a little bit of writing. if anyone thinks its worth continuing id like to hear feed back?

17 Nov

z1

the night air stunk of foul death. blood and bile painted the walls with muted violence, an abstract portrait of humanity. or what once was humanity. the sounds of moans echo’d in the next room. THUD!!! the door shook agressively, nearly coming off of its hinges.
he stood there, quietly catching his breath, his hands trembling with the weight of the axe. his eyes burned of swet, his body exhausted, clothes strewn in shambles amoung his beaten frame. the hanging light swung overhead, and a picture sitting on the end table caught his eye. The glass was broken, so he carefully picked up the frame, and examined what was apparently a family portrait. in the picture was an average family, dad smiling with his hand on the sons shoulder, mom sitting with the daughter on her knee; grandparents standing behind. everyone seemed to be so happy. the little girls face was lit up, hand clutching a thin silver chain with saphire pendant. on the bottom it said “family chirstmas”, and as he turned it over to inspect the back, a small shard of glass fell to the ground, making a sharp sound as it shattered on the floor. he stood motionless, holding his breath, and the room went silent.
SUDDENLY the door sprung open, and the remains of a large man stumbled into the room. it’s face covered in fresh blood, and its belly engorged to the point the skin was about to burst. it screamed horrifically, and as he swung the axe, the blood slicked handle came free of his hands and struck the undead horror in the stomach, spilling rotten human remains onto the floor. the creature stepped forward , slipping on its putrid waste and fell face down at his feet, struggling and twisting to get up. abandoning the axe which was now engulfed in the massive decaying structure of the undead, he reached for the chisel in his left back pocket. with this, he placed the blade at the base of the creatures skull, put his knee on blunt end of the handle, and dropped his weight on the tool. he could feel the bones crush under the weight, and the body went motionless. he fell back, fighting the urge to vomit, and sat there, gaging silently at the smell.
unarmed, and holding his breath, he crept into the next room, moved quietly around the partially eaten corpes of a half dozen unfortunates, and paused for a second next to the door. by now he had seen hundreds, maybe thousands of victims bodies. Victims of Solanum. video games didnt prepare him for the spray of hot human blood across his face, or the stench of children rotting in the streets. each new victims lifeless eyes told him volumes of human agony and torture. it was once a living room; now, far from it, it was a sentinal of death between him and the garage, his means of escape. light shone through small holes in the walls and window blinds, most likely bullet holes, and he could just make out the faces of the corpes. still warm with color and life, but quicky fading, changing. that was something he’d have to get used to. all the changes lately. a week ago, his dark hair was long and flowing, now it was buzzed, his clothes baggy, now militarized. he had learned the hard way that you dont want to put yourself at risk, when a zombie had grabbed him by the hair, pulling it out right from the scalp. if he hadn’t reacted as fast as he did with the knife, it would have gotten a firmer grip and he would have been lunch. he was smart. strike that, he was lucky, and he relied heavily on it.
next to the garage door he found a backpack and wooden bat. the bag contained basic first aid, clothing, a knife and zippo windproof lighter. finding a fresh shirt, he quickly changed, whipping the blood off his hands and face with the discarded one. the new shirt was black, with white lettering that read “temple”, and on the back, a large cross. he wasnt religious, but in this situation he found the word uplifting, reminding him to find sactuary. he put the backpack on, and with the bat hanging heavily from his right hand, he unlocked and opened the garage door. it was pitch black and silent, and after a few seconds of anxious hesitation, he stepped inside. with his left hand, he fumbled to light the zippo, with each spark he caught a glimps of the garage, giant exgeratted silhouettes dancing across the walls. awkardly managing a flame after several attempts, he held the lighter out infront of him, and crept forward. the garage seemed relitivaly untouched, but he couldnt trust anything, there was no margin for risks. two days ago, he was 3rd in command in a group of nearly three dozen. today he was alone. he found it easier though, he didnt have anything holding him back.
TING TING TING TING…..!!! an empty paint can rolled out from a dark corner of the room.
he paused for a moment to listen. the only sounds were his heartbeat and his watch, each second dragging on with what seemed a booming siren to the dead.
TICK TICK TICK TICK….
his heart was racing, and he could feel swet running down his brow into his eyes, which were still fixed on the dark corner. quietly at first, a low gurgling noise came from the dark, and as he stood there in terror, it began to grow. to move.
RRRAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
a female zombie lunged forward at him from out of the darkness. she was naked,her body- nearly skinned, coogulated blood hung disgustingly from her chin. In an instant, she crossed the room, jumping onto him and taking hold of his throat. he fell back, with the feind on top of him, one hand holding her by the neck and the other struggling to free his own. she screamed wildly, causing thick black blood to ooze from her skinless cheeks down his onto his hand. he tighten his grip around her neck until he could feel her windpipe collaps, but she wouldnt release her grip. he quickley looked around for something to use as a bludgen. he had to act fast, he could feel his mind slipping from the lack of oxygen, and his vision began to blur. rolling ontop of her, he grabbed her by the hair and throat, slamming the back of her head into the ground until a pool of blood had formed. the noise was revolting, like a melon dropping from a shopping cart. her body twiched and squirmed uncontrolably, but soon fell silent and motionless. her skin had been peeled off, and what was left looked like a mosaic of flesh and blood. there were long deep gouges out of her sides and arms, and what looked like burns and stab wounds covered her body. restraints made from tightly wrapped wire were still on both wrists and ankles. he looked at her body disgusted, trying not to vomit from shock and sensory overload. then he noticed the saphire necklace around her neck.

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