Jeb Stokes, old man on the street. Poor, homeless and as destitute as a hobo can be. The last bottle of booze is already finished, if he could have it any other way he would kill himself. Yet there is not even a single strip of razor on his hand. How did life turn out like this? what went wrong? the man though to himself. As he began to cry himself to sleep there is a warm sensation above his belly.
The warm scent of bread, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and ham. It was a sandwich, yet he is the only person laid out in this alley. Since some psychopath burned one of his friends after dousing her with gasoline, the heat of the bread brings out vivid memories of that day.
The smell of burn. Ginger hair, freckles. Green eyes. Pale skin. The smell of burn. Reddish black skin. Screaming. Ash. The Smell of burn. Corpse. Loneliness. Pain. The smell of bur
Jeb immediately discarded his bread and distanced himself away from the oddity, his mind became more clear. Snapping out of a looping flashback as he hyperventilated, holding his chest because fo the shock
"Jesus, mary and joseph..."
It was in the middle of the night, around 11pm and he can sense 'something'. His instinct tells him to stand up, that which he did without a moment of hesitation. Long baggy pants, wet with urine and rain water. A shirt of a death metal band picked from a concert, some girl thought it would be a good idea to show her cantaloupes to the lead guitarist. A 'hat' from a dead geriatric from the park, something of an aneurysm.
He threw up breakfast, lunch and whatever it is he had for dinner. Then he swallowed back his glob upon thinking of the waste, yet the backflow of the puke made him vomit even harder. Bits of corn, bread mulch and old meat melded together to puddle on the side of a trash can.
The sudden reaction made his bladder a bit loose, and with the same reaction he made a waterfall in his ragged pants. A dark shadow expanded on the outside of his pants, yet he managed to get a good grip on his bowels to prevent an avalanche on the backside.
Taking a while to compose himself the hobo began to limp away from the source of the vibes, he's got a piece of plank from the ground to defend himself. There is a nail stuck to one side, and blood from a pigeon. As if the situation couldn't get any worse the weather began to cry, the hat drooped down because of the heavy rain. Jeb slips on a used contraceptive and smacks his face on a beer bottle.
Large gashes occupy the bridge of his nose and the rim of his brow, he can't see properly since his eyes are bloodshot. The injuries added more color to his vocabulary as be began to wail, but in the large cloud of profanities there is a glint of difference.
A background noise that signified distress, a young woman has her back held against the red brick wall at knife point.
None of his business.
He is cut up and wounded yet there is this 'woman' who could end up as a 'use and abuse' case, the other man with the baseball cap has her hair pulled back and her teeth slammed against the wall. He looks again, not at her. Two men, younger than he is. Armed with a knife, the other with a gun. Jeb's got an old plank.
He wanted to die anyways, a crow began to caw. A supernatural portent that somebody is about to walk over into the other side. Jeb exposes his position and runs with the plank. Nothing else to do. Nothing left to live for. Nothing he can enjoy in this world.
Something he can do so that one life can continue.
A good day to die.
He hears a gunshot and felt a hot burning sensation at his chest, his legs become heavy and he started to stumble. The girl used this moment to run across to the open door, shuts it down. More smoke and light appear in front of the gunbarrel, each noise makes him closer to the earth.
Yet he feels a sensation, a surge of 'something'. Wounds blotch up with inky black liquid, chimeric and vibrant. Splashes of blood from gaping wounds become jagged protrusion, spiked implements of perforation. He jumped at the knife wielder. Belly to belly, cactus to jelly.
The blood vomit from his mouth coagulated into a solid form, a tendril tipped with a sickle-like protrusion. The gunman started to scream as more shots are fired, bang.
The shape began to move, a shot absorbed by the baseball cap wearing corpse.
bang, bang.
closer still. The scythe flails erratically in the sky.
click...
click, click, click, cli
The tendril swiped off the hand that welded the gun.
Then it landed on the shoulder of the gunman, the corpse's spikes began to remold into pincers. A loud scream is heard as the sound of gnashing took over the streets.
- Morning -
"What the fu.." Jeb awoke screaming, as he thought he was dead. Reaching his body to find out that he was not wounded at all, just scabs and bruises all over.
A nurse calmed him down as she peeled some apples for him, It was the girl whom he rescued from yesterday night .
As he sighed and lays back on his bed a black figure peers from a tree outside the window, a black squirrel.
Red eyes.
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