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Poor Taste

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I awoke in my crashed SUV. I could barely move. I was dizzy and everything was a blur. I could tell the car was overturned in a ditch. It was late. I didn't believe that this was the highway and there were no cars driving by who called in, so I needed to get out fast. I was still struggling to make out my surroundings, and gripped with my left hand down to the right of my seat. I felt sharpness in my numb hand, and felt warmth drip down. I looked and as my vision cleared, I had gripped broken glass. I tried to get the glass out, while blood began pouring from my hand, but some glass was embedded. Instead, I felt an overcometh of thirst. I began to lap up the blood on my hand, ignoring the glass protruding from it and cutting my tongue. I tried to remove the glass again, but the feeling was nauseating and I puked into the divider. It was no use. I undid my seatbelt, and tried to bust the car door open. I tried opening it with my left hand but my fingers wouldn't move. I looked and realized... I only had two left.

I looked down between my seat and the door, and there they were, my bloodied ring and pinky fingers. I scooped them up with my right hand, and kicked the glass of my door out. Gripping the cold fingers in my hand, I climbed out the window, slicing my exposed body on the broken glass. My clothing was torn. There was no point in going for anything in the car, but I took the wallet. I knew I wouldn't be able to use the credit cards, but I decided I should take them anyway. As I looked, I heard sirens and saw flashing lights down the long stretch of road. It was time to go. I grabbed my knife and ran off. I made it through bushes and into the woods, just as I looked back between all the twisted branches and saw an ambulance and several police cars pull up near the vehicle. It had to be at least half a mile through the woods, but they would be looking for me.

From all the blood loss, I was dizzy. I was blacking out. I couldn't give up now. I had to keep moving. I had to get away. If I didn't wrap my wounds up or get this done, I was going to pass out or bleed out within minutes, though. So I sat at a tree, dropped the fingers in between my lap, and began cutting off strips of my shirt and pants for cloth. I wrapped the strips around the stumps of my hand, and paused to look at the fingers. There was no way to reattach them and retain functionality, they had already gone lukewarm. I began to scoop them up and place them in my mouth. I began to chew, crushing the broken bones and ripping the skin apart. Whatever blood was left soaked my mouth. I couldn't swallow. I spit them out, bones cleaned against the ground. I looked up to see ghastly figures... The police were going to catch me. I couldn't get up.

The figures moved in closer and it became apparent that they were not police at all. They were... like corpses. My arms felt numb and I couldn't move them to defend myself. Instead the ghouls, hollowed out eyes with blood pouring out from them, rotting flesh on their faces and bodies, torn clothing displaying exposed flesh and bones, broken bones penetrating and protruding from the skin, their hands reached in to my body and tore my shirt open. I felt nauseous but couldn't move, I could only watch. The ghouls moved in closer and closer. Their gaping eye sockets darker and blacker than midnight. Their hands, broken, rotting, wrinkled, their fingernails chipped, began to move closer to my body... Then they surrounded me until I couldn't see anything but their faces, their rotting faces. Then they put their hands into my body.

I woke to the sound of men yelling. I had passed out, obviously. my clean finger-bones still on the ground, glass protruding from my right hand, I ran off into the night. I did not look back. They were close. Too close for comfort. I just kept running. I dodged over the hills and clearings and ran back into the woods. I tore through branches and grass and bushes until tripping and landing on my hand. The glass pushed in farther into my hand and chipped the bones. I tried my best not to scream but I let it out. If I didn't remove the glass, this would be a problem. I stopped, pulled out my knife, and began cutting in around the flesh. I growled at the pain, nauseous. I cut out an entire square of my palm's skin and removed the pieces of glass, pushed in all the way past the flesh and muscle to the bone. the pain and removal caused me to puke out bits of skin and flesh from my fingers, and puke out blood. I kept going though, removing each individual piece of glass while the exposed flesh stung and burned. I wrapped it up in cloth and started running. The pain was intense, but I had to keep moving. I looked up to see smoke rising. A house. Nearby. I ran out from the woods and into a clearing. A cottage was just up the hill. 

