Where my story takes shape

June 19, 2010

First Blood

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mrs. Smith @ 9:28 pm

I felt everything change. I felt it in my soul. I knew it like I knew my own name. I stopped in my track and turned and ran to the window to see Patty; Blood on my face and hands, and I knew no one would be looking at me.  Almost as though I knew what to expect but not knowing at all, I watched, palms pressed against the glass, marking prints of Patty’s blood. In the distance, I saw Patty crawl out of the truck then stand with the wind blowing in her face, her hair horizontal behind her, and her shadow cast long in front of her from the evening summer sun. She stood erect, like a wire doll. Tears gathered at the edges of my eyes because I couldn’t get myself to blink. My whole body shook when my tense muscles were unbearable. I should have killed her. Patty buckled over and crashed her knees into the ground. Foam billowed at her lips, like smoke that wouldn’t be free. Someone saw her fall down, and ran to assist. My mouth dropped, and I could only breathe in, not out. Patty’s skin turned pale and blue. The Good Samaritan tried to help her up, but Patty’s body was rigor mortis. In a moment, Patty’s body relaxed, then lacerations appeared all over her skin. The man tried to grab her face to get her to respond, and when he did that she attacked him.

I screamed so loud that I lost my voice. A few patrons and the gas station clerk ran out the door to see what I was screaming about. There on the asphalt was a carnage of blood and murder. Patty had ripped out the man’s throat with just her teeth. Her hands dug at the now dead man’s chest. She spluttered when she was done, and looked wildly around for her next victim. Everything became silent with only blood-curdling screams as the soundtrack. I created the walking dead. With all the guilt in the world, I ran out the station door and then rocket shot into the desert; Away from the screams, and the trucks, the road, and the hell I invited into the world.

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