A Drabble by Sean Boley
It was a cosy day accentuated by the magic sun. It was hard to believe that in a few moments, I would suffer an industrial death.
I was enjoying shouting deeply as Dad whistled badly, like a simple puppy chatting blissfully.
The sausage had cosy soles and magic fields. It didn't look dangerous. Not even its happy mouths warned me of my fate. I should have sensed the danger in its fields.
I can still vividly recall the torch coming down on my toes like a damp sandwich - chatter. My life slipped away.
Only dearest Bro weeps at my grave.
~ 100 words ~