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#ok wait in the car and call 911 poison control
my-autistic-things · 3 years
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Little baby kittens go "mmmfph" and scrunch up their little noses and nobody stops them???
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jprandamonium · 6 years
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Notes on Curse and Cult
rat poison - one to two weeks effects = it happened in one night
nosebleeds—not caused by trauma to the nose bleeding gums—not caused by trauma to the mouth blood in the urine—this always warrants a trip to see the doctor bloody diarrhea—untreated, this can lead to shock hair loss—this is a very late sign of rat poison ingestion and it might be very difficult to put this together with possible ingestion extensive bruising—also a very vague sign that often won't make you think first of potential ingestion fatigue—a late and very dangerous sign of poison ingestion, but a common complaint for many other conditions shortness of breath—this warrants a call to 911 all by itself
did make you think he poisoned the girl, but the pastor
awww, lesbian content....
different voice in fake mode
really, even more lesbian content, web camming close - get one of them killed
his face kinda freaky, kinda tame
he was their neighbor?
there is a nanny cam in charles?
police hitting to a house late at night? - in the rain?
somehow remakeup-ed again, his arm
why choose someone so frail??
the dumb bastard with the nancy cam
he didn't turn human? what?
so charles liked the mom - killed her husband - he crippled the girl
this is the night of
some bad smack talk though, andy nocompletion
all people are stupid... even the main character - my hands, my fingers - oh his head is off, victory
again he is not human or bleeding - new enchantment on the new body
oh that bastard ass,, frame up
dumb cop too
no one mentioned about tiffany
the girl is alive - with grandma
so he picked a girl because no one will expect seems like it is a victory
so confused, where's the surprise ending? okay... damn amc
wait... the nanny cam ---------------------------------------------------
nice charles's head ready for torture
speed of the between
shock therapy... really
painful "treatment"
more homo content slid in, nurse man husband
this weird lady..
well doc tell them why she is laughing
different voice
that guy knows what is up, should make them a guy from 3rd - mark/malcolm
tiffany visits? - she got alice now?!?  - she's died?!? - so 3 kids
charles is there now - re make-up'ed
chucky and the old girl lol
making her suffer
so how... 2 places at once
why is there no pain or blood?
the nurse is weird, leave ma alone
where's the cameras?                     --------
how did the press get in?
andy has one more
wow two dolls are alive now - someone stole it
cameras damn it!
well dumb ass check the cameras - they were erased?! What the.. ?!?
how would he know about the cameras
ok, the doc takes advantage of her - what the ...
he's died
those mind games!! Chucky games
so he did control her, ... - no a "dream"
malcolm is different - charles
the doc is alive, got hit in the head         - how the hell was she able to get a bottle?
andy is coming for tiffany - driving
lol she is going to kill him - she kinda did it lol - lol his eyes are closed - she "knocked him out"
lol buried him XD - with only one shoe
andy goes in... moron move - punches a guy gets him committed I prefer he hunting tiffany
andy mailed his in there
charles wants that shoe!
that frickin nurse... ashley
wow, he talked to her - assisted death
the nurse quits
one armed again - thrown away
he loves the crazy ones? - doc
he cares for a book deal sending her back
red shoes, what the... - ok sick
another head shot
lol kill him or take notes
he wants her to kill him or someone
wait, kinda stealing from slappy right?
voodoo for dummies . com - anyone or anything possessed
he did use alice for murder
oh dang that man nurse - group murder
lol who gets to kill andy - that hair
red car - tiffany doll tiffany kills the guard
nika can stand! - after a spell
oh damn the doc - stomped to death
she walks out
ashley got killed by malcolm no he didn't
so he was in his head
lesbian content
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erinbrooks · 7 years
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Yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my father’s passing. We had a very mixed relationship. Good and bad. Growing up with a legally blind, type 1 diabetic father who had 2 herniated discs in his neck and back was hard. There were many times when I would have to call 911 for help because I couldn’t get Daddy’s blood sugar under control.
