The man was an insignificant flea before the gaping majesty of the black hole. Sweat beaded upon his high‑strung, coarse brows; his smile, agape, curved into a sinister expression as his, deep, purple eyes shimmered, reflecting an unimaginable scene —a mound of bodies, putrid in stench, bloodied and beaten— all sprawled before him.
The only thing more solid than the smell was his iron resolve. He savored each mourn, each cry, each plea; playing elatedly, dancing along to the sycophantic orchestra of their immense suffering.
The chorus of cries grew, swelling, thickening, curdling so loud it could be heard in the empty void. Their broth‑breaths bloodied the vacuum breathing. Their gesticulations became more and more erratic.
Building. Building the Suspense.
And then...
Silence.
Dead silence.
The dead silence was dead, Hung, drawn, and quartered; buried with the rest.
He savored it. A single second. Another second. Waiting in anticipation he raised his chewed, yellow-stained fingernails, as though conducting the pause. His hand trembled, fingers anxiously jittering waiting for a climax.
BOOM.
Their bodies burst like boils. Brains and bones tearing free from their bodies, feeding the black hole's ravenous maw. Crunch. Smash. Swallow. Burp. Muscle, eyeballs, teeth—all compressed without a modicum of mercy. Millions upon millions. Trillions upon trillions. The celestial mouth consumed, and consumed, and consumed, until only one word remained to describe the scene:
'spaghettified'
And even that collapsed into nothingness.
From the ruin, a crack cleaved the once‑virgin void in twain. An ethereal purple light burst forth, its tendrils seizing every sense. With it's arrival, the once handsome and jovial complexion had long since perished. His lips trembled. His eyes bled red. The joy that once covered his pale, unkempt face withered into condensed fear.
Then he was gone.