Samuel was forced into the rotting thing

Samuel cupped his hand over his mouth and staggered into someone. Hands grasped his pecoat and shoved him away. He went crashing into the creature staggering in front of him. They both fell to the ground. Samuel could feel feet trampling his back, the soles of shoes digging into his spine and shoulder blades. The screaming had become muffled, allowing Samuel to hear, very clearly, the gurgle coming from the throat of the creature he was wrestling with. The thing’s jaws snapped open and closed as it wheezed and grasped at his throat. He straddled the creature, shucking off the bystanders trying to step on or over him, and reeled his fist back to clobber the ugly bastard.

 

Samuel smacked his knuckles into the thing’s cheekbone, which caved in a disgusting squishy mess of blood and rotted flesh. Teeth, covered in thick coagulated blood, fell from the thing’s mouth. The stench was awful; it brought tears to Samuel’s eyes. That rotten meat bag appeared to wrench around on the floor, but remained relatively dormant. Samuel placed a hand on the thing’s chest and used it as leverage to pull himself up from the floor.

 

Suddenly, a withered hand gripped Samuel’s wrist and pulled him down. The creature was still very much alive, and wanted flesh. The half of the jaw that had not been pulverized clamped down on Samuel’s throat. His eyes widened in pain and he gripped it by the throat in a meaningless attempt to stop it. He tried to take a swing, but the thing’s face ripped a large chunk of flesh from Samuel’s neck before he could hit it again. He saw pieces of himself drip onto the creatures shirt, watched its jaws mash the flesh in mindless hunger. It groaned peacefully as Samuel’s lifeless fist brushed against what was left of its face, in a pitiful attempt to crush what was left of it.

 

Samuel gripped his own throat, trying to stop the bleeding, when someone bumped into him. A stiff leg caused him to fall over, weakened from blood loss, and when the bystander spotted the bloody mess on the floor, the muffled screams rose to a deafening roar. Samuel could not avoid the soles of loafers and cap toes as the irate throng of people, already on edge, bolted for the doors.

 

When the scene had cleared, Samuel lay on the floor. He was still breathing, but they had broken his arms and his nose. He was bruised so bad his eyes couldn’t see past his own puffy flesh. He painfully raised his eye brows, the bulbous flesh of his lids opened in time to see the creature, its neck caved in and half its skull shattered, lean over to take another bite.

 

He wanted to scream, for money, for life, for his wife. Instead he laid there and silently endured just one more in the long string of looters common to those times.

 

You Died

OR…

Hours Later…

Published on February 2, 2009 at 9:26 PM  Leave a Comment  

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