Zombie

In the end days,
The Spirit of the Lord will be lifted from the earth,
and Hell shall be unleashed upon it.
Biblical Prophecy

My name is Kane Atherton. I’m 27 years old, married with two children, and today during my lunch break, I will go home to murder my wife and best friend. They have been secretly seeing each other behind my back, and now I have proof. Once I get there: I will enter my bedroom where they will be making love, and I will then unload eight shotgun shells into the matted bed sheets until they become stained the same grotesque color as both of their mutilated corpses. To do this, I will have to reload three times—Gerald Mason Lee was sentenced to death last year when a jury of his peers proclaimed his guilt for having reloaded only once. Since then over a dozen murderers have been given life for killing their spouse and lover using only the ammunition initially contained inside the ignition chambers.

Once I am satisfied that both of them are dead, I will proceed into my kitchen to enjoy a nice steak dinner and a tall glass of whiskey. After I have finished eating, I will go into the living room where I will then blow my brains out with the English Side-by-Side shotgun that my wife and kids got for me on my last birthday.

At least, that was the plan; but plans never go as intended. . . .

* * *

It has been going on for quite some time, I recall as I blow lightly into the Styrofoam cup of coffee; I press it firmly against my chin so that I can feel the heat rising up over my lips. A wisp of gray steam escapes from the pungent liquid as an aromatic ribbon that floats gently into my nostrils, but I never knew with whom.

There’s only five minutes left before the lunch bell sounds, but with every click of the secondhand an eternity seems to pass. I stare at the big round face of the clock, but I can only see the photos taken of them holding hands, kissing, lost in each others arms and laughing . . . about . . . me probably. How stupid I must be not to have known. . . .

How could they do this to me? I’ve known both of them my entire life—has it been going on the entire time? There is no excuse for what they’ve done to me, and there is one—and only one—way to remedy this. It may seem drastic to others at first, but my actions will be just. The constant pain and jealous rage that has haunted me ever since I found out has been . . . been . . . indescribable.

There is nothing lonelier than a heart’s desire—no matter who you fall in love with, they will never love you the same.

I just can’t keep these horrible thoughts from entering my head and controlling my emotions—how happy they seem together. My abdominal muscles contract painfully, twisting my stomach into seizing knots. Images of the two lovers spin faster through my mind, whirling my head uncontrollably until the acidic taste of vomit grounds me once again.

Trying to shake free, I see my knuckles glow white as my fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup. Hot black liquid streams over my finger joints, burning red streaks into the skin, but the pain is diminished by the adrenaline that is fueling this anguish eating away at my gut.

I look at the clock to note the time lapse: 26 seconds? That’s all?

It seems that time is moving for everyone else but me, as though I’m stuck in some sort of time warp trapping me in hell.

My thoughts seize control of me again, pulling me back into the mental room where all of their pictures have been plastered over the walls and ceiling. It locks me inside of my head, imprisoning me as each image slashes across my mind, lacerating deep gashes into my sanity.

My only escape from this captivity comes as a seething fury breaks me loose, casting me into a raging inferno of hate that has now consumed me. I spiral into great ire that shields me from any pain those worthless fucks have caused.

I’m back inside my home again—this is where I continue to come ever since the moment I received those photos. This is where I plan everything right down to the last second, until everything comes out perfect.

I enter the bedroom, my loaded shotgun in hand, and my wife is lying naked in bed while Bryan is showering in the connected bathroom. I quickly take aim at her head as her jaw drops to scream—silence. Inching around the corner of the bed, I can see his fleshy profile through the hammered glass shower door—the water splashes amplify as they echo against the bathroom walls.

While my focus is aimed in the bathroom, Heather slowly reaches for the bed sheets to cover her bare breasts as she slides away towards the opposite corner of the bed.

Before she can say a word, I snap my index finger tightly against my lips, pressing until I feel my teeth cutting into the flesh. Then, I gently beckon her towards me in a manner that suggests that everything is fine, that I’m not angry with her.

Her new saddened expression implies that she has done nothing wrong—I bite harder into the raw oral wounds so that my anger will not display on my face; a warm salty liquid seeps into my throat. I offer a gentle hand, to let her know that I understand. Her hand is shaking rapidly as she reaches out, and suddenly the shotgun drops onto the bed.

