A Shorter Story

Greta stared defiantly at the Count.

"You will not have me! No matter how many times you lay that lash across my back! I will not give you my body!"

The Count paused a moment. He dropped the cruel whip in the snow.

He spoke calmly.

"Very well! You have made your choice."

He reached into his saddle bag and withdrew an ornate pistol. He loaded the powder and lead ball. Primed the gun and took aim at the half naked girl.

"Goodbye, Greta!"

He squeezed the trigger.

The lead ball smashed into Greta's forehead. Tore through the soft tissue of her brain. Exploded from the back of her head in a shower of blood and bone and tissue.

She was dead before she hit the ground. Her blood turning the virgin snow red.

Thc Count returned the pistol to his saddlebag and prepared to mount his black stallion.

"Cut!" the director shouted. "Very good, folks, but can we do it just one more time? To get a better blood scatter?"

He turned to his assistant.

"Clear up the mess here and fetch the next girl."