| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted November 24, 2014 |
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Short Story
What's a World Without Horror
by michaelcahill
"I begin my new life as one of the living dead."
With my last words, I turn off my computer and the Skype feed along with it. An anxious world dearly wants to watch what happens in the next few minutes. Their deaths depend on it. I've opted for privacy. Transformation from living to dead and then to the living dead can't be more familiar. Everyone, myself included, hopes for an unfamiliar result.
A bank of reporters wait outside my door. Along with them are canine units and armed protectors just in case my experiment is a failure. If I emerge through my front door a drooling, mindless, brain-eating zombie then I will've ended my life among the living foolishly.
On the other hand, if I prance through that door with faculties intact, lucid and cognizant of my identity, then my life's work will mean a new dawn for the living dead.
The world has become a tedious place, filled with dull ghouls and boring zombies. They have become clichés with their strips of hanging flesh, pungent stench and absurd incoherent mutterings. It has been decades since even a child has screamed out in fear encountering one. "Oh yes. Scream, scream. I'm terrified. Here's some fire from my anti-ghoul wrist watch to melt you with. Ho-hum. Next!"
It's reached a point where the actual dead we pile along the curbside are to be envied. I mean, who's better off, the tedious ghouls who feast on decaying brain matter, or the blissfully unaware, cold-as-ice, truly dead folk who don't have to deal with any of it anymore?
Ohhhh! I can feel death gripping me now. As often as I've heard it described, there is nothing like experiencing it. It seems like a bony-thorned hand has grabbed my heart and is pulling it through my body. Now, the other hand is extending a finger into my brain and stirring it as though it's a cocktail. My last thoughts are of the pill I I've taken … will it work? Will it work?
I have no sense of time as I rise to my feet. My watch reads a half an hour has elapsed. I realize I am aware of a half-hour elapsing. I check my pulse … or lack thereof. I'm dead. I am living dead. IT WORKED! I'm living dead and I know it. I know who I was and what I was. I know what I am. I'm living dead and I have full awareness. I'm not a mindless zombie.
I burst through my front door and face the media. "I am prepared to take your questions."
My daughter, the seven year old, Rebecca, runs and jumps into my arms. "Oh, Daddy, I knew you could do it."
The scent from the top of her head intoxicates me. I sink my teeth into her skull and remove it with ease. Her brain is warm and delicious. The crowd screams in revulsion.
Horror returns to the earth.
Final Words writing prompt entry
"I begin my new life as one of the living dead."
With my last words, I turn off my computer and the Skype feed along with it. An anxious world dearly wants to watch what happens in the next few minutes. Their deaths depend on it. I've opted for privacy. Transformation from living to dead and then to the living dead can't be more familiar. Everyone, myself included, hopes for an unfamiliar result.
A bank of reporters wait outside my door. Along with them are canine units and armed protectors just in case my experiment is a failure. If I emerge through my front door a drooling, mindless, brain-eating zombie then I will've ended my life among the living foolishly.
On the other hand, if I prance through that door with faculties intact, lucid and cognizant of my identity, then my life's work will mean a new dawn for the living dead.
The world has become a tedious place, filled with dull ghouls and boring zombies. They have become clichés with their strips of hanging flesh, pungent stench and absurd incoherent mutterings. It has been decades since even a child has screamed out in fear encountering one. "Oh yes. Scream, scream. I'm terrified. Here's some fire from my anti-ghoul wrist watch to melt you with. Ho-hum. Next!"
It's reached a point where the actual dead we pile along the curbside are to be envied. I mean, who's better off, the tedious ghouls who feast on decaying brain matter, or the blissfully unaware, cold-as-ice, truly dead folk who don't have to deal with any of it anymore?
Ohhhh! I can feel death gripping me now. As often as I've heard it described, there is nothing like experiencing it. It seems like a bony-thorned hand has grabbed my heart and is pulling it through my body. Now, the other hand is extending a finger into my brain and stirring it as though it's a cocktail. My last thoughts are of the pill I I've taken … will it work? Will it work?
I have no sense of time as I rise to my feet. My watch reads a half an hour has elapsed. I realize I am aware of a half-hour elapsing. I check my pulse … or lack thereof. I'm dead. I am living dead. IT WORKED! I'm living dead and I know it. I know who I was and what I was. I know what I am. I'm living dead and I have full awareness. I'm not a mindless zombie.
I burst through my front door and face the media. "I am prepared to take your questions."
My daughter, the seven year old, Rebecca, runs and jumps into my arms. "Oh, Daddy, I knew you could do it."
The scent from the top of her head intoxicates me. I sink my teeth into her skull and remove it with ease. Her brain is warm and delicious. The crowd screams in revulsion.
Horror returns to the earth.
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Writing Prompt You know you (or your character) is going to die within moments. What are your final words? Describing the circumstances of your pending death, to whom you are speaking, who you are, etc. are all optional. |
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