My powerful hands quickly clench and squeeze her tiny throat. Her nails are like sharp daggers slicing into my grip, trying vainly to release her fragile airway from bondage. Her body shoots out from under her as she falls onto her back and begins kicking her legs wildly into the air. My arms jerk to either side as I squeeze tighter around her throat. Both shoulders lock into place as I press and hold her jolting body fiercely into the mattress—outside of my thoughts, I can feel my hands clenching tightly, the nails digging into the skin.

Slowly, her kicking subsides and the clawing along my arms and hands soften to a gentle caress, and then fall limp. Her death is beautiful: Her hair flows out from her head as the golden arcs of an angel. Her slim jaw line protrudes gently as her beautiful face quietly lowers onto the bed. Two big brown eyes soften to a tender gaze staring up at me as both of her pupils dilate reflecting mirrored images of me.

I fold her arms gently across her chest—this is how I want to remember her. But the moment quickly vanishes as the painful scratches along my arms ignite into streaks of fire across my flesh.

I retrieve my shotgun from the bed and follow the splashes coming from inside the bathroom; a cloud of steam is hovering near the ceiling. I stand quietly and watch with intent as the blurred figure from behind the shower glass turns the knob that shuts off the water pressure. I lower the double-barrel of my shotgun until my aim is dead on; the exploding lead will take his head clean off. Patiently, I wait for the bypass doors to slide open and him to step out. I lower my head until my face touches cold metal. The gun clicks hollowly against my jaw as I cock back the hammers. Gently I caress the triggerguard until my finger finds the trigger, and then I pull back on th—

Finally, the lunch bell sounds—it’s about fucking time.

I am in my truck and halfway through the parking lot before I can even get my door closed—this is the least of my problems. I fight the urge within me to keep a cool head until I reach the area where I live.

I don’t see cars or people while on my drive; only my goal.

It takes only seconds before my tires are screeching onto the highway. I swerve through the traffic and quickly reach the off ramp not far from where I live.

There is a trail of cars leading up into the highway, but that doesn’t concern me now. From the corner of my eye I see a hotel that sparks a distant memory. I used to know a guy that lived up there in that top corner room. He was always complaining about that neon sign, and how it kept him stirring most nights. He was some sort of crazed insomniac who looked like he hadn’t slept in ages. I heard he killed himself about a year ago, overdosed on sleeping pills . . . or tranquilizers . . . some shit like that. Why didn’t he just move?

The blare of a car horn sounds: I wish this fucking traffic would go; I hate waiting—I don’t like being left alone with my thoughts.

It’s not long before I am down the street not far from where I live. I rush as slowly as I can possibly go. I catch the dial in my speedometer shaking over the 60 as it slowly proceeds towards the 70—my foot is pressing the gas pedal firmly against the floorboard.

Slowly, I release the pressure until I am doing within five miles of the posted speed limit: 35

I round the last corner until I reach the street where my house was built for my wife and kids less than four years ago. But that doesn’t matter now, she threw that all away the moment she—

I need to remain focused; I am so close and I would hate to fuck it all up now.

Ever since I lost my wife, nothing seems real to me anymore; it’s like this whole world has become surreal. Everyone I know is dead or dying—everyone but me. I’m tired of sitting around watching those close to me being taken from me: cancer, organ failure, leukemia, car wreck . . . and now I can add gunshot wound to that list. I know that God hates me, that’s why He insists on taking everything from me. But today, I’ll be doing some taking of my own. . . .

The first thing I notice as I pull onto the road where my house resides is that Bryan’s car is parked in my driveway. A cold rush explodes inside of my chest, numbing everything up to my neck and through both of my arms. My stomach convulses an acidic juice that leaves a burning trail through my esophagus up to the back of my throat. I force down a swallow, the pain welling up my eyes.

It’s essential that I deny any emotions that may occur and stick to the plan—I park two houses down from where I live and kill the engine.

The sun is bright today, brighter than usual, and my windshield acts a magnifying glass concentrating a sunbeam that burns a hole into my thigh. I move my leg out from the sun dot, but the sensation of fire is left on my leg.

Under my seat is a pint of whiskey that will help me get through the next few minutes without recoil. It sounds kind of funny when you say it out loud: a few minutes. That’s all it’s going to take to wipe two human beings completely from the face of this planet—seconds actually.

I can see them, again, inside of my head. The image fills my stomach with shards of broken glass and I quickly jerk the door open to vomit. To my surprise it is not blood that spews forth, but dark green bile that splatters against the paneling of my door.