I was told that my father originally wanted my Mom to abort the pregnancy because he didn’t want children. That is why he got with my Mom because they both thought that she couldn’t have kids, well oops. I remember playing downstairs in the basement with Dad when Mom was upstairs complaining of a headache and what was turning into fibromyalgia. They divorce when I was 5 and I lived with Mom and the weekdays and Dad on the weekends. He bought me every toy I couldn’t want and we had lots of vacations. Every Saturday Dad and I would go out for our Saturday shopping. This consisted of taking a cap to the cleaners, the grocery store, the mall (where I would wait born out of my mind while Dad bought tons of clothing and shoes) blockbusters and McDonald's. We normally left around 9 and didn’t get back till 12 or 1 ish.
My Dad would occasionally play with me but for the most part on the weekends I was on my own. He did love to watch me ride horses which I did on the weekends as well. As I got older my father became more verbally abusive. Telling me I was fat when I used food to compensate for having more responsibility with Mom. He would verbally abuse Mom in front of me and would go behind my back in school with my teachers to find out why I didn’t want to have a social life of living my life the way he wanted me to. When Randy came along things got really bad. Dad saw Randy as a threat that he was gonna take me away from him. He had more reasons to hate Randy because he was not Jewish or white collar. My Mom passed in 2005 and when we were viewing her body, Dad went up to her and said she did this to herself cause she smoked all those cigarettes. I was given the option one day to stay with my father or be with Randy and I chose to be with Randy. I was disowned then. I did try to reconcile with my father a few times but every phone call he was bashing Randy. So I stopped trying. We had no contact for 6-7 years and I had been written our of the will and later found out that Dad got rid of any evidence that he had a daughter that he could find. About a year after Sammy was born I had a dream that Mommy and Grammy were telling me it was time to reconnect with my family and that included Dad. The next day I called my Aunt Sharon and was able to meet with her and my Pop Pop (both of whom I ran from because of their constant bugging for me to fix things with my father) I didn’t know how to facing things back then, I just knew how to run from them. So that weekend we went to my Dad’s house and I was horrified at what I saw. My father always was a buyer, I need 10 of this and 14 of that, but since I had been gone his vision and his herniated discs had declined even more so seeing and cleaning were very hard for him. But what Randy and I walked into was a disgusting house covered it dirt and a collection of things. This house could have easily been on Hoarders. It baffled me that there were pathways and that my in constant pain blind father was able to navigate this disaster. The once off-white linoleum of the kitchen floor was now caked with a brown coating and there were mounds of soap, gloves, jackets, shoes, talking watches, diabetic supplies all over the place.
I had to watch Sam around this house because there were open lancets my father couldn’t see to clean or throw out! I know if he could have seen what his house looked like he would have been disgusted. Aunt Sharon who had been helping my father in my absence and I tried to get him to hire a cleaner but my bigot of a father was too afraid that anyone would steal from him. Over the next few years I spent trying to make his house as livable as possible, I took him our every Friday and he got to know Sammy some.
He was still the cold man for of negativity and hatred but he was my father and of course, I still loved him, just as he still loved me. Even though he made me want to bang my head into the wall sometimes from his stubbornness I never regretted the 3 years I spent helping him. Towards the end though things were getting very bad for my father’s health. My father’s diabetes was getting out of control causing reactions and crazed episodes where he would break things or fall and hurt himself. Sadly Randy’s car had broken so he was using mine for the time being so I was unable to drive to see if my father was ok. I had made an arrangement with the neighbors that we would both call throughout the day to make sure my father was ok. I had tried multiple times to get him in assisted living and he flat out refused. I tried to get him a nurse to help him out and he refused. It got so bad with the paramedics coming 1 to 2 times a week that I tried to get social services involved, but my father was able to stop their efforts.
On Feb 20, 2014, Dad wasn’t answering my phone calls and neighbor the neighbors. They went over to see if he was ok and ended up calling the paramedics. They found him and they thought he was dead until they found a pulse and rushed him to the hospital. I got a ride to his house and was in awe at what I had found. He somehow had locked himself in the bathroom and had punched through the wall and then through the door in a whirl of diabetic confusion. It looked like someone had a sledgehammer and was just going to town. There was blood everywhere, the TV in his room was smashed to bits and it looked like a crime scene. I spent the day cleaning the house as best I could. I filled up 4 giant trash bags of stuff. If I had known how bad he was then I would have gone and seen him sooner but I wasn’t told till around 4pm. The hospital called me and finally told me that I should come in and see him that he was in very bad shape. Since he had fallen into a diabetic coma the circulation in his left leg had died and had now become necrosis. He needed surgery to remove his leg up to the hip joint to save his life, but there was one problem. His blood pressure was too unstable due to the dying leg poisoning his body to survive the surgery.
