My first attempt at a short story, set in those British places...estates and stuff
Dennis the Headless.
Dennis was gonna bring round enough pills for everyone, at 50p each, and a bag of chat, and most importantly what he called '"Sezamelia."
Everyone sat together in someone's house. They played loud beats, grime that *****g evil rap noise, and other good things...They waited until the windows were black. He was going to knock on the door soon. There were five of them, sitting in certain designated places, the long sofa for Shell, to meditate upon all things, places on the floor for the boys in front of the x-box, and a table for the king, the one who's mum owned the house, he was rolling sticks and organising things.
A mad, frightening deep bellow, happened just outside the front door, there was no hall in the house, the door opened directly into the living room.
The king looked at a boy on the floor, and nodded his command. The boy stood up. Everyone's eyes followed him to the door. He opened it, fully, standing back to give Dennis some space. There was a twinkle in the clear night sky, like amphetamine powder laced into skunk, all the twinkling bright white stars.
The house immediately shrieked in unison. The king looked up from his work and scowled heavily. The boy in front of the door, froze, but while he froze, because his mind was put on delayed, his body cut mad jerky dance moves, he gasped and jerked, and cut, cut, cut his vocal parts into pieces forever.
Dennis was at the door.
Shell had got up to greet him, but as she crossed the floor, she swooned, and her head shook in spurts, she went "nnnga nhha naaa." She fell to the floor. Pass her the smelling salts. The boys at the computer had looked up, as well, because they respected Dennis, so much...
Now Dennis was dead.
He floated in the entrance, he took up the whole place, he was crying and choking, over and over. Something had happened to Dennis, he couldn't speak.
His body gone, his head buzzing up and down in fear, they saw the state of his face, dirty and beaten.
He was crying.
He floated in the doorway, thick dark red blood gushing down from the place where he had been severed, where his neck had been cut apart from his body, and his ghost shook there, one head bleeding, bleeding and bleeding.