Hurried footsteps stop next to us. A group of people, the sound of firearms clanking accompanied them. “Tim! What happened?!” A soft voice screams out. James looked up, his eyes widened. Tim’s wife stood, her hands on her mouth. A whimpering barely escaped her lips. James stood up to comfort her. She embraced him fully, sobbing into his shoulder. “What happened to the other two?” James questioned towards the group, Jenna still sobbing into his old brown jacket. I paced cautiously to the door, and peered inside. Past the right of the table, there laid two bodies, blood serving as a connecting web between the two. The woman missing most of the skin on her jaw, and a large portion of her neck, a gun laid in her hand. The man was not even 5 feet from her. He was toppled over backwards. A bullet hole in the left of his forehead, a bite on his forearm. On the left of the table laid Austin’s motionless body. Propped up against the wall as if he was forced to it in a struggle. I glance down at the beast at my feet. The back of his head blown away, the brain exposed. A single fly buzzes, stopping to examine the pink matter that was ripped by the Kalashnikova’s round. I step back, turning to one the men in the group. A stout man, not much shorter than myself. “Put a bullet in each one of their heads. We don’t need any of them standing back up.” He nodded hastily and started to make his way into the room. I stood, slowly backing to the area of wall just to the right of the door. I slid down, massaging my forehead. Placing my hands on my knees. A shot rung out. Another.
I sat on my bed, the horrors of today. The ripped flesh of the woman’s jaw encasing my mind. Raveling through each thought like a intruding tentacle. Smashing each one possible. To think after all the death I’ve seen, it wouldn’t affect me. The sea blue tint in her eyes. A familiar shade. Voices ring through out the compound. The clean up crew, taken up with the duty of disposing the infected bodies. Ever since a child was infected by a twice dead ghoul, they’d been burning each ghoul’s body asap. Of course they do it outside of the compound walls, burning an infected body in the vicinity of so many people would be like igniting a solanum bomb. Its only common sense.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Moan Chapter Two
As I slowly find my way back to the commons circle, The darkening sky recedes the light extended into New Haven. As I take my first step on the stairs they greet me with the ordinary creak. The sound seems to get worse everyday like the world decaying outside. The activity seemed to double when I reached the commons circle. The mood lightened ten fold. I glance around, trying to assess what is happening, when I hear a tremendous croak. The main gates begin to open. I see three shadows begin to make their way through the doors. I take place in the crowd, I glance to the side and ask the woman next to me, “What’s going on? I haven’t seen this much commotion since the blackout 2 months ago.” The woman glances at me through the side of her eye. “Some survivors reached the gates, words been getting around. The council has been debating whether or not to let them in.” “I can see what option they chose” I turned back to the focus of commotion. The three shadows made their way into the compound. Details beginning to become more evident with each step they took. The group consisted of a tall, well built man. A woman with a grimace across her face, and a small malnourished man with pale skin. Two guards stood across from them. Rifles aimed for a their chests. Chatter emits from the guards mouth. The survivors placed their weapons on the ground. The small man cringing as he bent over to place his Ak-47 on the ground in front of him. The other man and woman followed suit and placed their weapons on the ground. They were then instructed to put their packs next to their weapons. They did so with little resistance. The largest guard ordered them to get into a line, nudging the small man in the side with the barrel of his rifle. They filed out into a hallway, then into a room. A ominous thud echos through out the area. Piercing the air over the silent gathering of people. Slowly the crowd vanished, retreating back into their cells. As the last few citizens started on their way back, I took one last look at the door that housed the survivors. As questions flooded my mind, worries were washed in, too. The stairs jostled more violently this time up. Walking past, the lights barely illuminate pathway. The blanket still over the deceased mans cell. I arrive at my cell, slide the gate open as quietly as I could. I take a seat at the bed and placed my head on the pillow. Rubbed my eyes and drifted away.