Randy left work and took me to see Dad. The man laying in bed was barely alive and looked nothing like the stubborn full of life man I had once known. I just couldn’t stay there I told him how much I loved him and kissed his cold lips avoiding all the tubes he was hooked up to. I walked out and was asked what my ruling on my father's future was. I thought I wanted to do everything to save him but at the same time I knew that this man who had fought for his independence for so long would wish he had died being condemned to a wheelchair and constant care in a home, if by slim chance he should survive the surgery, which the doctors were 99% sure he wouldn’t. So I said to let him be. My father passed that night at 11pm.
As much of a burden that he was at the end of all of this and as much as he abused me and hated at Randy he was still my father and I love him with all my heart! I miss you Daddy and I know you are so much happier in heaven now.
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theoccultarchives · 6 years
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Zombie Novel in the Works
Working on something a little different as of late. Just a little snippet of this upcoming story...
        You could call us a few things: Revenant, Ghoul, Undead, Lych…Zombie. Pick your poison, but they were all the same on some level.           Soulless, mindless, stark-raving mad, flesh hungry creatures with not a drop of supposed morality or self-control and only one uncontrollable urge—to consume.            Whether it be brains, or blood, or fleshy muscle and sinew, we had the need to consume everything in our paths.           We were cannibals, only wanting to taste the sweet, succulent flavor of human tissue as we gnashed and sucked meat from bone and brain from skull.            We were pariahs, devils, evils from the darkest corners of human thought, but we were human too…or we were at some point.            Everyone acted like it was our fault that we wanted to hunt them down, rip limb from body, and feast upon the meat that coated their bones, but that wasn’t a fair assumption.           We never asked to be this way. We never asked to lose our humanity and be forced to only eat that which was once ourselves. But we had no choice. Something made us this way and we had no ability to control it.           I didn’t know how it worked. I didn’t know what it was that had infected us and dumbed us down to the point that the only thought in what was left of our minds was to eat—and to eat our own kind.           I used to love meat as much as the next zombie—er, person, but that was when I craved a nice rare hamburger or a piece of fried chicken…not my next door neighbors brain meat.            When it first happened, when the virus or whatever it was hit me, I didn’t understand. I wasn’t attacked and bitten to be turned like some of the others, I was unfortunately chosen by the virus and most likely one of the first ones to turn.            I was minding my own business, waiting for the bus so I could hopefully get to work on time when the lady sitting next to me puked on my shoes. I thought it was just my luck that this would happen on a Monday after I had already lost my keys, discovered I had a flat tire, ended up with gum in my hair thanks to my shitty roommate and her habit of falling asleep drunkenly on the couch while she chawed away on Juicy Fruit. I spilled coffee on my laptop as I woke up late, frantically trying to finish my presentation before I had to go and stand up in front of my colleagues to pitch my latest idea for the magazine.            It wasn’t an ideal job, I wanted to be a writer, but not a columnist for a fashion magazine. It just wasn’t my thing, but it was money, and in that world, you needed money to survive, to eat.            I didn’t need that now. Everything that walked on two legs was food. I wasn’t proud of what I had become, but like I said—I didn’t have a damn choice.            But I digress. Back to the woman that retched all over my new boots…            “Hey!” I jumped up off the bench as putrid chunks of that morning’s breakfast hit my shoes.            “I’m—I’m so sorry.” The middle-aged woman apologized, rifling around in her purse for a handkerchief.            “It’s ok.” I softened, trying to shake the vomit from my boots.           “I haven’t been feeling well. I should’ve stayed at home, but you know how it is.” She tried to mop the slop from my feet.            “Yeah, Mondays.” I shrugged, helping her clean up my feet with a napkin I found inside my own bag.           “I hope your day goes better than I assume mine will.” The woman cast me a half-smile that I returned as the bus pulled up and we both climbed on board.            The ride to work was uneventful, even quiet, as everyone sat silently in their seats reading books or listening to music with their headphones on. I spent my time looking out the window at the buildings and city trees that passed by me in a blur.           This isn’t what I wanted for my life, this isn’t what I had planned that I would be doing by now, but it was all I had and something was better than nothing.            