Primordial Instinct

The night air is crisp and cool as your eyes flutter open to the sound of your beating heart. The pounding is faster and louder than it should be. Every beat feels like an explosion coming from the aching pain in your head.

The last thing you remember is someone attacking you from behind. The excruciating pain of his teeth in your neck burned your skin as your screams filled the night. Your fingers tore at his face pulling pieces of it off with your nails. You grabbed the largest rock you could find and bashed it into his skull, hearing the sickening crack of his cranium into his brain. Cold brain matter splashed on your face as he fell to the ground then you ran until your lungs burned and gave way to exhaustion.

The memory is dull and doesn’t seem to matter anymore. The festering wound in the back of your neck hurts and you know you must get to a hospital. The buzzing sound of a fly stops as you slap at your neck and feel something cold ooze between your fingers. Confused, you look at your hand. A sticky dark green, almost black substance that reeks of death and decay coats your palm and slowly drips to the ground.

You want to get up but you can’t feel your legs or even your arms at this point. Your useless limbs ignore your commands as you will yourself to move.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you cry out to the empty night. “Somebody help me!” Your voice carries and fades into the cold, dark air. It echos into the blackness of the quiet city that ignores your pleas of help. You hear the rustling sound of feet on the ground and incoherent grunts of other people nearby but no one comes to your aid.

The smell of rotting meat fills your senses as you slowly push yourself up from the ground. Looking around, you realize the stench is coming from your very own body. You look down at your tattered cloths and ashen grey skin, and in a bolt of confusion and terror, the memory of your attacker fades as the scent of fresh meat wafts in front of you. On instinct, your legs carry you to the origin of the delightful smell and as you stare at the others feasting upon the flesh of the crying woman, your stomach aches in hunger. She stares at you with watery eyes, seemingly unable to either run or scream. Blood spatters over her neck and face from somewhere beneath her shoulders. You follow the trail to the group of rotting corpses feasting upon her intestines.

No! Your brain screams but the sound you hear from your lips is a low grunt. As you fall down to your knees and begin to tear at the woman’s flesh, grabbing handfuls of bloody entrails, your consciousness slowly fades into a little black hole and ceases to be.

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Written by Spookyboorhodes
Content is available under CC BY-SA