Limping, I glance at the beasts leg. The bone was exposed through his left knee. “Don’t come any closer!” The creature didn’t even begin to think about stopping. I raised the .22 to eye level. Putting the sights into my vision. Pulling the gun to aim at his chest. Steadying my hand. Pop. The bullet forced its way into his ribcage. No blood splattered. No hurtful scream. No tumbling backwards. It just kept advancing. Pop. Another round discharged its way into the beasts stomach. It kept limping its way to me getting closer. I take a step back, trying to create as much room between me and this demon. I steady my hand once more, the sights placed on the beasts head. A moan is let out, echoing through my mind. Pop. The moan halts mid air. The round discharges, speeding through the skull of the monster. The left eye to be exact. Firing a bullet in the skull of a man is a hard act to describe. You pull the trigger, their life ended my one twitch of a muscle. The bullet rips through their skull. The crunch of the shattering bone cracks through the air. The slush of the the brain. The lead chunk rushing through all the thoughts the person may of had. The command center of the human body. Destroyed by a small piece of lead. All the memories they had, cut right through. Followed by the thud of the body as it smashes to the floor. I stood, staring at the body. My hand shaking from the recoil of the gun. I blink, once, twice. Did I really just fire a bullet into the head of someone?
I glance from the decomposed body of the beast to the lifeless corpse of my wife. Her chest eaten away, cracked ribcages, and very little of her insides remain. The ones that do are strung out onto the floor. Her skin folded over. Blood pools everywhere around her body. Soaking into the kitchen tiles. Blood stops, and begins again. Met by the blood leaking from the opened door of the closet. Propped against the wall, a small child. A yellow sunday dress, drenched with blood. Ripped at points, a glance over her body shows a missing arm. The bone protruding where her forearm should be. A lifeless stare shines through her blue eyes. A departed soul. I cringe as a tear forges in my eye.
A colossal sound threw me into an abrupt state of shock. My eyes jolted open. Awoken in a cold sweat. I prop myself up on my arms, trying to differ reality from dream. A shriek pierces the air. Cutting right through the cold breeze that creeps over me. I get to my feet. Rush to the gate and lock it shut. Each gate in New Haven has been modified to lock from the inside rather than out. Made to keep intruders out and you in.
Letting you leave when ever you want. The gate snaps shut with a reinforcing clank.
I stand close to the gate. Silent. My own breathing the only sound. A gunshot rings out, swiftly followed by another. The struggle too far away for me to make out anymore sounds. I stare blankly at the floor beyond my gate. Bodies run past, one, two, three. Each with some sort of firearm. I back away until my back touches the wall, slowly sliding down. Never breaking my stare with the ground. Bodies continue to run past, four, five, six. Their steps echoing through my small cell. Seven, eight, ni-, the footsteps stop in front of my cell. I break my stare with the ground, looking up. James stands infront of my gate. Drenched in sweat. “Get your lazy ass up.” I grab onto the bed beside me and hoist myself to a standing position. Unlock the gate, and meet James’s cold stare. People continue running past us. James holds out his hand, he’s gripping a small revolver by the barrel. “Take it.” I place my shaking hand on the cold grip. A concerned look overtakes his face.
We catch up, struggling. The cold air almost holding us back. Forcing itself into our lungs as we run. The tapping of our footsteps rivaled by the gunshots that can be heard echoing through the compound. I look ahead to see only bobbing heads of about 5 men. Each with a weapon in hand. We come to an abrupt stop. The soles of our boots skid across the ground. “NO!” A voice screams out. Only tailed by a scream, and a thud. “The fucking stairs are out!” another gristly voice yells out. James glances back at me, “Follow me.” He lunges over the rail. The Ak-47 on his back jangles wildly. I follow suit, landing swiftly on my feet and began to run to catch up with James. We pass cells filled with families, some fathers held guns and children were huddled with their siblings and mothers crying. My legs began to succumb to exhaustion.
We reach the commons circle, a man running invades our vision. Tripping over a bench. A metal clank follows. He catches sight of us and speeds after us struggling to get on two feet. Panting and grunting the entire way. James kneels over placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Tim, what happened?” “One of the survivors was infected, he bit Austin.” “Wheres Austin now?” James questions. Tim glances to the area he tripped. Gets balance and jogs over and kneels down, picks up a splattered red machete and turns to us. Sweat dripping from his brow. “That answer enough?” A sigh emits from James. Another gunshot rings out. We forced our already tired selves into a full sprint.