The bus made its stop a few blocks from my job and I hopped off and power-walked it down the sidewalk before jaywalking over to my office building and rudely shoved past someone who was more focused on their phone than they were on actually getting to their destination.            I scrambled into the elevator and made it up to the thirteenth floor before bolting to my cubicle to prepare my presentation which was in less than fifteen minutes at that point.            “You’re late.” Mariah hovered over me as I tried to get my laptop to boot up and do what it was supposed to do.           “Yeah, I know. It’s been a bitch of a morning,” I replied as I mashed buttons angrily, trying to get the computer to fucking work. ��         “Mr. Markle was asking where you were. They changed the meeting to 8:30.” Mariah looked over my shoulder as my computer crashed and I tried not to scream.            “But it’s—” I checked my watch, “Fuck! Almost nine!” I slammed my laptop shit, working or not, and hoofed it to the conference room where Mr. Markle and the rest of the advertising and writing team was waiting for me.            “Miss North. You’re late.” Mr. Markle spoke flatly as I took my seat and attempted to get my computer to boot up again.            “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know that the meeting time had been changed.” I apologized, repeatedly punching keys on my keyboard.            “Maybe if you checked your e-mails like you’re supposed to.” He scolded me and I cringed.            “I’m so sorry.” I apologized again.            “Is your presentation ready? You’re up first.” He pointed at me.           “Um, it was—is. I’m just having some technical difficulties.” I continued to try and get the laptop working and I could feel myself sweating as I panicked.            “Any day now, Miss North.” Mr. Markle stood at the head of the table as all eyes fell on me.           “Ok. I may just have to start without my Powerpoint. My computer seems to be having issues.” I could see where the sugar from my coffee had crystalized in my keys. I got up from the chair and rounded the table to where Mr. Markle was standing as he took his seat to my right and I pulled a rolling white board from the corner to start sketching out my ideas.            “So, I was thinking that with this new issue and Fashion Week coming up, maybe we could focus on some local designers and artists and maybe do a section where we can interview them on their inspiration and their process, maybe showcase a few of their favorites pieces and—”            “Mm, I don’t think so. No one is interested in local designers. They want to know what is going on in the world of High Fashion, not what Sally Dress-Maker is doing in the Bronx.” Mr. Markle shook his head.            “Uh, well…maybe if we talked to them about what High Fashion designers influenced their work—” I started down a different track, while still keeping my idea alive.           “Nope. No. You don’t have anything else, do you?” Mr. Markle had his pen to his mouth as I stood in front of him and a room of at least twenty of my colleagues with a dry erase marker in my hand.           I wasn’t a person who cried at the drop of a hat, but with the stress that the morning had put me under, I was swallowing hard so as not to blubber in front of everyone.            I opened my mouth and closed it a few times like a fish out of water looking for a response, but something outside the office saved me.            “What’s that sound?” My colleague Brenda stood up from her seat and craned her neck to see past Mr. Markle and out through the window that faced the street.            He turned and glanced behind him, did a double take, and got up from his chair.            “Jesus Christ. Someone call 911.” He waved his hand behind him as he stood plastered to the window.            Everyone got up from their expensive ergonomic chairs to see what he was looking at, myself included.           There had been a car wreck—no, a pile-up, right outside the office. There was a mangled bike and a cluster of people on the sidewalk screaming.            I thought that maybe someone had gotten struck at the crosswalk and others swooped in to help, but that wasn’t the case.            The man in the bike helmet had a woman pinned on the ground and was howling as he swiped at other people who tried to pry him away.            One man finally did and I could see that the woman had her throat torn out, her eyes wide and glassy as she stared up at the blue sky.            “The police are on their way.” Mr. Markle’s assistant came to inform him as the deranged cyclist leapt on another man and began tearing into the meat of his face.            Everyone in the room gasped and Brenda screamed as I took a step back from the window.           What the hell was this guy on? Steroids? A new performance enhancing drug? High on a new blend of kale and wheatgrass juice?            Then the most impossible thing happened…           The woman who had previously had her throat torn out and was very clearly deceased, began to pull herself up from the sidewalk and surprised another bystander with an ungodly strong bear hug.            “Holy—did anyone else see that?” Brian, my cubicle mate, asked.            