Forsaken Dreams
V
Obviously hearing a noise, Megan swivelled her head from what ever she was doing and stared mindlessly. I felt my blood start to boil at the mere sight of my nemeses. And she was Returned, which made it worse. Much worse.
My fingers were straining so hard on the windowsill, I felt my muscles seizing up. Go away, Megan. Go away now!
But no. Returned Megan made her soulless self over to the window, recognizing food and starting clawing at the screen that was the only protection between Megan and me close to being Returned myself. The clawing noise made me wince ever single time. Her horrific moans made my blood run cold.
I glanced back over my shoulder, eyeballing the distance between my dangling feet and the patio. It had been reduced to twelve or fifteen feet.
Megan succeeded at clawing the screen constantly, allowing it to fall into pieces on the ground below. I almost gasp. Without the black, gritty screen to mask what she looked like.
Well that just settles that. I saw what she really looked like now. Lifeless, Returned, Hungry. For food. For flesh. Her skin is ashen and her mouth open in a perpetual yet silent scream.
I can tell she is Returned. I can tell by the fact that no blood pumps through her body, the soft spot on her neck, her wrist, no longer pulsing. By the fact that her skin sags. By her smell. She thrusts one bare arm in the air outside the window and I see the bite marks, the ring of wounds that circle thin part of her forearm and that have led her to this place.
The place with no feeling, or thoughts at all, where all people go. Which is why it’s called Returned. That, and they return.
I struggle to stay on a little longer and stare at her.
I should feel something inside me tugging me toward her, some sort of dormant helpful instinct. I should want to feed her, give her medicine, to care for her. My legs begin to quiver from exhaustion, the world around me tilting so that I have to clutch harder onto the window to keep from letting go completely. I’m not ready…yet.
The room she’s in reeks of death, engulfing my senses, invading my head. And still the girl with its silent, open-mouthed wail and moans, her grabbing arms fervor. Its blatant need. I am so tired of the need. The need for survival and food and safety and comfort. All I want is silence and sleep.
Fury pulses through me. At my mother and father, at myself, especially JJ, and at our…my very existence that has always been constrained by the Returned.
Megan’s fingers were only inches from mine. So I took a deep breath. “Oh, hell,” I murmured, and let go.
Wump. My feet took the brunt of the impact, then my knees, then my hands slapped down to steady myself. My knees stung, and I rubbed my hands together, doubting whether I’d ever have feeling in my palms again. Megan’s moans became more distant but louder since she no longer has access to me, unless she was smart. But she isn’t. Mindless. Which is sad because she was very smart before…at trying to ruin my life. Mastermind.
I peered up momentarily at Megan’s once beautiful, popular, and now white face leaning out of the window. I really hadn’t wanted to make a scene. But here it comes, more Returned coming after me, wanting me, needing me. Why Megan, why? You were a pain then and a pain now.
Without another look behind me, I ran for the back of the garden. Briefly, and I don’t know why since I obviously knew I had no time, I paused to glance at the seven fat goldfish swimming in the tiny pond before I leaped over it. I scaled the five-foot garden fence with exceptional grace. The zombies supersonic moans followed me all the way to the end of the block, and then dissolved amid the noisy profusion of abandoned shops, cafes, and restaurants.
My feet went into auto-walk. They knew their way around the Undead. Even if they haven’t sought me out yet. Making no noise, no smell. I obviously couldn't do anything with the smell...unless it rained. But that's just wishful thinking. I could control the noise.
Finding a home has to be quiet. It always does so they don't follow me.
Learning how to climb the fence to enclosed space, if they could. And getting to me. They always sought me out. They always found me. But I was inside first. Which is what I needed to do now. I need space. And thinking so, made me think of outer space. Dammit. Not now. Kinda in the middle of life and death at the moment. No time for dreams.