The door in which I watched the three people enter earlier is now splattered with blood, the small window broken; The glass shattered over the floor. A large football sized chip missing under the doorknob. The door was forced open, hard. As if someone was trying to escape. Motionless, no sound could be heard from inside the room. The air thick with a odor of horror. “I’ll lure it out” Tim’s cracking voice breaks the silence. He hesitantly made his way to the door. Tapped the blunt end of the machete on the top of the door frame. He takes a step back. Sweat pools in the small of my back. He turns to us, with frightened sigh, and turns back to the door. Tapping once more on the door frame. Just like before he takes a step back. Listening carefully for movement. 30 seconds pass. He steps forward, putting his free hand on the door, and leaned inside. In a split second a arm grabs him by the neck and pulls it self on top of Tim. The undead man sunk its teeth into the back of his scalp before we could even move. Crack. The attackers head jerks forward, a hole blown through it. His body slumps down. Tim’s falls with it. Blood erupts from the wound inflicted on Tim. James lowers his rifle, rushing over to Tim. I stand, soaking in the events that just took place. I inch the revolver out of my pocket. As my hand slides around the grip a sense of safety soothes over my body.
I knelt down next to Tim. His skin slowly turning pale. Blood soaking into the concrete in which he laid his head. The life-force leaking from his body like a broken pipe. His breathing forced. His breathing evaporating. His body launched into convulsions, and his eyes closed.
Limping, I glance at the beasts leg. The bone was exposed through his left knee. “Don’t come any closer!” The creature didn’t even begin to think about stopping. I raised the .22 to eye level. Putting the sights into my vision. Pulling the gun to aim at his chest. Steadying my hand. Pop. The bullet forced its way into his ribcage. No blood splattered. No hurtful scream. No tumbling backwards. It just kept advancing. Pop. Another round discharged its way into the beasts stomach. It kept limping its way to me getting closer. I take a step back, trying to create as much room between me and this demon. I steady my hand once more, the sights placed on the beasts head. A moan is let out, echoing through my mind. Pop. The moan halts mid air. The round discharges, speeding through the skull of the monster. The left eye to be exact. Firing a bullet in the skull of a man is a hard act to describe. You pull the trigger, their life ended my one twitch of a muscle. The bullet rips through their skull. The crunch of the shattering bone cracks through the air. The slush of the the brain. The lead chunk rushing through all the thoughts the person may of had. The command center of the human body. Destroyed by a small piece of lead. All the memories they had, cut right through. Followed by the thud of the body as it smashes to the floor. I stood, staring at the body. My hand shaking from the recoil of the gun. I blink, once, twice. Did I really just fire a bullet into the head of someone?
I glance from the decomposed body of the beast to the lifeless corpse of my wife. Her chest eaten away, cracked ribcages, and very little of her insides remain. The ones that do are strung out onto the floor. Her skin folded over. Blood pools everywhere around her body. Soaking into the kitchen tiles. Blood stops, and begins again. Met by the blood leaking from the opened door of the closet. Propped against the wall, a small child. A yellow sunday dress, drenched with blood. Ripped at points, a glance over her body shows a missing arm. The bone protruding where her forearm should be. A lifeless stare shines through her blue eyes. A departed soul. I cringe as a tear forges in my eye.
A colossal sound threw me into an abrupt state of shock. My eyes jolted open. Awoken in a cold sweat. I prop myself up on my arms, trying to differ reality from dream. A shriek pierces the air. Cutting right through the cold breeze that creeps over me. I get to my feet. Rush to the gate and lock it shut. Each gate in New Haven has been modified to lock from the inside rather than out. Made to keep intruders out and you in.
Letting you leave when ever you want. The gate snaps shut with a reinforcing clank.