I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from what was happening.           “Call down to security and have them lock the building down. I don’t know what’s going on, but this is too close for comfort.” Mr. Markle stepped away from the window and instructed whoever was listening to make a call.            Everyone was talking all at once, mumbling to one another about what was going on and my first thought was to run…so I did.            I left the conference room amidst the hub-bub and went back to my cubicle, packed my laptop, and made my way to the emergency exit just as I could hear the sirens of an ambulance and police vehicles pulling up out front.            I came out through the side entrance that was usually used for emergencies only to see the rotating blue and red lights as I turned the corner of the building.            “Hands up where I can see them! Get on the ground! Get on the motherfucking ground!” An officer yelled as I peered out into the street.            He was yelling at the throatless woman, but was paying no attention to the cyclist, the soccer mom with her coifed pixie, and the sign guy that usually stood on the corner doing tricks with his advertisements for the Deli around the corner. All of them were behaving in the same manner and began to charge towards the officers, grunting and spitting as they tackled one after the other and took them down to the pavement screaming.            What the fuck was happening?           I could feel myself begin to sweat and I assumed it had something to do with the panic that was bubbling inside me as I witnessed what was going down.            “Keep it together, Calli.” I whispered to myself as I pulled my bag in close and booked it in the opposite direction.            I was probably going to be fired, or at the very least penalized for leaving work without telling anyone, but I had this sense of urgency; something was telling me to get away from everybody…and fast.            I made it to the closest bus stop and waited impatiently with shaking knees for the first bus to pull up and take me home.            But the bus didn’t come. There was supposed to be a ten AM bus, but there wasn’t one. I was now hearing multiple wails from ambulances, fire trucks, and cop cars, but no sound of the diesel that usually accompanied the bus.            “Fuck.” I cursed, picking my feet up to keep moving down the street.            I was at least twelve blocks away from my apartment, but I had this need to get home and to get home now.           I wasn’t feeling so well as I hobbled down the sidewalk clutching my messenger bag. I was sweating more now, almost drenched from head to toe even though it wasn’t more than sixty degrees out and I felt my head pounding as I began to cough like I had smoked two packs a day for my whole life.            My gut was churning, my knees were weak, and my throat was raw as I came to a crosswalk and just missed getting hit by a damn bus as it ran the red light and crashed into two taxis and an SUV.            I jumped back on the sidewalk and lost my balance as I landed hard on the pavement, my laptop crunching beneath me as I fell.            I felt sick, like I had the flu, but worse…            My hand flew to my face as I tried to pick myself up and wipe the sweat from my cheeks…but it wasn’t sweat.           There was blood covering my hand and I began to panic as people got out of their cars to check on the victims of the wreck and I pulled my compact from my purse.            I almost screamed as I saw my own reflection.           My eyes were bloodshot, but somehow jaundiced at the same time and the irises were dark like they had been injected with black ink. Blood was running from the corners and dripping down my face like tears as I began to cough violently, more blood staining my other hand as I covered my mouth.            “Ma’am, have you been hurt?” There was a man standing next to me on the corner who had obviously seen the bad wreck.           “No, I’m—ugh uuuuuck—I’m fine.” I coughed and wheezed, holding my stomach as I felt it churn like it did that one time I had eaten bad shrimp.            “You don’t look fine.” He replied, laying his hand on my shoulder.           I could smell him, and despite the fact that I was feeling sick to my stomach…he smelled like a wonderful, delectable meal.             “No, I’m ok.” I jerked myself away from him and ran in the opposite direction, away from my apartment and the people gathering on the streets.            I could now hear helicopters overhead as I jogged down the street, leaving my busted laptop behind. I passed people running in a completely different direction as they screamed, crazed individuals hobbling closely behind them with constricted limbs and gnashing mouths.            I wanted to stop, but I was too scared to help as I sprinted across the street and holed myself up in an alley.           “What the hell is happening?” I fumbled for my phone in my bag as I attempted to find a livestream for the city that would give me some sort of information.            “Bedlam has broken out in New York City as citizens are being violently attacked by crazed individuals that are assumed to be under the influence of some sort of super street drug. Multiple deaths have been reported totaling close to the hundreds as police respond to the scenes. Many officers have either been killed or injured and aren’t sure the exact cause of the violence.” I watched as the news anchor debriefed the populace, “In other news, cases of a highly contagious flu strain are being admitted to Bellevue and Lennox hospitals. Doctors are working around the clock to come up with a working treatment, but so far any sort of solution seems resistant. Individuals with the following symptoms are urged to make a trip to the emergency room as soon as possible: high fever, intense body sweats, nausea and vomiting, uncontrollable coughing, migraines, and bleeding from any orifices. More information to come as it is reported.”            I felt my breathing quicken.           I was sick. I had almost all of those symptoms. Now was not the time to be making a trip to the ER. Something crazy was going on in the city and I didn’t want to be stuck in the hospital.            More screaming was heard outside the alley as I emerged and continued to make my way home.            The sound of crashing cars, people shouting, and now gunshots were ringing out around me.           My knees were becoming weak as I coughed harder and wiped the blood from my eyes…then the nausea got the better of me.            I stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk and evacuated everything that was in my stomach and then some. A soupy red mess came pouring from my throat as I purged the contents of my stomach, my hands to my knees as I gasped for air.            Everything was happening so quickly. I had felt fine this morning, albeit a bit pissed off, but not ill.           Though, here I was, vomiting on the corner of Carmine and Bleecker, drenching the sidewalk in what looked like bloody coffee grounds.           My insides felt like they were melting as I tried to move forward, but my stride was slowed as my body weakened and I sucked in air to inflate my lungs that were sore and feeble.            Where had I gotten sick? I was usually so good about not getting the crud and it was past flu season…            The puking lady at the bus stop.            That bitch.            I tried to keep going, but my vision was getting blurry and my feet were heavier than normal.            Even though my stomach was churning and the bile was sloshing around in it like a tumultuous ocean, I was hungry.           And not for bagels or a Reuben sandwich slathered in sauerkraut—I wanted something a little more fresh and enlightened.            I hungered for thoughts, urges, dreams, ideas, emotions…            I wanted the gray matter.           “No.” I shook my head hard and trudged forward down the street like I was walking through a snow storm, but the thought of fresh brain meat, all pink and squiggly with knowledge and ideas made my stomach twitch with hunger pangs.            I vomited again, so hard I thought my eyeballs were going to eject from their sockets and roll down the street.           Then I felt my body seize, the locking of joints and that rigid sensation your muscles feel when you start to get a charlie horse. I collapsed in the street, slipping off the lip of the sidewalk and right into the gutter as my body locked up. I started to lose consciousness as I began to vomit thick dark blood once again.            This wasn’t the flu, it was fucking death and I couldn’t stop it.           The last thing I remembered as I flailed on the asphalt was that intense craving for human flesh and sticky sweet brain meat.            That was just the beginning of it, though.           I’m pretty sure I died, or my body did at the very least, and when I “woke up” I was still lying face first in the gutter with sirens wailing all around me and blood curdling screams of people in the distance.            Something was really wrong.           My body felt like it was vibrating at such an accelerated level. I couldn’t control my body movements, my arms jerking about at my sides as I tried to use them to push myself up off the asphalt. My knees were shaking and my legs wobbled like a baby calf fresh from its mother.            An explosion to my left that would have normally caused me to duck and cover my head, didn’t even make me flinch.           The air was hot now. Hot and thick with a scent I had never had the pleasure of inhaling before. It was raw and sweet like burning cloves and scorched cedar.            I needed it. Whatever it was, I needed it.            No, I wanted to eat it.           Like the smell of burgers on the grill or bacon in a skillet permeated my surroundings and I felt myself hobbling towards it at a slow speed.           Eventually I became accustomed to the vibrating within me and began to sprint down the vacant street to the nearest intersection where I was sure the smell was coming from.            And I was right. That’s where the smell originated from…but it wasn’t coming from a hot dog cart or falafel stand.           