After secured in my temporal spot. I made mental note to myself not to sleep unless I was sure enough that zombies cannot climb fences or run or learn how to. Dying or Returning within my sleep and dreams is something I definitely would like to avoid.
My fingers were straining so hard on the windowsill, I felt my muscles seizing up. Go away, Megan. Go away now!
But no. Returned Megan made her soulless self over to the window, recognizing food and starting clawing at the screen that was the only protection between Megan and me close to being Returned myself. The clawing noise made me wince ever single time. Her horrific moans made my blood run cold.
I glanced back over my shoulder, eyeballing the distance between my dangling feet and the patio. It had been reduced to twelve or fifteen feet.
Megan succeeded at clawing the screen constantly, allowing it to fall into pieces on the ground below. I almost gasp. Without the black, gritty screen to mask what she looked like.
Well that just settles that. I saw what she really looked like now. Lifeless, Returned, Hungry. For food. For flesh. Her skin is ashen and her mouth open in a perpetual yet silent scream.
I can tell she is Returned. I can tell by the fact that no blood pumps through her body, the soft spot on her neck, her wrist, no longer pulsing. By the fact that her skin sags. By her smell. She thrusts one bare arm in the air outside the window and I see the bite marks, the ring of wounds that circle thin part of her forearm and that have led her to this place.
The place with no feeling, or thoughts at all, where all people go. Which is why it’s called Returned. That, and they return.
I struggle to stay on a little longer and stare at her.
I should feel something inside me tugging me toward her, some sort of dormant helpful instinct. I should want to feed her, give her medicine, to care for her. My legs begin to quiver from exhaustion, the world around me tilting so that I have to clutch harder onto the window to keep from letting go completely. I’m not ready…yet.
The room she’s in reeks of death, engulfing my senses, invading my head. And still the girl with its silent, open-mouthed wail and moans, her grabbing arms fervor. Its blatant need. I am so tired of the need. The need for survival and food and safety and comfort. All I want is silence and sleep.
Fury pulses through me. At my mother and father, at myself, especially JJ, and at our…my very existence that has always been constrained by the Returned.
Megan’s fingers were only inches from mine. So I took a deep breath. “Oh, hell,” I murmured, and let go.
Wump. My feet took the brunt of the impact, then my knees, then my hands slapped down to steady myself. My knees stung, and I rubbed my hands together, doubting whether I’d ever have feeling in my palms again. Megan’s moans became more distant but louder since she no longer has access to me, unless she was smart. But she isn’t. Mindless. Which is sad because she was very smart before…at trying to ruin my life. Mastermind.
I peered up momentarily at Megan’s once beautiful, popular, and now white face leaning out of the window. I really hadn’t wanted to make a scene. But here it comes, more Returned coming after me, wanting me, needing me. Why Megan, why? You were a pain then and a pain now.
Without another look behind me, I ran for the back of the garden. Briefly, and I don’t know why since I obviously knew I had no time, I paused to glance at the seven fat goldfish swimming in the tiny pond before I leaped over it. I scaled the five-foot garden fence with exceptional grace. The zombies supersonic moans followed me all the way to the end of the block, and then dissolved amid the noisy profusion of abandoned shops, cafes, and restaurants.
My feet went into auto-walk. They knew their way around the Undead. Even if they haven’t sought me out yet. Making no noise, no smell. I obviously couldn't do anything with the smell...unless it rained. But that's just wishful thinking. I could control the noise.
Finding a home has to be quiet. It always does so they don't follow me.
Learning how to climb the fence to enclosed space, if they could. And getting to me. They always sought me out. They always found me. But I was inside first. Which is what I needed to do now. I need space. And thinking so, made me think of outer space. Dammit. Not now. Kinda in the middle of life and death at the moment. No time for dreams.
After secured in my temporal spot. I made mental note to myself not to sleep unless I was sure enough that zombies cannot climb fences or run or learn how to. Dying or Returning within my sleep and dreams is something I definitely would like to avoid.