I wrote this a month ago. It was playing with the idea of what it would be like to wake up amidst a zombie apocalypse. Not a fond morning from what it would seem.
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The taste in Kyle’s mouth was what woke him. It tasted like day old moldy chicken covered in equally as stale mayo. As he pulled the door open to the bathroom Kyle cringed from a wave of cottonmouth. The sting on the side of his tongue blurred his vision from tears. Quickly, though, he stepped in, not bothering to turn on lights but still careful to tread on the rugs and not the freezing cold linoleum floor.
He turned the water on and went for the toothbrush when he suddenly felt his hand collide with the corner of a picture frame, most likely the one he had bought a few days ago. It hit the floor with a shatter and with an agitated moan he knew the glass pane was done for.
A few curses escaped him but Kyle made his way to the wall, patting blindly until he found the switch. Kyle jumped slightly, feeling a weird pressure against the bottom of his foot, tumbling slightly. Another handful of swears leaked out of Kyle’s mouth.
The room illuminated, revealing the clear plastic shower curtains, the stained bath tub, and the now destroyed picture frame that sat in pieces throughout the middle of the room. The in store picture that still had the price tag in the corner lay torn in the mess of broken glass.
But it was the pool of blood that kept Kyle’s gaze, not the shards of glass.
Kyle looked down in alarm, seeing a small shard sat atop his foot. I should be more careful, he thought, brushing the glass away. It didn’t budge. Kyle blinked heavily now, squinting at the top of his foot. Again he brushed and it stuck. Impatiently now he knelt down and started to pick at it, only stopping when a dribble of red leaked out from the side of the speck. Kyle rubbed his eyes and lifted his foot from the floor. Out squirted an arch of red from his sole.
Kyle’s eyes went wide, realizing in the sleepy daze that it wasn’t just a speck of glass, but a long shard, sticking from the sole of his foot to the top.
He shrieked slightly, expecting a massive wave of pain but it seemed the fog of sleep was still overwhelming his senses. He sat on the toilet, careful not to step on any more shards, and yanked a towel down from the rack to his right. Gently Kyle rested his foot on it and looked at the sole. A large shard of glass stuck through the bottom.
Again he shrieked, figuring the wave of pain was about to hit him. But again there was nothing. He touched the glass and pulled slightly, filling the room with a metallic smell. More blood came out yet there was no pain until, finally, he tossed the reddened shard into the sink and rinsed his hands. Maybe the lack of pain was the adrenaline, he thought to himself, and quickly wrapped the foot tight, applying pressure to the wound like he had seen on TV.
He left the bathroom on one leg, hopping his way to the bed, finally beginning to shake of the sleepiness that had been blurring his senses. He passed the phone and paused. Should I call anyone? I mean, Is it really an emergency? There wasn’t any pain and it didn’t seem that bad. Was it that urgent? After balancing on his foot a little longer Kyle decided he wasn’t a doctor and dialed 9-1-1.
The phone didn’t ring, though, but went directly to a busy signal. He hung up and dialed again. The busy signal echoed through the receiver but Kyle waited, hoping to get an answer. After a few minutes he gave up and inspected the foot again.
The bleeding had stopped but the towel was completely red now. He pulled it off with a cringe and could see the hardwood floor through the hole. Staring, Kyle began to feel frantic, and went for the phone again when suddenly gun shots exploded from outside.
Out of habit he dropped to the floor, his eyes going straight for the windows. More shots rang out and he scrambled for the door, checking it was locked. It was but after a few more shots from outside, Kyle was pushed him past the thresholds of fear and left with curiosity. He snuck on his hands and knees to the windows, seeing a glow of red through the blinds.
The apartment building across the street was in flames. Each window spewed out bright fire into the night air. Below, expecting to see a team of diligent fire fighters he saw a single man, holding a pistol, shooting off into the distance.
The man was clad in baggy clothes, holding a container in the other hand. The booms from the gun filled his ears again. This time, though, Kyle didn’t bother to hide.
He looked to where the man was shooting, swearing to himself he would move from this garbage neighborhood, just like he had promised himself time and time before. The man was probably shooting at gang members, maybe even the police.
To Kyle’s surprise it was about five people, each unarmed and each running towards the man frantically. A bullet tore through the chest of one as another of the five finally reached the man and dragged him to the ground, biting through his hand, tearing off the trigger finger.
The others quickly swarmed and the man screamed until his voice was drowned in a gurgle. It didn’t take Kyle long to see what was going on. He had seen Dawn of the Dead, the old and the remake.
He sat up and walked towards the door, pulling the couch in front of it to barricade. Kyle put his back against the wall and with one last push with his foot it lodged into the walkway, barring the door shut.
Kyle stared at the foot. Few drops of blood drooled out of the hole on top now and, with a sudden realization, he sprinted for the bathroom mirror.
Kyle’s eyes were sunken, darkened but still filled with slight color. His skin was very pale, a faint green highlighting his cheekbones. And Kyle’s hair, a receding hairline and a crew cut, was seemingly falling out.
He looked at himself and turned to look outside, knowing what he was and with an overwhelming amount of fear he realized something else.
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