It was wafting from a group of people who were stuck in a multi-car pileup, panicking as they tried to lock their doors and roll up their windows as other people frantically tried to break into those cars while gnashing their teeth.            They looked—weird. Not like uniquely dressed or with rainbow spiked hair…I mean, weird.            Like, oddly similar to the way I looked before I face-planted in the gutter.            And then it hit me.           I was hungry and the woman in the soccer mom van was frantically trying to get her car started despite the fact that the front end was smashed all to hell, smelled like fresh steak.            Then, there I went.           Rushing forward as I slammed my full body up against the driver's side door, banging my fists into the window as I let out incoherent groans, clicking my teeth furiously.            I was starving and she looked like a fucking snack.           None of the other weirdos were paying her attention so I didn’t have to fight for my food as I finally cracked the window and punched my fist through the glass.            The woman was screeching, clawing at me with her perfectly manicured nails as I yanked her through the busted glass, the sharp edges tearing at the flesh on her face and arms. The smell of the blood was just an appetizer to the meal that I was about to enjoy.            She was screaming bloody murder as I finally pulled her portly body completely from the vehicle and cracked her head against the door a few good times so she would stop with the goddamn screaming. Whimpers and feeble protests still came from her as I opened my mouth as wide as it would go and bit down on the side of her face.            Who knew that my teeth were strong enough to tear right through the top of her cheekbone? I felt the eye socket crumble, ejecting the eyeball from her skull as she began to scream again.            Oh my God, if she wasn’t the most scrumptious thing I had ever tasted!           I slurped her optical nerve into my mouth like a piece of spaghetti before crunching down on the eyeball itself, the insides squishing between my teeth.            But that wasn’t enough, that was just a hor d'oeuvre compared to the meal I was about to have.           I gripped the wound I had just created in her face with both hands and yanked, cleaving her skull in two like you would tear a tail from a lobster.            Theeere was that smell that had beckoned to me from down the street.           Her brain was still pulsating in her skull as the blood continued to course through her body and I began to feast on the grey matter.            It tasted like chocolate cake, rare steak, fried potatoes—a slimy pink, cranial Everlasting Gobbstopper.           She finally stopped making noise at this point and I ate my fill before tossing her body into the side of her vehicle and wandering off to find the next meal because…            I was still hungry.            No—I was starving, and I needed to fill the void in the pit of my stomach lest it drove me insane.            But nothing would stop that hunger, that blood lust, that need for food that would satiate nothing.            I was a monster, but at that moment nothing mattered more than finding the next brain that I would devour.                                And that leads us to now, or sort of to now.           I wasn’t sentient enough at the time to get the full effect of what happened, but apparently it was straight out of a Romero film.           People who were infected ate people who weren’t and if they survived then they became infected too and the cycle perpetuated on down the line till there weren’t many people left that weren’t infected.           And when I say many, it seemed that over 85% of the population in any given place had become either infected or dead, leaving the living a minority in a quickly crumbling world.            Those left alive fought for their lives at first and then eventually fought each other to preserve their lives, or so they said, and everything went to shit.           I survived all of this. I mean, I survived not getting a bullet to the brain or a knife through the skull, but I would hardly call what I did for the last nine years living.            I mean, I’m a zombie for Christ’s sake. I’m no one’s favorite person and generally considered to be a threat or, at this point, a social pariah.            And yes, I know that sounds ridiculous to call myself a social pariah because zombies don’t exactly have social structures or even people skills for that matter, but I was different.            There was no one like me that I knew of. I was the only one. The only zombie in existence who evolved from a devolved life form that had one been the highest evolved being on the food chain. Sound confusing? Yeah, I’m still confused about it. Why was I still infected, still craving brains, still clearly dead-ish—but I was walking, talking, and thinking like a normal human being? Where had things changed? From terrifying brain eating monster to somewhat normal human-like monster with the mental faculties and cognitive functions like the regular humans. I didn’t know where things went wrong…or went right.            But life goes on.
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