sausage, mouths opening and closing and spraying a mist of sputum. She was looking at me, not hating exactly…but almost amused beyond her voracious charnel appetites that I dared stand against her. Her face was a bulbous and liquefying clot of fleshy gruel-like white pulp riddled with graveworms and carrion beetles nesting in the hollow of her nose. Each time she exhaled out came a cloud of black, buzzing flies. Loops of greased, matted hair hung in her face and seemed to coil like flatworms.
She smiled at me with a crooked, saw-toothed pumpkin grin of gnarled teeth.
But it was her eyes that held me.
They were huge gloss-white yolks, veined with blood and oozing a clear fluid. They had no pupils…yet she was seeing me with a gyroscopic intensity, looking not just at me but into me and filling my brain with graveyard imagery…demons and corpseworms with the faces of mewling infants, babies cooked in fat-bubbling pots and oil-skinned women who offered me vaginas sluicing with steaming larvae.
She came closer, her breasts pulsating, throbbing with sloshing milk, lactating freely with a grayish bile that ran down her flab and squirted through the air.
Opening her mildew-specked thighs, she gave me a glimpse of the corkscrewing darkness between her legs that dripped with slime like a slobbering mouth, teaming with parasites…insects and hookworms and green suckering planaria.
And it was with that second mouth, I knew, that she would eat me…after she made me suckle the fleshbags of her tits.
Maybe I should have run like I said, but I was all that stood between her and the children. Such was her arrogance and appetite, she had come to feed on the children alone, to stuff herself with sweetmeats and kidflesh, selecting the most succulent cuts and rarest treats for her own discerning palate before turning her hordes loose on what was left.
She probably expected me to cry and cower and shiver, terrified and overwhelmed, struck mad by her horror as others had been…but she didn’t get that. Machete held high, I attacked with a mindless ferocity and she reached out for me, her tongue like a thorny rose stem flaking into petals…and we collided there in the corridor. All those faces began to scream and maggots began to fountain from her mouth and eyes, her breasts and cunt, the ulcers in her hide…they came out in a slimy pink flood to drown me.
And as she took hold of me, I brought down the machete again and again as I gagged on her mortuary perfume, snotty tangles of blood and foam and slime gushing from her. Carrion paste blew from her mouth and the channel of her nose as I slashed her open and beat her down. Then she fell apart…bursting into a pink river of tissue and worms and rot and sticky ova. I fell away as it flooded the corridor, rushing past me in hot rivers of decay. I saw a dozen malformed, grotesque fetuses drowning in that outpouring, crying out with mewling voices that echoed into nothingness.
The revolting waste of Dragna went to a boiling steam that was hot and suffocating. In the end, I sat there, shocked and mindless as she evaporated around me.
15
It’s been two weeks now since I destroyed her.
Two weeks since the adults of the shelter were exterminated.
Two weeks since I cleaned out the compound and burned the remains in a huge funeral pyre in the parking lot and two weeks since I gathered the children together and told them we are a family and we must look after one another and care for another and only this way can we survive. It sounded like one of Doc’s speeches and I felt an eerie sense of déjà vu while I gave them the spiel. But I believed it. And I think they did, too.
I feel no guilt over what I did. But every day I miss Maria and I dream about her every night. I know she would be ashamed of my petty revenge on Doc and the others and that hurts. But, likewise, I know she would respect how I care and teach the children.
Following Dragna’s destruction, I noticed something
She smiled at me with a crooked, saw-toothed pumpkin grin of gnarled teeth.
But it was her eyes that held me.
They were huge gloss-white yolks, veined with blood and oozing a clear fluid. They had no pupils…yet she was seeing me with a gyroscopic intensity, looking not just at me but into me and filling my brain with graveyard imagery…demons and corpseworms with the faces of mewling infants, babies cooked in fat-bubbling pots and oil-skinned women who offered me vaginas sluicing with steaming larvae.
She came closer, her breasts pulsating, throbbing with sloshing milk, lactating freely with a grayish bile that ran down her flab and squirted through the air.
Opening her mildew-specked thighs, she gave me a glimpse of the corkscrewing darkness between her legs that dripped with slime like a slobbering mouth, teaming with parasites…insects and hookworms and green suckering planaria.
And it was with that second mouth, I knew, that she would eat me…after she made me suckle the fleshbags of her tits.
Maybe I should have run like I said, but I was all that stood between her and the children. Such was her arrogance and appetite, she had come to feed on the children alone, to stuff herself with sweetmeats and kidflesh, selecting the most succulent cuts and rarest treats for her own discerning palate before turning her hordes loose on what was left.
She probably expected me to cry and cower and shiver, terrified and overwhelmed, struck mad by her horror as others had been…but she didn’t get that. Machete held high, I attacked with a mindless ferocity and she reached out for me, her tongue like a thorny rose stem flaking into petals…and we collided there in the corridor. All those faces began to scream and maggots began to fountain from her mouth and eyes, her breasts and cunt, the ulcers in her hide…they came out in a slimy pink flood to drown me.
And as she took hold of me, I brought down the machete again and again as I gagged on her mortuary perfume, snotty tangles of blood and foam and slime gushing from her. Carrion paste blew from her mouth and the channel of her nose as I slashed her open and beat her down. Then she fell apart…bursting into a pink river of tissue and worms and rot and sticky ova. I fell away as it flooded the corridor, rushing past me in hot rivers of decay. I saw a dozen malformed, grotesque fetuses drowning in that outpouring, crying out with mewling voices that echoed into nothingness.
The revolting waste of Dragna went to a boiling steam that was hot and suffocating. In the end, I sat there, shocked and mindless as she evaporated around me.
15
It’s been two weeks now since I destroyed her.
Two weeks since the adults of the shelter were exterminated.
Two weeks since I cleaned out the compound and burned the remains in a huge funeral pyre in the parking lot and two weeks since I gathered the children together and told them we are a family and we must look after one another and care for another and only this way can we survive. It sounded like one of Doc’s speeches and I felt an eerie sense of déjà vu while I gave them the spiel. But I believed it. And I think they did, too.
I feel no guilt over what I did. But every day I miss Maria and I dream about her every night. I know she would be ashamed of my petty revenge on Doc and the others and that hurts. But, likewise, I know she would respect how I care and teach the children.
Following Dragna’s destruction, I noticed something
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