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Giving In
It was just me, the girl, and the driver on the bus that night. That horrid night. No moon, just dark. They had started throwing themselves at the window now. Trying to get us; to kill us. The girl was crying now. I wanted to console her but what was I going to say? It’s all going to be okay? That wasn’t true. We were covered in blood and grime. The driver was horrified. She thought she was just starting another day of work. No one should expect the normal on this night. The night of the dead. That’s what everyone called it at least. That was the night that I wondered if I would live to see the sun. We had been driving for hours. The front left window was cracked a little. A big one had hit us then. That was where the girl was sitting. Ever since then, she had been sitting in the aisle in the back. She was muttering things under her breath; things that scared me. She terrified the bus driver when she shouted for no apparent reason. She was ghostly pale. The girl I mean. Her long black hair was splattered with dots of different colored blood, depending on what attacked her. Blues, greens, reds and even dashes of yellows and pinks. It was a canvas of death, horror, and beauty. I supposed-I hoped my hair looks the same.
The girl started gasping and screaming. I looked back. Something had grabbed her by the neck and pinned her against the window. The driver screamed and slammed down on the brake. The…thing flew off and the girl was left with a dark gray ring around her neck. She was back to crying and muttering but this time she added rocking to her breakdown. Everything was pretty quiet except for the constant thud against the window. We were used to that by now. I was able to block it out completely unless they landed against my window. The windshield wipers were constantly going because the blood and flesh never stopped piling up.
The girl was walking towards the driver. They started arguing quietly. To my horror, the driver reluctantly stopped the bus and let the girl out. All we could hear from inside as we were driving away was the cracking of bones and the cut-off scream of that girl. She got off in the middle of nowhere. It was probably the industrial part of town but in the darkness of the night everywhere was nowhere and nothing was everything we had left. I went to yell at the driver but made myself stop. I was having the same thoughts. I heard her say something about my wanting to get off as well. I slowly shook my head and sat down.
I checked my watch. It was barely legible because of my dried, crusted blood but it was late. We had been going for five hours now. We were going to have to stop for gas soon. I wondered if the driver dared to get out. I sure didn’t want to.
All of a sudden, the driver swerved to the left, to the right, and back to the left. There had apparently been the biggest creatures she had seen so far. They were pure black. The only thing that stood out was their beady red eyes. They didn’t have a mouth. Just a hole with strands of flesh over it. This was their night, their part of town and we were nothing compared to them.
Their claws dug into the metal and we could hear them walking around on the bus. The driver stopped but it didn’t stop them. She swerved viciously back and forth but to no avail. They were too powerful. It looks like we didn’t need gas after all. They were ripping the metal off the bus now. There were thousands of these monsters. They must have stood at about eight feet. With their long claws and mighty muscles, we would have been vulnerable in a tank.
I heard the crash, the scream, the growl, and eventually the plop of organs falling to the ground. A confusion of red and black. I never saw my life flash before my eyes. All I saw were those eyes. Those red, blank, beady eyes. The monster smirked at me as if to say this has been fun but now its game over. I saw his hand flash to my neck. Then I saw nothing. Through it all, the whole night I knew this was how it was going to end. There was never any hope and I had given in a long time back.
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Favorite Quote:
"Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime is death."<br /> - George Orwell, 1984
thanks.!
-joeyarc