Thanatos Machine

You don’t need a machine to do that. A plastic bag will do. But he built it, his tools cast about in the unit while he got up his nerve to use it. Nothing more was stored there. A poured cement floor, a triple-locked door after door after door down a corridor reeking with the odor of everything over. In heretofore phrases, he left a note outlining his Help! in argot so wrought it was hopeless to ferret out his intent, meant or not. A ball-peen hammer was all she had. The shards cut her. What else had he hid? At least, she cried, he’d thought ahead. He drove home instead.