No Rest for the WicKed

Prologue

Richard Vandersol was running, and he was fucking running hard. The floors of the tiled office building floors were waxed and slick. His heart screamed in his fat-assed fifty-eight year old chest. His lungs gasped as it struggled to get his out of shape body each panicked breath. She was coming. Was she a she? He thought momentarily. Either way, she was coming, and she was fucking pissed.

His legs pumped insanely fast as the adrenaline began its desperate flow through his veins. The primal need to survive was accelerating as the hair on the back of his neck prickled. I have to hurry! His thoughts screamed at him prodding him on. Fucking Run! His thoughts roared further. Run, Run, Run! His brain screamed in urgency.

He felt her right behind him. He could feel the heat of her rancid breath brushing his skin, she was so close. He did not want to look back to see how close. Lights were blinking off like a goddamn disco. He was crying. We enter the world in tears, he thought; let us hope I don’t leave in tears. He cried more. He was so fucking scared. He knew what it felt to be hunted; he knew what it felt to be the prey.

He turned around. He saw only the flashing of lights going crazy. He felt the need of mankind to look into the eye of death. He only needed to know for a moment… She was not there. Shit! Where the fuck? His brain scrambled to determine the whereabouts. He turned back around to continue running.

There she was. There it was. He screamed. It would be the last sound Richard Vandersol would ever make.

It separated his head from his spine as blood slowly dripped from the dismembered master connection of his body. His head thumped on the ground and rolled. It then peeled the flesh fileting his decapitated body in simply a matter of moments. His headless body dropped to knees and then forward slamming the ground quickly, yet it fell slowly in the seconds of final death. The sound was warm and wet as the skinned torso slapped against the surface of the floor. The mouth of his head still gaped open in its final scream. It was still trying to scream. His eyes remained open and alert as he watched her reach into the chest of his worthless body twitching its final dance. It fed on his heart as he watched his physical demise in mere moments, yet it carried forever in his final moments because time of death was a slow ticking. He watched his left foot kick from his dying perspective, and he smelled his own urine spray its odor to the room. She looked at him for a moment, and perhaps he saw a human smile mirroring the hate of mankind.

Blackness overtook his physical body, but his life-force now belonged to her. He would scream within her forever.