Upon arriving at the cottage, the lights were on inside. The television was on, and an elderly couple watching. I moved around back, to the porch entrance from the kitchen. the door was unlocked, and I slowly opened it, though the sound of a creak was heard. I inched in and closed the door, looking for objects to use. 

"I'm going to go make some coffee." I heard the man say. I inched back and hid in the pantry as he came in the kitchen. I watched through the shutters and looked around the closet for any items. There was some duct tape I could use, and some plastic bags. I quietly opened the door, and as he was distracted with the coffee, I took the plastic bag and pulled it tight over his head. Him being older and weaker made it easier. He struggled, his hands moving feebly. His arms moving weakly. He could do nothing though, And I kicked his legs in so he was on his knees. He reached for the bag, and I pulled the duct tape and tied his hands to his throat around the bag. He struggled, kicking every once in awhile, throbbing, but I had the upper hand. I pulled him down and watched him, his eyes glaze over inside the bag. His legs throbbed, elbows twitch, but no movement. The woman called out to him. "Rick, did you make the coffee?" 

I grabbed the coffeemaker cup and opened the lid. I walked around the kitchen, into the hallway, and peeked around the corner in the living room. When she got up to move towards the kitchen, I ran and dumped the boiling coffee on her head. She screamed, and I gripped her head, the coffee scalding my hands. The coffee soaking through my cloth and hitting right in the wound...

Oh god... I fell in agony, and she fell to the ground. I reclaimed strength and dragged her by the feet into the kitchen. She began screaming, and gasped at the sight of her husband in the kitchen. I reached for her arms and bound them with duct tape. I taped her legs, and sat her in the kitchen sink, opening her mouth and shoving it on the nozzle. She struggled, kicking, but I turned the water on and held it tight inside her mouth. Her eyes widened, and I plugged her nose. My eyes faded with hers and as I gripped her nose, her body changed into a ghoul. Those eye sockets piercing, looking back at me. They pierced my eyes like daggers and her hands reached and clutched my chest, squeezing tightly, crushing ribs. her mouth widened and sprayed crimson-red blood.

I fell to the ground. I tried to get back up, but couldn't. I only watched her kick against the frame, still caught inside the nozzle. I watched her body get larger and larger, but I could not move. Her stomach became bloated, and when I finally got the strength to get back up, she was already dead, her stomach widening, becoming larger and larger. I slipped on spilled coffee and fell right on my nose. It was broken, blood pouring from it. I looked back and watched the stomach explode.

When I got back up, I was shin-deep in blood, water, and guts. Her entire stomach exposed, everything emptied out of it. There was no point in feasting, so I grabbed the man's body and moved to the living room. I undid the plastic bag and slit his throat. I began to lick up the blood that spilled out. As I drank, the liquids from the kitchen flowed into the living room, forming a puddle in the center. A few black strands of hair formed in the center of the puddle. I didn't care for it. I gouged out his eyes, and began chewing on the rubbery Sclera. Blood emptied from the sockets, and his hands loosened. I stopped to watch. The corpse reminded me of the visions I had been seeing. The hair in the puddle became longer. His hands started to move, and something was moving through this throat. I stabbed into the exposed throat, stabbing right into the bulge, stopping it where it was. I didn't pay attention to the bloody forehead emerging from the puddle, until I saw the bloodshot eyes stare back at me.

Poor Taste

This wasn't happening. I was going insane. This was part of eating, I was getting sick. These were hallucinations. Until the face emerged and I froze with horror. Hers. Bloodied, staring back at me with cold, dead eyes. Black hair draped down. She emerged from the puddle of blood, soaked red, and began to crawl towards me. Blood ran down her body, cuts began to rip through her body and expose flesh. Out of the the old man's body came a dying fetus. It crawled out of the throat, the same one I ate. The knife still embedded in the man's throat, and the knife wound gaping from the baby, they both crawled towards me. Her face draped over mine until her hair covered everything and all I could look at was her dead, empty eyes. She moved in closer, her mouth widening and widening until all left was black.

Written by Scorch933
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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