A Sexting Smiting

Flash Fiction

In the wide halls of Orange County Hospital, within the confines of the Orthopaedic Department, in the brightly lit Ward of B, and wrapped in both white plaster and blankets, there lay a man by the name of Duncan Arnold.

Duncan was in the third week of his recovery. He had two broken arms, three broken ribs, a fractured jaw, and in the process of receiving all of these breakages he had also lost two teeth — his lower lateral incisor and upper third molar.

He had told the nurse when he had awoken from being shipped to the hospital after an emergency call had gone out that he had fallen down the stairs.

Duncan refrained from telling the kind woman that he had actually received his wounds after he sent a Snapchat of his penis to a very civilised, Catholicised, classmate. The dare from his friends had lead to her father coming over to his house to smite him with fists and feet.

He was back the week following his discharge, after the girl that had been at the end of his misplaced digital affections whacked his testicles with a large wooden crucifix. Just to make sure he got the message.


Matt Querzoli wrote this. Follow him or his randy publication if you liked the post, or even the bloke himself if this tickled your proverbial pickle.

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