I haven’t eaten in days, so there really isn’t anything for me to puke, but that doesn’t stop my insides from doing what they were designed to do.

I spit out the sour film that has lined my mouth and throat, and wipe the tears that come automatically with each wrenching convulsion from my stomach as it tries to empty out the burning gastric liquid.

Shutting my car door, I can smell the vomit clearly through my burning nostrils. The side door has been stained a dark maroon—almost black—in long fresh streaks down the paneling. I can feel the numbness under my tongue telling me that I can vomit again if I’d like, but I only tilt my head back and swallow the awful sensation back down.

I can hear the label break as I twist off the cap to the liquor—relief is just moments away. I begin my journey again, making sure that there are no steps overlooked and no possible way that anyone leaves alive.

The liquor is sour and strong, burning my already sore throat as I gulp down my first taste of release. The sensation of vomiting returns with a vengeance, but I quickly drown it with another swig from the bottle.

I can feel my vision beginning to blur as my thoughts swim dreamily around inside of my head—if only life were this simple: I wouldn’t feel the pain of being a man or the humility of being a fool.

Another mouthful and my head fills with more images of my betraying wife with my best friend. I easily wave them away into the liquor-induced fog that is now clouding my judgment.

I exact my revenge and center my focus into a cold dark region in my mind where neither pain nor jealousy can find me—and I begin the journey again.

First, I will enter through the side door where I have oiled the hinges just to make sure that they wouldn’t squeak, alerting anyone of my presence. Then I will walk over to the broom closet—exactly four steps away; don’t forget to overstep on the third one to avoid that loose floorboard. Then, in the broom closet, is my double-barrel shotgun, loaded, with 12 extra shells in a small box that will slide nicely into my shirt pocket. I will walk quietly to the bedroom—with both hammers cocked—and then shoot them both at point blank range.

I’ve been over this a thousand times; nothing can possibly go wrong. . . .

* * *

And I looked, and behold a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was Death,
and Hell followed with him.
Revelation 6:8

I keep the shotgun pointed towards the bedroom doors as I silently approach. I can hear some noises coming from inside of the room that immediately kindles my rage again.

I can feel my heart pulsing into my throat—I want to just shoot them both through the door and be done with it.

Almost instantly, oily beads of sweat form over my brow, streaming as rivulets into my eyeballs. The burning passes quickly into the haze brought on by the bottle of whiskey that I finished out in my truck.

Standing at the threshold, I can’t hear a thing over the pounding heartbeat throbbing inside of my head. I extend my arm and turn the doorknob with my sweaty hand while slowly lowering the double-barrel through the widening gap.

The hinges cry a low squeaky groan as the door extends open—my bed is empty.

My eyes dart towards the opposite sides of the room—the noises were coming in through the sliding glass doors that have been left open. What the hell are they doing outside? I wonder as I cautiously ease towards the exit.

The screen door whistles loudly over the strong breeze that shoots in violently through the wire mesh, dropping the temperature inside the room to a frightening chill. Suddenly it hits me: It sure has gotten dark awfully quick outside.

The window curtains snap angrily over the rampant winds, hinting ominous warnings of the forthcoming; each whipping pelt lightly tearing threads loose from the corners of the cloth.

Although it feels cool and brisk, an eerie sensation creeps over me prickling the tiny hairs across my body so that each follicle stands on end as icy blades of grass.

The passion to kill my wife and best friend has now been overwhelmed by a sorrowing lust that shudder’s me from deep inside, slowly devouring my core—something is really wrong here. . . .

Standing in my backyard, I notice that there is a gathering of people collecting in the street at the front of my house. They all seem transfixed on the same thing; whatever it is, I cannot see it from here.

I head for the side of my house to get a better look at what exactly was bemusing the hording crowd, when I am stopped dead in my tracks by the cold stare of two large obsidian canine eyes leering back at me—there isn’t any indigenous wildlife for hundreds of miles. . . .

Suddenly, I hear a wolf’s cry—a terrifying lamentation—rising up behind me, resoundingly piercing into my brain. I turn to meet two pitch-black eyes glaring at me over a snarled set of teeth. I had seen wolves before, a couple years back while hiking through the desert with my friend Barry, but not like these animals here.

There was something out of place about them—their characteristics were . . . off. I’m not sure how exactly to explain it, but these two didn’t seem like normal wolves at all—their behaviors seemed forced.

