I posted this on Gurochan quite a while ago while it was still up, but I've seen expanded it significantly and edited a lot. This story contains explicit gore and tragic death meant to feel realistic and emotionally compelling. If you are sensitive to depression, suicide, guilt, trauma etc. and not having a good idea, please consider skipping this one or coming back to it later.
Hope you enjoy.
In particle physics there is a set of measurements known as the Planck units. These measurements are extrapolated from the physical constants of reality, such as the speed of light and the Boltzman constant, which describes the mathematics of entropy. A Planck length is the distance a massless particle will travel at the speed of light (the Planck speed) and consequently the Planck time is the amount of time it will take for a particle to travel the Planck length at the speed of light. In the minds of many physicists, the Planck units are the smallest measurements of consequence in our reality, as the laws of physics as we understand cease to have relevance below these measurements within most models and theories. Because of this, the Planck units may be thought of somewhat like the underlying “grid” within our universe, on which the pixels of reality move. Perhaps a single unit of Planck time is the closest we can come to truly defining a “moment” in our world.
Rebecca stared blankly at her showerhead as the blisteringly hot spray loosened the blood from her supple skin and carried it down her hourglass form and swirling into the drain. She stood there for a long time, mouth slightly agape, eyes defocused as the water scalded her, punishing her for her sins, even as it comforted her, held tight and purified her. Took away the blood. She didn’t try hard to understand what she had done only minutes before, instead simply embracing the heat wrapping around her like a second skin and causing billowing waves of steam to emerge from her apartment’s open bathroom door and into the cool night air past her balcony. Closing her eyes, she felt at peace for the first time in the last… what was it now? Three weeks? A month? It didn’t matter now. A slight smile curled around her lips. All was well now. All could end now. The young woman reached down and gently twisted the two knobs at her waist level, causing the water to spurt to a trickle and for a sudden gust of cool air to run over her from outside.
She turned and opened her eyes, suddenly realizing she hadn’t even slid her shower door shut in her daze. Slowly, gracefully, her calm figure stepped from the tiled floor onto the fuzzy pink mat a couple steps away, where she stood for a moment and felt the soft strands of synthetic fabric tickle her dripping feet. It was the same sensation she had loved since she was a little girl, just as special as ever this time. Her smile widened. A genuine, sweet, kind smile. She turned once more, this time to the body-height mirror in the corner of the bathroom. She was beautiful, her ivory skin glistening and her perfect blonde hair draping over her shoulders and breasts and wrapping around the curvature of her body like a patient and caring lover in the reflection. She took another silent moment to examine her motherly hips, flared to perfection and curving into her flawless thighs, pressed against each other just enough to highlight the softness of her skin and the pristine balance of fat throughout her body. Her usually modest breasts presented a colorful, tantalizing contrast to her otherwise pale figure, swollen with breastmilk and taking a pinkish hue, shiny and ripe from the internal pressure that was stretching them into beautiful fruit.
Suddenly her eyes caught the pacifier laying by the toilet in the reflection, a few specks of blood still spatter across its soft plastic surface. Her expression changed for a few moments into, not a frown, but an emptiness. A void of emotion, of thought… characterlessness. But as soon as this transformation had taken place, it was reversed, and her gentle, motherly smile returned. “I love you,” she said silently into the mirror. To whom was unknown even to her. It just seemed a beautiful thing to say in the moment, as the cool night breeze played across her body and caused tiny spots of color to raise across her gorgeous arms and legs, nipples hardening, pointing up slightly from her immaculate breasts. For a moment she felt a thrill, and glanced down almost teasingly at her own lips, barely visible between her silky thighs. She could feel a rush of blood, warmth inside her, contrasting with the cold air as her sex prepared for something that would not come. Not now, not ever again.
The mother- the girl- the woman, walked with silent, perfect grace through her quiet one-person bedroom, careful not to step in the blood-stains on the carpet as she approached the balcony, hips swaying with the taunting sensuality of a succubus. Her pupils contracted as she exited her room to the neon lights of the city outside, and she took a deep breath of the midnight air, allowing it to play in her lungs for a few moments the way an addict would return to the smoke of a cigar after weeks of a miserable attempt at quitting. It gave her life. Grounded her in the beautiful world around her. And yet, it wasn’t enough. Or rather, it wasn’t a reason to continue. She was happy for this to be her time, her last mark on the world she’d loved living in until now.
Suddenly she heard a shout. Coming from in front and above her. She glanced up, and caught sight of a young man, appearing to be in his mid twenties, standing on the balcony directly opposite and one floor above hers. “Hey sweetheart,” he intoned with obvious intent. “Saw you out here the other night, but didn’t get a chance to talk.” She could sense his eyes on her naked, dripping breasts, and took no offense, instead smiling sweetly up at him.
