before it’s slaughtered. They’re going to harvest the rest of me tonight.

I was right. Being eaten alive is the worst thing a man can experience.

I would’ve taken being swallowed in one go though.

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