I stand close to the gate. Silent. My own breathing the only sound. A gunshot rings out, swiftly followed by another. The struggle too far away for me to make out anymore sounds. I stare blankly at the floor beyond my gate. Bodies run past, one, two, three. Each with some sort of firearm. I back away until my back touches the wall, slowly sliding down. Never breaking my stare with the ground. Bodies continue to run past, four, five, six. Their steps echoing through my small cell. Seven, eight, ni-, the footsteps stop in front of my cell. I break my stare with the ground, looking up. James stands infront of my gate. Drenched in sweat. “Get your lazy ass up.” I grab onto the bed beside me and hoist myself to a standing position. Unlock the gate, and meet James’s cold stare. People continue running past us. James holds out his hand, he’s gripping a small revolver by the barrel. “Take it.” I place my shaking hand on the cold grip. A concerned look overtakes his face.
We catch up, struggling. The cold air almost holding us back. Forcing itself into our lungs as we run. The tapping of our footsteps rivaled by the gunshots that can be heard echoing through the compound. I look ahead to see only bobbing heads of about 5 men. Each with a weapon in hand. We come to an abrupt stop. The soles of our boots skid across the ground. “NO!” A voice screams out. Only tailed by a scream, and a thud. “The fucking stairs are out!” another gristly voice yells out. James glances back at me, “Follow me.” He lunges over the rail. The Ak-47 on his back jangles wildly. I follow suit, landing swiftly on my feet and began to run to catch up with James. We pass cells filled with families, some fathers held guns and children were huddled with their siblings and mothers crying. My legs began to succumb to exhaustion.
We reach the commons circle, a man running invades our vision. Tripping over a bench. A metal clank follows. He catches sight of us and speeds after us struggling to get on two feet. Panting and grunting the entire way. James kneels over placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Tim, what happened?” “One of the survivors was infected, he bit Austin.” “Wheres Austin now?” James questions. Tim glances to the area he tripped. Gets balance and jogs over and kneels down, picks up a splattered red machete and turns to us. Sweat dripping from his brow. “That answer enough?” A sigh emits from James. Another gunshot rings out. We forced our already tired selves into a full sprint.
The door in which I watched the three people enter earlier is now splattered with blood, the small window broken; The glass shattered over the floor. A large football sized chip missing under the doorknob. The door was forced open, hard. As if someone was trying to escape. Motionless, no sound could be heard from inside the room. The air thick with a odor of horror. “I’ll lure it out” Tim’s cracking voice breaks the silence. He hesitantly made his way to the door. Tapped the blunt end of the machete on the top of the door frame. He takes a step back. Sweat pools in the small of my back. He turns to us, with frightened sigh, and turns back to the door. Tapping once more on the door frame. Just like before he takes a step back. Listening carefully for movement. 30 seconds pass. He steps forward, putting his free hand on the door, and leaned inside. In a split second a arm grabs him by the neck and pulls it self on top of Tim. The undead man sunk its teeth into the back of his scalp before we could even move. Crack. The attackers head jerks forward, a hole blown through it. His body slumps down. Tim’s falls with it. Blood erupts from the wound inflicted on Tim. James lowers his rifle, rushing over to Tim. I stand, soaking in the events that just took place. I inch the revolver out of my pocket. As my hand slides around the grip a sense of safety soothes over my body.
I knelt down next to Tim. His skin slowly turning pale. Blood soaking into the concrete in which he laid his head. The life-force leaking from his body like a broken pipe. His breathing forced. His breathing evaporating. His body launched into convulsions, and his eyes closed.
Moan Chapter One
The dreary moaning invades every nook and cranny possible. Every inch of your mind. Every corner of your home. Every cell of your being. I can hear the moans. All throughout my dreams, every night. Its the same damned one. I’m sitting back at home with my family, the suns setting. A cool breeze sweeps through room, feebly lifting the papers located on my desk. A child’s laughter strokes its way through the house, only to be broken by the shatter. The first moan breaks through my eardrum with the abruptness of a car crash.
The glass reaches the floor, only rivaled for first place by spilt blood as my wife is pinned to the window. Grey, decaying arms, tearing flesh where the beasts nails meet her skin. A thud breaks the shrieks of terror. The first intruder has made his way in. I can hear my daughter’s screams, “Help! Help!” More moaning. I struggle to move, I’m paralyzed in my chair. I fight to scream. My lips refuse to move. More moaning. My wife is silenced, her screams are replaced with the disgusting sound of ripping flesh. The crunch of bones. The sound of blood being splattered among the walls, like a popped water balloon. I can pick out the sobbing of my daughter, she’s in some kind of closed space. Groans continue on.
