Samuel Becket Lore part I

Samuel crawled on the ground, nose deep in the mud and cow dung, his torturer kept an easy pace a few steps behind, dragging his sword lazily in along ground. Arms weakening and air evading his lungs, Samuel collapsed into the filth and laughed.

“Is this it?” He meant to shout defiantly, but the words came out as a weak gurgle.

“You know the rules Sammy-boy,” The figure stood tall over Samuel, using his left foot to flip the pathetic mans limp and broken body over so that he could see his face, “After all, you made them.”

The figure smiled, a ghastly grin if ever there was one, revealing silver and gold teeth mixed among the few real ones that were left.

“Nothing personal.” the figure said as he raised his sword high.