“Enjoy it,” she spoke just loud enough for him to hear, her dark, smooth voice travelling the cool night air in two small, echoing waves. The depth of passion in her voice was unbelievable, and the man felt his heart, and his cock, pounding in his chest and pants. The words of the hauntingly beautiful woman were spoken as if she were instructing, with a dominant authority, her lover to enjoy their climax inside of her. He stared at her silently, unable to understand what was happening, awestruck by her beauty, as she lifted herself onto the railing of her balcony and stood up straight, wet hair blowing in the cold night wind around her like a sail in a storm. He tried to speak as he watched lean forward, her smile disappearing under her nose, but his heart had stopped for a moment, and his lungs failed him when he wanted to shout, to call out, to cry to her… “no”.
She fell, beautifully, gracefully, her body rigid at first, for the first two rotations of her drop, and then her limbs began to pull in every direction, painfully, as she tumbled down. She embraced the pain, embraced the tug of the centrifugal force on her splayed-out form. The pain, the discomfort, the pangs of regret in those final moments purified her like the heat of the shower minutes before. It told her she was right to do this, to repent, to leave this world for a place more beautiful, whether it be paradise or oblivion, or perhaps the torture she deserved.
It’s often said that certain deaths are painless. That they happen “instantly”. That the person feels nothing, the damage is too great in too short a time and their brain, the seat of the mind, is incapable of informing them of the horror that their physical form is being exposed to. Many would think that about beautiful Rebecca as her body impacted the concrete below. They would be wrong. For Rebecca, the poor thing, the definition of a moment, of an instance, mattered so much. As her head slammed at near terminal velocity into the grey walkway, as her skull flattened, snapped, crushed to dust and brain began to pulp, there was a single moment, a single unit of Planck time, in which every surviving neuron up until that point worked dilligently, desperately, to communicate to Rebecca, to form the thought in her mind “I’m dying. My head is exploding like a melon onto the sidewalk,” and every nerve that still functioned threw a single wave of pain through her body. Every atom, every proton, neutron, and quark had their wavefunction collapse into the exactly correct position to enable a single, quantifiable moment of time in which Rebecca was fully aware that she would not exist in the next proceeding moment. That she was in her last remaining moment of her life; of her violent, gruesome death that she had chosen for herself. If, as some speculate, time is an illusion, a simple way for human minds to understand one great tapestry that is the static four-dimensional tapestry that is the universe, that moment will last forever. It is eternal, constant, forever present. Rebecca will always be there. Full of pain, regret and terror. Her head split halfway open. Her naked, motherly figuring collapsing pitifully into a nonhuman mess as her eyes stare up at several nearby tourists watching her die. Watching those same eyes explode out of their sockets right before the optic nerves are ripped from her skull. That is her hell. One of many. Located several months past a few other countless, although not incalculable, Rebecca's heavens.
Then she was gone, her head liquifying in a wave of red that splattered onto nearby passersby who would spend the next several minutes screaming, crying, calling for help, and staring down at the beautiful corpse that lay there now. Twitching, it tried so hard not to die across every cell in its makeup. But it was too late. Rebecca, the girl, the mother, the woman, the human being, the consciousness, was gone. All that remained was this wet, flopping, dripping, beautiful object, breasts flopping with its violent spasms as grey matter leaked out onto the street with blood, its one intact eyeball several feet away where it was in severe danger of being crushed by the running footsteps of police. It convulsed there awkwardly for a few minutes, arguably mostly intact from the shoulders down.
The thing, and that's exactly what it was now, had absorbed most of the force of the impact through the skull and spine. Its soft tongue dangled by a thread of tissue from its jaw, which only remained attached the torso because it was compacted significantly into where the neck should have been, which was itself now buried between the two shoulders, the spine compressed to the point where it bulged horrifically midway down the body at a point where it tore through the skin shortly above the buttocks and was visibly and bloodily protruding from the corpse. The thing's soft and pleasantly rounded belly had burst internally, and showed signs of threatening to do so externally as well. A nasty dark substance was trickling from the navel as as flowing freely from the anus. It wasn't feces, although that may have been part of its composition. The bladder somehow survived the fall well enough to allow it to empty, squirting with surprising force at short intervals with the final desperate bears of a dying heart and two thick streams of blood out of the neck. To more than one nearby observer, the loud sound of liquid splattering in repeated bursts out of either end of the thing, and the ropelike appearance of both as they stretched out over several feet, was not unsimilar to an ejaculation. A climax to a degree unknown to any mind, but expressed now by an unthinking corpse.
