Monday, June 16, 2014

Atheist's Nightmare Part Two

I do the manly thing and flinch back, snapping the blinds taut once more, standing there waiting to hear the tell-tale moan of a zombie (they look dead and shamble, we’re going with zombie until shown otherwise). Minutes pass and I hear nothing, so I inch closer and pry open the blinds by the merest fraction, slowly spreading them wider as I took in what had happened to her.
I think her name was Lindsay. Or Loren. I don’t know, we were both really drunk when we met, and we didn’t stay with each other long. Looking at her now, I can see things haven’t been so great for her lately. Torn from where her left ear once was down to her clavicle was savaged flesh, glistening in the morning light, pale white and grey from the lack of blood coming from the wound, the fibrous sinews resembling the corded meat you pull from lobster legs with that little fork.  
She’s dressed in a thoroughly ruined Hello Kitty baby tee, having obviously been attacked while sleeping, shuffling around my narrow alley in nothing but that and her matching panties. She moved with an uneasy shuffle, limping heavily with her right leg, which was missing almost half of its inner thigh, brown chunks of clotted gore dripping from it with her every movement.
She seems to be pacing in front of my window, almost like she knows I’m in here, but can’t figure out what I’m in.
I decide to take a risk, and pull the blinds all the way up, revealing myself to her with only a cheap sheet of glass between us, so close we could actually touch each other if we wanted to.
And from the way she was chewing on a slice of her own cheek slowly, you could tell she wanted to. But she didn’t even react at the movement. I wave my hand a little in front of her unfocused eyes, to no effect.
Getting a sudden (and probably stupid) idea, I run over to the pile of crap that had been on the bookshelf, tossing books and globes aside until I found it: A plush Hamster from some Japanese cartoon that, when squeezed, would sing the show’s theme song in a series of horrible, high pitched squeals and cries that my roommate just loved to annoy me with.
I walk back over to the window, hamster plush in hand, and unlock the window slowly, as quietly as I could. Waiting for her reaction, I wedge the window open a nudge, a slight grind from the rail as it hadn’t been moved in recent memory creaking softly.
That got her attention. Her head swiveled until she was staring at where the noise had come from, near the middle of the window where the two panels meet. Her eyes rolled about in her head independent of each other before rolling forward, snapping back herself back into reality it would seem.
She groaned, low and soft, her hands reaching up for the opening in the window.
Fuck that.
I drop the hamster, its theme song going off as I step on it and snag the handle of my sword, stabbing out the opened window at the confused looking girl. My blade catches her exposed jawbone in the back causing her to flail and stumble backwards as I slice a good pound of sinew and bone from her head. I shudder as no matter how tipsy she gets, stumbling backwards from the force of the blow almost forcing her head to hit the ground, she pulls herself back up, almost as a snake would, in a seemingly boneless fashion.
My blow was a well struck one, essentially destroying her jawbone, which now dangles limply from the right side of her face in a permanent, and horrifying sneer, her tongue waggling at me with such force that it moved the dangling jaw and chin grotesquely in its pursuit for me.
She starts a low groan, much louder this time, so I vault through the window and slash at her upper body twice, once cutting a long ridge over her right breast, the second slicing deep into her neck. Neither wound bled, so much as oozed slowly a thick, viscous substance that stank of rot, like over ripened eggs. Her throat wound silencing her, she lunges forward at me, impaling herself on my sword as she tackles me to the ground, smacking me in the face with her free flying jaw.
She’s incredibly strong for her size, with no sudden bursts of strength, but a gradual and steady force that most athletes strive their whole lives to attain. Keeping her hands from gripping me is useless, as grabbing her by the wrists or forearms proves fruitless as she literally just pushes my hands aside as she continually pummels my face with her dangling jaw, her grey, leather tongue dancing free to lick at my skin, the texture of old paper coming to mind, all the while she’s quietly hissing through the severed throat, the wound large enough to fit an apple through it.
An apple…
Deciding to go for broke; I just stop resisting her hands as they continue to roam over me, and punch my right fist into her throat hole, ignoring the sucking noise that came every time she moved around my wrist, my fingers digging through thick, corded muscle until I had a firm grip. From there, I rolled backwards, taking her along with me, and plant both of my feet on her chest, accidentally squishing her sliced breast and causing a thick jet of some jellied substance that was now oozing up my pant leg, and push with all my might.
 Maybe it was because she was already decomposing, or it was from the numerous injuries she’d received from whoever had eaten part of her, but as I slowly pushed her off of me, with her spinal column wrapped in my thin-fingered fist, I can only gasp in horror as my plan backfires; yes it’s true that I’m pushing her body away, but her head isn’t moving whatsoever, other than the tongue’s perverse wagging.

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