Parting is such sweet sorrow.
The eye watering stench of the corpse hung with little grace in
the night sky.
They knew he had gone; they'd heard the ear-splitting screams
from the pub they took refuge inside. They had ripped him apart
with nothing but their grey, lifeless hands and sheer
As he lay there, motionless and disembowelled, the crowd passed
over the open bodied corpse that had once been a thirty year old
author. A love struck fool who had fallen in love with his
partner's own flesh and blood. His own future sister-in-law. He'd
never had the chance to explain himself…
I didn't even have time to scream.
They'd just sealed the doors, barricading themselves in, when
they heard the moans. She was becoming one of them. She revealed
the bite marks on her arm as she relayed the events of her late
husband's turning. He'd been caught and they had attempted to
ravage his decrepit body, until she came along, brandishing an
axe head, slicing into their decomposing faces, until they were
all well past the second life they'd been tortured with.
Once she realised he'd been bitten - and was turning into one
right before her eyes - she began to carve into his scalp,
apologising profusely throughout. Suddenly, as she lifted the
scalp, he lunged forward and gnawed into her arm, causing his
brain to drop out onto the hard, laminate floor due to the sudden
movement. She ran back to the safe house. She refused to talk,
not even looking into the eyes of her only friends, in case the
infection took over and they saw the pain in her vibrant grey
eyes. Upon finishing, she saw the gun raised to her head, tears
streaming down her changing face as her new found meal held his
finger on the trigger.
Silence is deafening when faced with such horrors.
I stood, intending on escaping this little slice of
hell - knowing anyone else in our "survivors' pack" could be
infected - after the heart wrenching piece of torture I had just
I tore off the first plank of mould coated wood from
the scorching metal of the doors before they realised what I was
They screamed at him to stop. They were desperate for survival.
Then I heard the click.
The cocking of the sawn off, double barrelled shotgun. He slowed
his pace, moving away from the doors and waltzing towards the
filthy, stained windows, coated in dust and flies. He opened his
mouth to explain himself.
Instantaneously, arms crashed through the colourless glass;
sending all of them spiralling to the floor.
All except me. I stood firm, hoping the drab,
lifeless creatures' silence was a good thing. Ha. Such
foolishness I showed in my youth.
The arm shot up, grabbing him by the jaw, dragging him through
the window as he valiantly struggled against the decomposing
clutches from the depths of hell. The shattered glass, splayed
across the cold, hard, concrete, sliced through his weak hands as
he tried to hold onto something, anything, to save
It tore through my flesh, blood coating the laminate
tiles as I tried to escape their cold, hard
He began to scream profanities at them. He thrashed about in an
attempt to loosen the grip of the nightmarish monsters.
The hands were falling from my body, so I took the
opportunity with pure desperation to escape this madness. Running
into the storage room, I saw the perfect defence against these