HELLO EARLY DEATH - CHAPTER FIVE

WE ARE WILTING FLOWERS

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FIRST I SEE them fall, then I hear the sound. It is a little like popcorn. Blood is spattering over the ground. We are being shot.

The bullets slam into my skin like bits of hate. I realize we are being killed. I throw myself over the nearest kid, but feel him leave his body under me.

It is too late. It happened too fast. I lay there over him, protecting his lifeless form.

He won’t be hungry anymore. He won’t have to be afraid. All of this pain is over.

Their vehicles are getting closer. Our killers are almost here. Soon I will know the face of evil.

I can hear the little pile of death pills (bullets) slipping from my clothes and jingling to the ground under me.

My eyes are still closed. The vehicles stop. Any second they are going to discover me, and that is going to be bad for everyone. I can’t believe they murdered them all.

Their booted steps are swift as they move through our fallen bodies with intention.

I heard one of the children whimper and then more shots. The sounds stop. I won’t let them do this. What could I do?

I’m no action star. I’m not a massive mound of hard muscle. Furthermore, I have never used a gun in my life.

MORE SHOTS

‘COME ON! OPEN YOUR EYES! WHY WON’T MY BODY LISTEN!’

They burn. I don’t care. I force my peepers open and rise to my feet.

All eyes are on me. They are a ragtag bunch. They have body armour, including masks and weapons.

I run at the closest one; he is at least twice my size.

My bravery is met with a crash of bullets from every single gun. I think a young woman from their vehicle had joined in with a handgun. I turn and look at her, finding her fearful eyes.

She screams at the top of her lungs and shoots me in the face. I don’t even have a weapon. What is her deal?

Eventually there are only the hollow clicks of their death makers. The beautiful sound is like music to my ears—Pachelbel in D major.

BURNING INSIDE

My skin is getting very warm. My clothes are being licked by green flames. The fabric is burning and flaking off of my naked body.

They are screaming in the most horrendous fashion. I know I’m not a looker, but this is ridiculous.

The scavengers flesh is melting off their bones in goopy glops to the asphalt. The road is being painted in their radiated flesh as it leaves them.

Clumps of hair comes with it.

Their eyeballs pop and liquefy, melting down what is left of their moulting faces. Heavy bones falls out of their soft, soupy bodies and echoes a sickening thud against the ground.

Bodies no longer able to hold themselves up die there on the ground.

I walk to the car. The woman isn’t in it anymore. It looks like she tried to run away. I could see the puddle of bones that was once her, ten feet away.

THEY MADE THIS GRAVEYARD

The dull sky is smeared with the neon yellow-green of the poisoned world. I stand there below, taking a moment. My dirty hands on my naked knees as I dry-heave a bit. I thought I was going to vomit; I wanted to vomit, but I didn’t.

My stomach is sick, or maybe it is all in my head. I scan around, all the puddles of dead people. The kids are gone; the murderers are gone. Once again, the only one left is me.

Like any person, my next thought is my nakedness. Well, none of their clothes is usable. Maybe I could use one of their vehicles. Some tires are crystallized. It is safe to say none of them will work.

Back to being alone. Once again, everybody is dead.

I look ahead at the piles of mush and bone; beyond that, the rubble of society. One naked foot down on the asphalt, the first step of my trek through the wasteland, truly naked.

This is who I am now: a lonely monster.