The Spine of Mr. Jimes

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The bones began to carve at him, audibly tearing through the muscles. With an anguished cry arms seized and swung backwards, curling winglike towards the opposite sides of his body. They tensed to the point of breaking, drawn into an impossible clutch toward his very nervous system. He was not traditionally conscious: pain receptors flooded all critical faculties with incomprehensible white noise. His head began to retract slowly into his collar before losing tension with a worrying pop, folding limp into the floor. Droplets of cruor rose through the pores on the back of his neck, a spiral of sanguine, before rapidly coalescing into a menacing circle of heinous gore. It began to dribble droplets of flesh. C1 & C2 or his vertebrae were boring through the nape of his neck, and his entire cervical curve was unfurling itself from the wound. A small portion of neck musclature plopped wetly to the floor as bone pushed dangling head aside. The column unleashed itself from his torso with a hideous cracking noise.
Horace Jimes’s Spine was calling the shots now.

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