Instinctively, I stepped back as the animal in front of me began to approach. As it drew nearer, I could clearly see the details of its paws: they were larger than human hands.

I could detail the carpal pads, but the dew claws appeared as thumbs covered with thick silver fur. Connected to the digital pads were human toes with horny, beak-shaped claws the same jet-black color as their haunting eyes. The more I stared at this creature, the more human characteristics it seemed to possess. . . .

Sharp teeth clacked loudly behind me as the beast snapped its powerful jaws into the air, warning me of my proximity. I remained without movement—or breath—for fear that I would be ripped into bloody shreds if my heart so much as skipped a beat.

Suddenly, a peculiar breeze swept over the land, entrenched with an eerie chill that seemed to be much different than that of before. I turned to the wolfen beast behind me just as the gusts of wind parted grooves into the animal’s thick fur. Deep below its coat was an exposed bony ribcage—the pale skin was layered with dried, crusty scabs that had pustules seething in the areas where the sores were darkest. In the fur were dark clumps of hair that had turned matted and mangy, caked with the clotting blood and white seepage.

My bones rattled uncontrollably inside of me—I was more terrified than I have ever been in my entire life. I could feel my limbs growing stiff as rocks and my guts clenching tightly behind the painful abdominal spasms that jolted into my chest.

My throat had dried to a stale foam that began to corrode into my mouth. My tongue—thick and lethargic—began suffocating me. The air trapped inside of my lungs had fermented into burning gases that have now begun seeping into my sinuses, tearing up both of my eyes.

I can feel my constricted pupils rapidly dilate, filling the blackness of my thoughts with yellow and red whirling spots that jump and swirl faster with each diastole and systole contraction of my heart; with each diastole, the dots would skip as though bumped while circumnavigating the virtual realms inside of my mind, and then they would seemingly receive a burst of energy with each systole contraction.

A numbing tingle pours down over me as I stare blankly into the glowing spots that begin to spin out of control. They circle so fast inside of my head that I fall under the illusionary disbelief that I am looking at them in front of me as two giant glowing balls composed of randomly swirling dots.

The colors spin faster until the globes begin to take shape as two incandescent yellow rings with deep black centers.

Painfully, I make a convulsive effort to breathe as I stare into their eternal depths—had I stopped breathing?

The pain that fills my lungs forces out a loud shrill from me that I did not do of my own volition. Slowly my heartbeat begins to pulsate inside of my ears and I become aware that I am actually lying on the ground.

As the swells and contractions of my heaving chest come into check, I can feel a tremendous pressure bearing down on me as I try to force the air back into my lungs—that’s when I noticed the two enormous paws buried in my chest, and those large black pupils that were rapidly eating through the diminishing golden circles, leaving only the cold stare of death behind.

The beast’s hot breath plumed out forcefully from its dripping snarl, reverberating a growl against my throat. I knew that I was already dead, but I just didn’t know when it was coming.

The last I could recall were the superimposed glowing spots that resembled cigarette burns into my vision, and now I am on the ground with this mutant animal stalking over me. . . .

The wolf stared fixedly into my eyes, growling its powerful threat into my neck, then suddenly: it just turned around and simply trotted away as though a mistake had been made on his behalf; the other wolf glanced at me for a brief moment and then fell in pursuit behind him.

My panic elevated to a horrifying fear, but I didn’t dare move an inch until I was sure that the beasts had gone. As I lay there, I watched the dark gray clouds swimming overhead; I have never seen clouds like these before. These clouds appeared as a thick flowing liquid that streamed across the sky. And pieces of the clouds would break away as tiny eruptions inside the liquid that would then trickle down to the earth.

Laying there staring up, I could feel a cold numbing sensation burning inside of my toes. Then, without thinking, I quickly sat up to examine my feet; luckily the wolves were no longer in sight.

As I rubbed my toes, a sharp pain ripped through my inner thigh jolting up my groin and into my gut; my pant leg was stained with thick congealing blood.

I turned my leg to the side and saw that my posterior thigh had been ripped out and now—where my hamstrings used to be—was a deep hole at least five inches deep.

As hard as I tried, I could not recall when or how this had happened. And what’s more, the pain had dissipated even before the first wave of agony had registered to my brain. Either it was quickly passing, or there was more damage than I could see.

I managed to my feet and built up my stature as best as I could with what little use of my leg was available. I could feel the cold spreading from my toes up to my calf, pumping slowly through the veins and arteries that supplied blood into my leg.