I begin to sob quietly to myself, my world caving in. My only happiness in this world is trapped, and I’m unable to help her. A unseen force is preventing me from doing so. I can feel a small tingle in my legs. I jerk away from the sharp pain that follows. I break away from my invisible bounds and stumble towards the door. Tears falling silently from my chin. I grasp the door knob lightly. Trying to control my breathing. Panting harder and harder with each breath. I rest my head against the door and clinch my face. Agony shooting through my entire body. From my finger tips, coursing through my veins. Following the highways through my body. I open the door a hair. I glance through the slot. I can see a darkened figure hunched over a motionless body. The light behind them contrasts the corpses face;the smooth outlines follow a face I’ve known for years. Beyond them I can see a closet, the broken slider preventing it from closing completely. I can catch sight of my daughter. Huddled over herself, tears soaking her face. She begins to sob louder. The beast, pre-occupied, pays little attention. I try to make my way to her. My feet feel as if they are stuck to the floor boards. My arms fastened to my sides like a corpse struck with rigor mortis. The sobs grow louder, over coming the moans that creep the air outside. The savage changes its ambition. Its attention shifts to the closet. It shambles to its feet. A human-like figure extends upwards. The beast begins to hobble towards the cupboard. My body fights for its privilege to move. Groans break from the beast. Sprinting through my mind like a marathon runner. Sobs transform into screams. The shuffles of the beast are soaked through the air, accompanied by its moan. The beast reaches the closet, I can hear signs of struggle. A final scream is let out, as the beast comes in contact. Screams turn to whimpers. Struggle turns into the sound of mutilation. Silence takes command.
The cold clash of the industrial symphony comes to life every morning. As I awake deep in a cold sweat. I can make out chatter echoing through the halls. I budge myself to come to my feet. Old bones creaking like a 1987 Ford as it pulls its way out of the driveway. Shifting my way to the steel bars. As the gate rasps open, a small child runs her way past me. Followed by the mother. I peer down the hall to the common sight of concrete walls and steel gates. Still struck with a morning daze. The bustling of the community gives a hasty rouse.
A concrete crypt in which we all scavenge for a oasis. Aside from a small outbreak of chicken pox, disease is non-existent. A plentiful source of food is kept, and a clean headspring of water drains near the outside walls. A series of tunnels make it possible to attain clean, drinkable water without having to leave the compound.
I’ve called this hell-hole my home, my sanctuary. For ten years now, completing the same mold as the day before. Awakening to the quarrel of steel, and to slumber aside it too. A closure which use to house Brooklyn’s worst offenders. Murderers, rapists, psychopaths. The pain and sorrow still stains the walls like the peeling paint already in place. Only challenged by the red already smeared among them.
As I step out of my small cell, I eye the stairs. I glance from the stairs to the cell at the end of the block. Sheets have been nailed to the top of it. Covering it from onlooking eyes. John Wenworth, the oldest resident of New Haven at 89, has passed. I make my way down the clanky, rusty stairs. A creak matched with each step. I can tell a glum overcast has taken over each personality that finds recent news of Johns expiration.
I clamber my way to the Commons Circle. A small area in which the residents of N.H can socialize, and barter. The familiar bustle of the Commons Circle lifts my spirits. Children run about, playing hopscotch on the concrete floors. Serious looks pass over some of the adults faces. Others have a look of ecstasy. Unknowing of the extremities that lay beyond the walls of New Haven. I take a seat at a small table, and rest my head on my arms. Listening to the vigorous activities of New Haven. Letting the bustling sounds sooth my mind.
The weak light shines through from the door way. The stench of death soak through the air. Thoughts rushing through my mind at light years at a time. Who was that? What will happen next? Is it still there? My mind jumps from idea to idea like a parasite to different animals. One idea takes priority. Will it try to attack me too? I recalled that I had a small .22 in my desk that I purchased years ago for protection. I rush over, rip open the drawer. There it is, sheltered by a small holster. I pull it out and check the magazine. Fully loaded.