The young man from the balcony above arrived shortly before the police did. As he pushed through the crowd, tears streamed down his face. This was his fault. He said nothing. Did she do this because of him? No, he couldn't be blamed for- he finally saw her. No. It. His cock throbbed against his jeans and he bent over to wretch. When he could breathe again he looked up and saw its tongue, which had spoken to him only minutes before, had finally writhed free from that last thread and somehow had the energy left in the muscle to curl one last time on the pavement before it stopped moving. An intrusive thought wormed its way into his head. He imagined that tongue in his mouth, first while it had been in the girls mouth, and then quickly after as it was now. He imagined picking it up, with nobody else there, and wrapping his own tongue around it, staring down at the thing still flopping and pouring fluid out every orifice before-
The police arrived, shoving him and several others out of the way and barking orders nobody was listening to, everyone who was still at the site of impact trying to keep eyes on the grotesque scene. He didn't have much time to react, however, before one of the police officers, who had turned around and was trying to wave and shout bystanders away from the scene, accidentally backed into the corpse and tripped over it, his boot impacting the swollen and damaged belly of the thing as he fell backward over it. The force was too great for what was left. The remaining bystanders screamed and collectively took several hurried steps back as what used to be Rebecca's beautiful stomach tore open and released it's colorful contents onto the pavement. Length of intestine, which was visibly ripped in multiple places, unfurled out across several feet, pressure having apparently built within the rancid container that was the corpse's stomach cavity. The stomach itself followed, ripped open and spilling forth acid, along with half-digested food, that immediately began to eat away at the visceral it splashed onto. The corpse was quickly beginning to become unrecognizable as something that had been a woman. The young man felt something squish underneath his foot as he staggered back, almost tripping over it, and with his cock still buldging to a degree where he feared someone may notice, he lifted his foot to reveal the surviving eyeball flattened and burst under his shoe.
Later, when he was done drying his tears, when he was done explaining to the police what he had seen, when he was done trying to understand why he had seen what he did, the young man from the balcony found warmth, solace, beauty once again in the privacy of his own shower, stroking himself and imagining that single moment, that unit of Planck time, in which he imagined Rebecca knew her fate. Shame washed over him but so did the burning hear of the water, rinsing away each pang of guilt with a searing wave of purity over his skin. As he recalled Rebecca, whose name he never actually learned, falling out of view, as he recalled her blood gushing out of her like cum, her tongue on the pavement, her belly bursting, her eyeball under his foot… he came. His back arched, his legs stretched out as far as they could, his head thrown back in a silent, open-mouthed sigh of pleasure, he held his cock between two fingers in his right hand. He felt his balls tighten and that incredible buildup for just a moment before the sensation of rushing liquid pulsing through his shaft, filling his cocl before launching out in ropes across the shower and against the tile wall. He looked down at it and imagined it was the blood and piss flowing from the corpse, and the next spurt was even more powerful, even more satisfying, as his head began to swim from the rush of blood to his lower body in the heat. His cum coagulated in the intense burning heat if the shower, and he reached to turn the water off even as he continues to throb and launch milky white streams several inches forward. He felt exhausted as he stood there and watched his seed drip down toward the drain but it continued to spurt in smaller and smaller pulses. What felt like the best orgasm of his life. He stared at the cum right by the drain. The white globs that he'd produced while the heat was still intense bad turned into gooey balls that didn't want to go over the time of the drain easily, when the fresher cum be still leaked was much more liquid and flowed down freely. It looked like the corpse's brains and blood had as they flowed into the storm drain earlier.
The young man's chest hurt, burning from the I tensity of his experience as he stepped out of the shower, still dripling wet, his quickly-softening semi-erect cock still pulsing pleasurably, little beads of cum rolling over the fold of his foreskin as he emerged from the bathroom into the cool air. He collapsed, naked and wet, onto his bed. His thighs, running with cum, mostly the coagulated stuff from the head, rubbed satisfyingly against the soft surface, sensitive along with his now almost entirely flaccid dick after his orgasm. He humped his bed quietly for a few minutes and enjoyed the cool air. Turning, he stared, half-asleep, at the open door to his balcony. He wasn't sure what he was thinking about, really, but his cocl started to stiffen against the covers.
Somewhere out there in time, she was still dying. Her last moment. He started to stroke himself again as he walked toward the balcony. Hard as a rock by the time he reached the railing, he climbed up onto it shakily. Terrified but exhilarated, he tried to maintain his balance as he stroked himself and imagined what the girl had experienced. The cool air was thrilling. The same cool air she fell to her death in. He came again as he imagined ejaculating onto her corpse. He continued to cum as he imagined dying with her. Adding his moment to the tapestry of the universe.
On the street below, a young woman stared at her feet as she walked home after late shift at work. A noise caught her attention. A wet pop. She thought for a moment that it might be starting to rain, but when her eyes caught the wet spot in front of her it looked strange. The sound repeated as she watched more liquid, now obviously viscous and slightly white, splattered in front of her. A drop hit her head and stung slightly, and she placed her hand onto her hair and pulled it back to reveal what was obviously cum. Shocked and afraid she looked up for the source and saw-
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It's not often I see a good snuff story written this well and with such emphasis on emotional 'feeling'.