Frank

         It's cold. Its dark. Frank gasped and felt around. Within inches of his face a wooden panel. He clawed and pushed. It wouldn't budge. A putrid scent filled the wooden box that he lay prisoner to. He attempted to yell for help. Nothing came out but a grunt. He took in air again to scream, and his lungs deflated with a rasping hiss. He hit the panel with all his might and felt it crack. Again, he pawed at it. Another solid crack. Frank began to panic as soil cascaded into his pine wood resting place.
         After clawing through the dirt for what seemed like hours, Frank burst through turf and began to pull himself free of the immense pressure of the earth. He felt weak but he couldn't understand how he summoned incredible strength to pull himself out of the ground.
         He looked around and found himself in what appeared to be a graveyard. Tombstones strewn about on a well-maintained lawn. He thought his captors may have injured his eyes; he was having a hard time focusing on the words that were etched into the stone slabs that had been driven into the ground at each plot. A dense fog blanketed the ground at his feet. He found that his skin on his left leg was folded down off his knee exposing bone in a gangrenous mess. His clothing was nothing but rags hanging off of him. He wanted to panic about it but just couldn't summon the emotion to care. He just knew that he had to get home. He had to see his wife.
         Frank shuffled limping hard on his injured leg. He walked for hours. He couldn't recall where he was but somehow, he knew the way. There was just one uncontrollable urge. A spark between neurons. And that was to get to his wife.
         A man was walking by on the street. Hooded and speed walking in the night with his hands in his front pockets.
         "Ungh," Frank said attempting to ask for help. His tongue felt like concrete in his mouth.
         The mans shoulder connected with Frank which sent him to the ground.
         "Watch the fuck out," the man said without breaking stride.
         Frank sat up and began to stand which took him a couple of clumsy tries. His arm hung low hanging out of socket where the man had collided with him. He could feel it but again, just couldn't muster the ability to care. He had to keep moving to find his wife.
         Frank continued to shamble through the fog of the night until he finally stumbled upon a beautiful craftsman home. Painted forest green with white trim. He proceeded to walk to the door until he tumbled over the white picket fence surrounding the property. He stood himself back up. The hanging flesh from his knee was now dragging behind him with each step he took. His exposed bone peeked out from the sinew that was his leg and his arm hung lower.
         He didn't care, he knew he was close to his wife now and could just sense that she was near. His arms flailed as he stood on the porch. The sounds of wet meat slapped with every slam on the white oak front door. The front porch light illuminated Frank as he continued to pound.
         The door finally cracked open, and Frank shoved his way through it. A woman was launched backwards and landed on the wood planked hallway floor with a thud. She scrambled backwards in pure terror. Frank let out a roar. He was so excited to see her, he continued shuffling forward. His silhouette was all that she could see, backlit by the only light present on the porch. He lumbered near as she scrambled on her heels trying to stand up. She finally caught traction and ran into the kitchen. She grabbed a knife as Frank hobbled closer.
         "Stay back!" she said swinging the knife with fury.
         "Arghungh!" Frank exclaimed.
         His wife paused and squinted, "Frank?" she said.
         Finally, she recognized him. Frank wanted to be overcome with joy, with anything, but his urge pulsed within. The urge to just see his wife was not enough. He needed to feed. A hunger rattled his very bones. And with that urge he grabbed his wife into an embrace. He squeezed tight as she drove the knife repeatedly into his back. The knife scraped in and out as it passed across bone through rotting flesh.
         "Frank stop! Frank!" She yelled.
         Frank heard her screams; he couldn't comprehend what she was saying. It just never registered. He brought her to the ground and mounted her as he began to claw at her neck. He eventually bent all the way over and sunk his teeth in. He whipped his head back pulling a whole track of artery out of her neck. Blood spewed and glugged onto the ground in a rhythm that began to slow. Her screams were drowned into a gurgle as bubbles of blood inflated and popped in her throat.
          Franks face was wet with gore. The knife laid buried in his back and his wife laid lifeless underneath him. He continued to feed, pulling heaps of meat with his teeth. The urge was not satisfied. He had found his wife but still had a hunger. He stood with viscera running down his chest and slowly turned. He stumbled back down the hall and out into the open air of the night. He didn't feel the coolness of the night, he didn't feel anything, only hunger. Frank turned and continued to shamble down the street. Behind him, his wife limped out into the night. He turned to acknowledge her with a grunt, and she grunted back. They continued a hunt, wandering down the street into the mist of the cold night of death.