I crept my way to the door, still opened a small amount. As I place the guns barrel on the door to open it farther, I catch sight of a shadow, hunched over. I take step, after step down the hallway. All the doors to different rooms are shut, the stench growing stronger. A small pool of blood leaks its way into the hallway, unknowingly I place my foot in it. I slowly reach the murky light that stains the walls and floors. The sloppy crunch of muscle and sinew ripping from bone accompanies the strong disgusting oder of decomposition. The slouched figure of the beast is unmoved as I creep into the kitchen. “Sir?” I call out. The beasts concern switches swiftly. Beady eyes scan me over. A blood curdling moan is let out from the beasts mouth. His teeth are made visible as the moan extends its way to me. Whiffing lightly over my ears, puncturing my mind. Flesh and blood splattered over its dull grey face. An apathetic stare attached to me. “Sir? Sir?” I call out again. The beast rises to its feet. The wail still echos through my mind. The creature begins to take a step.
My eyes creep open, shaken awake. A figure is looming over me, shadowed black from the light behind. “Get up, I need to talk to you” the voice booms. A hand extends out, I take the offer and get aided to my feet. My eyes even, the light differences out and the unknown figure becomes visible. James, an old friend of mine. “Nice to see you comrade” his warm voice remarked. His yellow teeth shine through behind his lips. “Long time no see, how is work as an engineer?” “I’ve made due, but very little things have been breaking down lately. Not much work for me.” “Thats truly a shame, what was it that you needed to talk to me about?” “I’ll tell you soon, walk with me.”
As we make our way back up the cell stairs, we pass John’s old cell, the tattered sheet still covering it. A woman’s sobbing douses through the blanket. James, peers back with a concerned expression. My gait still affected by the quick nap, stiff and achy joints. We pace by multiple cells, families can be seen through the bars. Some sleeping, some awake. Some playing games, some working on obscure objects. We reach James cell, he slides the bar open and invites me inside. As I take a step in, the scent of cinnamon empowers my nostrils. I take a seat on his bed and turn to face him. A serious tone overtakes James face. “There have been rumors that the virus evolving, becoming airborne. Others say that its changing and is transmittable through rodents.” “James, I highly doubt that after all these years. The virus will change. We’ve been kept in this place for how long because of those demons? Has there ever been a change in the way they act? Have we ever seen one get up and try to plead for its life?” A nervous intensity washes over James face. He paces from the wall to a large, wooden dresser, slides a large drawer open, and pulls out a small bottle of whiskey. “But what if?” A cold silence washed through the room. “Then we must hope that if any kind of evolution does happen within the solanum virus, that it is far after our un-reanimated deaths.” I say as I meet his stare half way.
The glass reaches the floor, only rivaled for first place by spilt blood as my wife is pinned to the window. Grey, decaying arms, tearing flesh where the beasts nails meet her skin. A thud breaks the shrieks of terror. The first intruder has made his way in. I can hear my daughter’s screams, “Help! Help!” More moaning. I struggle to move, I’m paralyzed in my chair. I fight to scream. My lips refuse to move. More moaning. My wife is silenced, her screams are replaced with the disgusting sound of ripping flesh. The crunch of bones. The sound of blood being splattered among the walls, like a popped water balloon. I can pick out the sobbing of my daughter, she’s in some kind of closed space. Groans continue on.
