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 supernatural
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 doing…
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 myself.
It tore through my flesh, blood coating the laminate tiles as I tried to escape their cold, hard clutches.
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 foul
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