As I attempted to take a step, the injury seemed to weigh down the foot which it resided over. I shifted my weight as I swung my leg around and began walking in this fashion until I reached the fence that separated me from the crowd at the front of my house; no one seemed to have acknowledged my recent encounter with death. They stood transfixed, staring up at the moving sky that seemed to be getting much closer now. Overhead, I could hear a low humming pitch coming from the clouds, which I had never known before in this world—and it was quickly growing louder.

My leg felt rubbery and heavy, my thighbone shifted roughly behind the kneecap. The jerks were sudden and harsh, as though the tendons that held the top and bottom halves of my leg together were snapping apart.

With each step I could feel my lower leg swinging out in further arcs as it slowly began to separate from the rest of me.

I hopped through the gates and entered my front yard when I noticed that there were people sitting along the curb holding their own mangled wounds as the others looked on.

By now the cold rush had spread into my thigh, spiraling up my sides as painful razor wiring, stopping just below my ribcage. It seemed to spread through my flesh in the same manner that fire eats through wood, leaving nothing but charred remains in its path.

A tight grip suddenly squeezed my lungs and choked me until I fell to the earth in sharp painful contortions.

I was immediately cast into a dizzying state of panic as the cold plague ate through my torso, injecting itself into my left arm, spreading faster with each contraction of my throbbing pulse.

My chest turned into blazing fires that kindled hotter with each breath that my lungs sucked in.

The pain was unbearable, but fell distant to the sight that fell over my eyes, searing forever into my brain: The injured bodies that were sitting along the curb were now attacking the others, ripping into their flesh and eating it.

My eyes remained transfixed even through each elated convulsion that wracked my skeletal frame. I bit into my arm, my teeth easily tearing through the thick rubbery flesh, and tried to gnaw through the pain.

Instantly, an incredible ache screamed from deep inside my wounded leg. My jaw snapped quickly, locking tightly over the fresh chunk of flesh that now filled my mouth.

Streams of coppery blood ran down my throat filling my stomach with its thick congealing viscosity. The salty taste beckoned a lust that quickly began devouring my soul as it hungered for more.

Sharp howls of pain reverberated eternally through the hollow trenches that constructed my shattered sanity. Bright strands of fire seared rampantly into my neck in rhizomorphic waves, clenching my jowls down until I could feel my teeth cracking under its immense pressure.

I swallowed the raw chunk of meat as I tried to fight for air—if I hadn’t, it would easily have lodged itself inside of my throat. Somehow, this satisfied the yearning hunger that burned inside of me, and I soon found my lips pressing tightly around the gaping wound in my arm, ravenously sucking the warm juices that jutted from my flesh.

I could feel myself chewing savagely into the meat as the warm gush slowed to a trickle, in hopes that I would tear a new blood supply free to quench the desire that thrived from within.

I violently ripped and tore through my own stringy meat, until my teeth hit bone. A sickening shock rushed over me once I had realized that I was actually eating my own living flesh.

But the sensation quickly passed like a fading glimpse of light into the darkness of eternity; I wanted—

I needed more.

I stared intently at the exposed bone in awe of its bright color. It was surrounded with raw shreds of dangly meat, but yet it somehow did not stain the same dead hue as the bloody flesh—it was eerily white.

Instinctively, I ejected myself up onto my feet; there was a new strength powered behind this driving hunger. I had no balance, and I couldn’t feel anything below my neck, but somehow, I was vaguely aware that there was something there because it bombarded my thoughts with terrifying pain.

The cold plague of death had now spread into my skull and began injecting morbid lucidity into my brain.

I was no longer able to form coherent thoughts, but I knew that there was the process of thinking taking place because I could hear it inside of my head; I just wasn’t the one initiating the synaptic firing of my neurons.

I could hear the thoughts of others—many, many others—that ran rampantly throughout me until I could think of nothing else. I tried to shake free of its grasp, but with every muscular contraction shrieked a blinding pain that shot fire through every nerve fiber of my being.

I could feel my thoughts becoming saturated with this darkness building inside of me, sucking me into its void.

My consciousness plunged to the inside of me and I was now deep inside the hollow vacuum consuming the pit of my gut. I became engulfed inside the black plague that was rampantly eating through me, when I saw its horrifying face: The Face of Torment.