I begin to sob quietly to myself, my world caving in. My only happiness in this world is trapped, and I’m unable to help her. A unseen force is preventing me from doing so. I can feel a small tingle in my legs. I jerk away from the sharp pain that follows. I break away from my invisible bounds and stumble towards the door. Tears falling silently from my chin. I grasp the door knob lightly. Trying to control my breathing. Panting harder and harder with each breath. I rest my head against the door and clinch my face. Agony shooting through my entire body. From my finger tips, coursing through my veins. Following the highways through my body. I open the door a hair. I glance through the slot. I can see a darkened figure hunched over a motionless body. The light behind them contrasts the corpses face;the smooth outlines follow a face I’ve known for years. Beyond them I can see a closet, the broken slider preventing it from closing completely. I can catch sight of my daughter. Huddled over herself, tears soaking her face. She begins to sob louder. The beast, pre-occupied, pays little attention. I try to make my way to her. My feet feel as if they are stuck to the floor boards. My arms fastened to my sides like a corpse struck with rigor mortis. The sobs grow louder, over coming the moans that creep the air outside. The savage changes its ambition. Its attention shifts to the closet. It shambles to its feet. A human-like figure extends upwards. The beast begins to hobble towards the cupboard. My body fights for its privilege to move. Groans break from the beast. Sprinting through my mind like a marathon runner. Sobs transform into screams. The shuffles of the beast are soaked through the air, accompanied by its moan. The beast reaches the closet, I can hear signs of struggle. A final scream is let out, as the beast comes in contact. Screams turn to whimpers. Struggle turns into the sound of mutilation. Silence takes command.
The cold clash of the industrial symphony comes to life every morning. As I awake deep in a cold sweat. I can make out chatter echoing through the halls. I budge myself to come to my feet. Old bones creaking like a 1987 Ford as it pulls its way out of the driveway. Shifting my way to the steel bars. As the gate rasps open, a small child runs her way past me. Followed by the mother. I peer down the hall to the common sight of concrete walls and steel gates. Still struck with a morning daze. The bustling of the community gives a hasty rouse.
A concrete crypt in which we all scavenge for a oasis. Aside from a small outbreak of chicken pox, disease is non-existent. A plentiful source of food is kept, and a clean headspring of water drains near the outside walls. A series of tunnels make it possible to attain clean, drinkable water without having to leave the compound.
I’ve called this hell-hole my home, my sanctuary. For ten years now, completing the same mold as the day before. Awakening to the quarrel of steel, and to slumber aside it too. A closure which use to house Brooklyn’s worst offenders. Murderers, rapists, psychopaths. The pain and sorrow still stains the walls like the peeling paint already in place. Only challenged by the red already smeared among them.
As I step out of my small cell, I eye the stairs. I glance from the stairs to the cell at the end of the block. Sheets have been nailed to the top of it. Covering it from onlooking eyes. John Wenworth, the oldest resident of New Haven at 89, has passed. I make my way down the clanky, rusty stairs. A creak matched with each step. I can tell a glum overcast has taken over each personality that finds recent news of Johns expiration.
I clamber my way to the Commons Circle. A small area in which the residents of N.H can socialize, and barter. The familiar bustle of the Commons Circle lifts my spirits. Children run about, playing hopscotch on the concrete floors. Serious looks pass over some of the adults faces. Others have a look of ecstasy. Unknowing of the extremities that lay beyond the walls of New Haven. I take a seat at a small table, and rest my head on my arms. Listening to the vigorous activities of New Haven. Letting the bustling sounds sooth my mind.
The weak light shines through from the door way. The stench of death soak through the air. Thoughts rushing through my mind at light years at a time. Who was that? What will happen next? Is it still there? My mind jumps from idea to idea like a parasite to different animals. One idea takes priority. Will it try to attack me too? I recalled that I had a small .22 in my desk that I purchased years ago for protection. I rush over, rip open the drawer. There it is, sheltered by a small holster. I pull it out and check the magazine. Fully loaded.
I crept my way to the door, still opened a small amount. As I place the guns barrel on the door to open it farther, I catch sight of a shadow, hunched over. I take step, after step down the hallway. All the doors to different rooms are shut, the stench growing stronger. A small pool of blood leaks its way into the hallway, unknowingly I place my foot in it. I slowly reach the murky light that stains the walls and floors. The sloppy crunch of muscle and sinew ripping from bone accompanies the strong disgusting oder of decomposition. The slouched figure of the beast is unmoved as I creep into the kitchen. “Sir?” I call out. The beasts concern switches swiftly. Beady eyes scan me over. A blood curdling moan is let out from the beasts mouth. His teeth are made visible as the moan extends its way to me. Whiffing lightly over my ears, puncturing my mind. Flesh and blood splattered over its dull grey face. An apathetic stare attached to me. “Sir? Sir?” I call out again. The beast rises to its feet. The wail still echos through my mind. The creature begins to take a step.
