Tom was eleven. He was a good lad with a good family of four. His younger sister was seven. She was grounded in fear of the worst. Tom blamed his parents for being too harsh on her. He would understand better if he were a father. It’s not easy greasy to wear someone’s shoes and walk in them. It takes effort. You got to feel what they are going through. It’s not simple. It wasn’t for Tom. He was a child after all.
He was tilling the field when he was grabbed and dragged. His mouth was squeezed such that he couldn’t let air out. There was no sound by him. He started praying and became unconscious.
He woke up in a den reeking of rotten meat. The smell was nauseating. He pushed out whatever he had inside his stomach. His mouth hurt. His belly ached. He was desperate to find a way out. But it was dark and he sat and shivered. He sweated and cried for help when he heard a noise. A rumbling sound came on his left side. He turned and shrieked in pain. The monster squished his arm and drained it of blood. Tom felt numb in his left arm. Blood gushed out when he shrieked again. The right arm’s turn took him by surprise. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He felt nothing down his elbows. He cried not in pain but in the anguish of losing his arms.
“How does it feel? I love it. I will have more,” someone said.
Tom didn’t know who it was. It was a weird, heavy sound coming from behind. He thought there is someone else. He cried, “Help! Please help!”
“Help! You think so. Help!” the voice came. The voice was so terrifying that Tom wetted his pants. He thought he was in hell. Maybe, he was.
A moment later Tom stopped sobbing. It was over. The pain was gone. He was gone.