Hell was within me, and I was in Hell. I witnessed every tissue cell of my convoluted colon transpose into the expression of a tortured human soul that was lost forever. A sea of writhing faces lined my inner walls, each adding their painful eternity to this network of the damned.

Immediately, I was sucked into oblivion and my pain exploded into infinitesimal lifetimes of agony and suffering, the void shredding my flesh into innumerable fragments to be ingested into the mouths of their horrorstricken screams.

The cycle continued, pulling me down through each new realm of Hell, raging faster and faster through a labyrinth of bellowing snarls, until I was falling through pitch-blackness. A maddening scream burst from my lungs as I soared into the unknown—a place where light was forbidden. My body flew through nothingness at furious speeds until I was consumed with fire—the flames licking the sores of my flesh, searing pain deep into each wound.

The bright scorching affliction consumed me. The agony was excruciating: I gnashed my teeth repeatedly into my tongue and gnawed it for pain; the anguish helped me to see that I was not falling . . . but flying.

Abruptly, the darkness circumvented me until I was watching it between the bare teeth of a cavernous scream—coming from my own writhing lips. Internally, I spun 180 degrees as my awareness seemingly circled in the opposite direction, until we completed a perfect circle—each point centering in front—and I was suddenly back inside of my wretched body leering through eyes widened in terror.

The sky was as black seething oil, thick with undulating waves of flying creatures. Fractals of light reflected brightly from their glistening skin projecting the illusion of an irradiated, star-filled night. Scores of the unearthly beasts began spilling away in swarms as thick as smog, pouring down over the earth in resonant throngs to colonize mother earth and her living dead.

I quickly observed my surroundings, desperately searching for a place to hide—the pain in my body intermittent with driving fear. I was aghast to see the hordes of walking dead that had infested the nightmarish streets. Mutant bodies and exposed skeletons—stripped of any edible flesh—roaming aimlessly through the bloodstained roads. Their bare bones stained a dry jaundiced tone beneath mangled flesh, or poorly encasing frayed organs. Clothes, tattered and torn, soaked in drying coagulated blood, riddled with undeniable evidence of brutal carnage.

Those who still had their eyes held deep orbs—the color of jet-black volcanic glass—deep inside their oozing sockets; the sightless spheres so dark as though the eyeballs had been beaten repeatedly by a speeding bullet frantic inside their skull, ricocheting against slivering bone, tearing violently through brain matter until finally coming to a deathly stop.

I looked up just as two demonic beasts—great in size—hovered above me, each shrilling loudly as I attempted any evasive movements. Their reactions were quick and responsive to their ear-piercing screams, stopping me dead in my tracks every direction I turned. Although their milky white eyes could not see me, they were seemingly tracking me using echolocation—the way microbats and some marine mammals do.

Their wings spanned greater than several of their body lengths and fluttered with astonishing speed. As their dark wings expanded, the gray, veined membrane—segmented with thin fingerlike bones—whooshed powerfully through the air to keep their massive bodies afloat. The winds jetted beneath them in vibrant tremors, echoing a violent buzzing resound that reverberated against the earth the way a fly does as it swims past your ear.

Then one of them reared its large thick skull, stretching the crumpled folds of skin that drooped from its glistening snout, and exposed several serrated gills. Each of the arced orifices possessed a bright pink mucosa lined with several tiny white teeth identical to the sharp daggers that glared as it stretched its jagged beak to release its earth-shattering bellow.

Abruptly, the flying beasts lunged at me, clenching my body into their enormous claws; their talons squeezing my person so tightly that my eyes bulged from their sockets, exposing the dark extraocular muscles that control eye movement.

A tremendous pull began tearing at my midriff as the two monsters started separating me into body parts. I could hear the bones crunching as my spine severed and my legs ripped from my torso. Screaming in pain, a hollow thud knocks the wind from my throbbing lungs as my upper body is dropped down onto the cold wet cement.

With a painful gasp, breath is forced into my lungs as I watch the colossal beasts rip the flesh from my legs and gorge it down like rabid animals. I can feel immense pain as my bowels spilled onto the earth in thick slimy splatters. My heart begins pulsing very slowly as it fills with bile, pumping the septic sludge into my ruptured arteries. . . .

The gates of Hades had burst open with the flames of raging thunder, and the mouth of Hell—Oris Inferni—spewed forth all of its damnation to reign torment and trepidation upon the dwellers of earth for the next 1000 years. It’s too late for me now: nothing can save me, not even death.

And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it;
and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.
Revelation 9:6