Appearance: 
  
 
Page:   
 Share It:
http://fiction.homepageofthedead.com/forum.pl?readfiction=1187H

Once Bitten, Twice Die
(© Antony Stanton)

Page 1

This is the end.

The thought was only fleeting, although in reality the end had been and gone a long time before. Sinna had warned him not to do anything daft, but here he was, fighting for his life when he really should have just given up and let Death claim its prize. If he had known what the future held in store for him he may well have accepted the inevitable and sought a more agreeable means of dying; something a little less brutal that did not jeopardise the lives of others, perhaps something that did not involve kitchen implements. Had he been aware that he himself was soon to become a vicious murderer he might not have battled quite so hard for his own survival. But Abbott was not gifted with foresight and at that moment all that consumed him was trying to stay alive just a little longer. Besides, what kind of death can any one person choose for their first experience of it?

His aggressor advanced with surprising vigour and he was forced back onto the table. Abbott was fit, well-trained and considerably larger than the other. Nevertheless, he found himself unable to contain the onslaught, the triumph of wrathful incognisance over strength and experience. Only certain kinds of demise permit the luxury of reviewing your existence as it flashes in front of your eyes in glorious Technicolor. Some keep you fully engaged and struggling for salvation until the tragic end so that even a brief perusal in black and white of your contribution to humanity is asking too much. Abbott’s situation fell firmly into the latter category.

He frantically grasped the lunatic’s forearms but his assailant possessed unnatural surges of power dredged up from his inner demons. A trail of phlegm and a guttural snarl escaped his lips. Hands clawed and teeth snapped. He lunged repeatedly at Abbott’s face, virtually within reach now. Abbott dodged his head to the side with a grunt. He tried to get a knee under his attacker’s body but the man was writhing too much. It was just not possible, yet without doing so he knew he would not be able to hold him off much longer. His strength, along with his hope, was fading fast.

Abbott was flecked with spittle and enveloped in warm, rancid breath as their heads slowly came together. The man’s teeth showed signs of rotting. Some had fallen out leaving open sores in blackened gums. His face was mottled and had an unhealthy, purple tinge. It was covered with scabs and flaking skin. Red lines like those of a habitual sherry-drinker covered his cheeks. His eyes were bulging and blood-shot, yet the most chilling factor was the absolute lack of perception. The pupils darted about without focus. They were dilated and blank like those of a shark, as though he was just lashing out blindly. If the eyes are a window to the soul, then these particular portals looked out onto a vista of pure hell. And then there was the rage; unprovoked yet wanton and plentiful, just an overpowering need to kill.

Abbott’s arms burned but his attacker showed no sign of tiring. If anything he grew even more frenzied and ironically that may have provided an invaluable reprieve. Death took a reluctant step back and waited, denied its reward for now. As the man thrashed about there was a loud crack. The back legs of the table splintered and they were sent tumbling. Abbott hit the floor hard. Pain shot through his shoulder and he was winded but he managed to slip a leg between the two of them. Deftly he launched the man over his head, slamming him against the wall. This was his moment to save himself. This was his one chance to live. If the other reacted more quickly then he would surely be dead. He rolled and scrambled to his feet grabbing at whatever he could reach - a heavy, pewter candlestick discarded nearby. He swung as his opponent started to rise. It struck with a thud across the temple, the force jarring right up through Abbott’s arm. Nevertheless his adversary somehow did not go down. As he leapt Abbott backed up and swung, again and again.

Each blow solidly found its mark leaving deep, red gashes. The man sagged to his knees, a trail of blood appearing at his nostril. He flailed forwards with an enraged gargling as the liquid dripped from his chin. Abbott struggled to maintain balance and desperately hit out once more. He cracked the skull right on the top and this time there was a different sound to the previous thumps, more hollow and decisive.

[ Continue to page 2 ]

-->

Information
Genre:Living Dead
Type:Short story
Rating:6.28 / 10
Rated By:29 users
Comments: 2 users
Total Hits:10814

Follow Us
 Join us on Facebook to be notified of updates
 Follow us on Twitter to be notified of updates

Forum Discussion
 RIP Stanislav Petrov »
 "Downsizing" - the miniature Matt Damo... »
 RIP Tobe Hooper »
 Rate the last movie you've seen »
 The Orville (TV-Series) »
 My little black heart weeps... Day of ... »
 Stephen King's IT (film) - 2017 »
 True Lies (TV series) »
 RIP, George Romero. :( »
 Game of Thrones (TV series) excitement »
 "The Deuce" - new series from HBO with... »
 Mr Mercedes (TV Series) - Stephen King »
 Cancer - More good news! »
 Terminator 2 (film) - 3D »
 RIP Bruce Forsyth - UK folks »
 Now a stunt women dies on Dead Pool 2 ... »
 "We Should Eat Ice Cream Too" (short s... »
 Oculus Rift... »
 The coolest/best thing I've ever heard... »
 Twin Peaks. Season 3. »