Samuel snapped into focus and rushed into the creature…

He lurched into its midsection and pushed it over.  Others went spilling over and the thing’s arms went reaching wildly for the others in the crowd.  A man’s coat was grabbed and he fell to the floor.  A foot crashed into his temple and he spilled to the tile.  Samuel watched the man struggle while he got trampled to death.  The crowd was in disarray.  People began to fall and Samuel desperately pushed his way around and over them. 

 

He felt something grab his ankle and he stumbled. They were beginning to dissipate.  When the room got clearer, he made his way across the tile toward the doors.  He stepped over the few that were unlucky enough, but he did not notice the rotting bastard that had tried to kill him earlier.    


He was getting closer to the door when something grabbed him. It felt much stronger than a human which is why Samuel instinctively felt it was some thing, not some one. It whirled him around and swiped him, bare handed, right across the jaw. Samuel went down and landed on his side, the gun shifted and scraped against his lower back. People were shouting, and the shouts seemed to actually be directed at something other than a teller.


“It’s a scrap you want eh?” It was the creature.  Was this in his own mind? “Listen here scooter, I’m gonna make you wish your daddy pulled out. Let’s see you flap your gums after I knock your block off!” Samuel rushed this thing and took it to the floor, but it fought back. He felt it land hard on it’s back, but it seemed to feel nothing. He looked it in its cold, milky pupils.  The snarl was ferocious and the thing kicked like a mule.


He slugged it firm across the face and pasted it one in the gut. It groaned and Samuel could hear the dull thud of flesh to flesh contact. He hit it pretty hard, it seemed to quit kicking. He laid one real good on its other cheek to make sure. His hands were covered in blood, thick milky blood. He was outside now, had actually stumbled out at some point. People stared at him while he backed out and dusted the pecoat off. He removed another cigarette and struck a match.


More of them came from the bank and Samuel sucked on the Chesterfield.  It was now or never, a feeling he’d known very intimately from times he’d have preferred to forget.

Published on February 2, 2009 at 10:13 PM  Leave a Comment  

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