My eyes creep open, shaken awake. A figure is looming over me, shadowed black from the light behind. “Get up, I need to talk to you” the voice booms. A hand extends out, I take the offer and get aided to my feet. My eyes even, the light differences out and the unknown figure becomes visible. James, an old friend of mine. “Nice to see you comrade” his warm voice remarked. His yellow teeth shine through behind his lips. “Long time no see, how is work as an engineer?” “I’ve made due, but very little things have been breaking down lately. Not much work for me.” “Thats truly a shame, what was it that you needed to talk to me about?” “I’ll tell you soon, walk with me.”
As we make our way back up the cell stairs, we pass John’s old cell, the tattered sheet still covering it. A woman’s sobbing douses through the blanket. James, peers back with a concerned expression. My gait still affected by the quick nap, stiff and achy joints. We pace by multiple cells, families can be seen through the bars. Some sleeping, some awake. Some playing games, some working on obscure objects. We reach James cell, he slides the bar open and invites me inside. As I take a step in, the scent of cinnamon empowers my nostrils. I take a seat on his bed and turn to face him. A serious tone overtakes James face. “There have been rumors that the virus evolving, becoming airborne. Others say that its changing and is transmittable through rodents.” “James, I highly doubt that after all these years. The virus will change. We’ve been kept in this place for how long because of those demons? Has there ever been a change in the way they act? Have we ever seen one get up and try to plead for its life?” A nervous intensity washes over James face. He paces from the wall to a large, wooden dresser, slides a large drawer open, and pulls out a small bottle of whiskey. “But what if?” A cold silence washed through the room. “Then we must hope that if any kind of evolution does happen within the solanum virus, that it is far after our un-reanimated deaths.” I say as I meet his stare half way.
CASSIDY SUCKS
The snow drifts lightly down. Waving from the clouds like leaves in fall. A couple walks the streets.
Hand in hand, they walk a endless road. So many other lives intersecting their path. Whether fate, or chance, it all moves along. Unkept souls haunt through the air, no care to snare them. Their walk continues, they stop for none. What lead them there? They walked for miles on end, passing trees, buildings, children, animals. The endless road lead on, step after step, pounding on like a broken record. They pass through lands of pain. Lands of sorrow. Lands of Glee, and lands of death.
Unwavered, nothing manages to stop them. Their stare as cold as snow. The farther they progress, the more bland colors become. They transverse, and the colorful greens turn to grey. A brightness begins to wash all color out the farther they walk. They trek their way, until they come to a hill. A source of light appears to be behind the hill. The grey-scale earth shakes under each of their steps. The top of the hill comes into sight, their gait unchanged. They walk still, hand in hand, towards the top. As they come to the top. Their eyes meet the absence. They see nothing but pure white. Up, and down, left, and right. The grey grounds meet a abrupt end. They meet eyes, and then look back into the white. He leans in, and kisses her on top of the head... and then they take the final step.
Hand in hand, they walk a endless road. So many other lives intersecting their path. Whether fate, or chance, it all moves along. Unkept souls haunt through the air, no care to snare them. Their walk continues, they stop for none. What lead them there? They walked for miles on end, passing trees, buildings, children, animals. The endless road lead on, step after step, pounding on like a broken record. They pass through lands of pain. Lands of sorrow. Lands of Glee, and lands of death.
Unwavered, nothing manages to stop them. Their stare as cold as snow. The farther they progress, the more bland colors become. They transverse, and the colorful greens turn to grey. A brightness begins to wash all color out the farther they walk. They trek their way, until they come to a hill. A source of light appears to be behind the hill. The grey-scale earth shakes under each of their steps. The top of the hill comes into sight, their gait unchanged. They walk still, hand in hand, towards the top. As they come to the top. Their eyes meet the absence. They see nothing but pure white. Up, and down, left, and right. The grey grounds meet a abrupt end. They meet eyes, and then look back into the white. He leans in, and kisses her on top of the head... and then they take the final step.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
