In the mind's of everyone, there is a fight or flight trigger. You either fight, or you run away. For the boy, this was happening now. Something was wrong. Obviously. But did he dare to open the door?
he started to look around his room for anything. any kind of weapon. Being the kind of kid he was, there wasn't much choice. In the corner of the room was a miniature aeroplane he had made in shop class. Across the top was a 12 inch piece of steel, being used as the wings. The boy smashed it off the aeroplane, and donned his makeshift machete.
he walked towards the door.
"Mom?"
Thump.
"Dad?"
Thump.
With a crack in his voice, he softly whispered "guys?"
Thump.
His hand went for the door. A logical person would have planned an escape route. He was not a logical person. Slowly, he turned the lock on the door, and then the handle. The thumps stopped.
He opened the door. And entered Hell.
The first thing he felt were the hands. His father was grabbing the collar of his shirt, and pulling him towards his mouth. his 12 year old sister was laying on the ground attempting to get at his leg. He cried out. Beyond them he could see his mother, her lifeless eyes boring into his own.
Quickly, he brought up the machete, and attempted to slash his fathers arms. At the same time, he kicked at his sisters head. He heard a snap. Not pausing for a second, he withdrew the blade and sunk it deep into the eye socket of his father. He didn't make a sound, just slumped over in the doorway.
The boy looked around. Over on the wall, there was a window that used to open. Before his father sealed it up.
Shit.
He looked back. His mother was slowly shuffling towards him. His Sister, who's neck he had snapped, was dragging herself across his floor. He turned back to the window. He started to smash at it. If he made it through he could get onto the roof. Smash.
His mother was still coming. He looked back. He did not want to have to kill her. He loved his mother.
His sister was only a couple feet away. Smash.
With a roar, he swung his foot into the window. It gave, and swung open. Only pausing for once glance at what used to be his family, he hopped through, catching himself on a shard of glass.
He was on the roof.
Slamming the window back in place, he looked down at the street. His neighbor, John, was dragging something down his front driveway. It looked suspiciously like John's dog. He looked back. His mother's face was pressed against the glass, moaning in the agony of the undead and smearing dark brown, viscous blood all over his window.
he started to look around his room for anything. any kind of weapon. Being the kind of kid he was, there wasn't much choice. In the corner of the room was a miniature aeroplane he had made in shop class. Across the top was a 12 inch piece of steel, being used as the wings. The boy smashed it off the aeroplane, and donned his makeshift machete.
he walked towards the door.
"Mom?"
Thump.
"Dad?"
Thump.
With a crack in his voice, he softly whispered "guys?"
Thump.
His hand went for the door. A logical person would have planned an escape route. He was not a logical person. Slowly, he turned the lock on the door, and then the handle. The thumps stopped.
He opened the door. And entered Hell.
The first thing he felt were the hands. His father was grabbing the collar of his shirt, and pulling him towards his mouth. his 12 year old sister was laying on the ground attempting to get at his leg. He cried out. Beyond them he could see his mother, her lifeless eyes boring into his own.
Quickly, he brought up the machete, and attempted to slash his fathers arms. At the same time, he kicked at his sisters head. He heard a snap. Not pausing for a second, he withdrew the blade and sunk it deep into the eye socket of his father. He didn't make a sound, just slumped over in the doorway.
The boy looked around. Over on the wall, there was a window that used to open. Before his father sealed it up.
Shit.
He looked back. His mother was slowly shuffling towards him. His Sister, who's neck he had snapped, was dragging herself across his floor. He turned back to the window. He started to smash at it. If he made it through he could get onto the roof. Smash.
His mother was still coming. He looked back. He did not want to have to kill her. He loved his mother.
His sister was only a couple feet away. Smash.
With a roar, he swung his foot into the window. It gave, and swung open. Only pausing for once glance at what used to be his family, he hopped through, catching himself on a shard of glass.
He was on the roof.
Slamming the window back in place, he looked down at the street. His neighbor, John, was dragging something down his front driveway. It looked suspiciously like John's dog. He looked back. His mother's face was pressed against the glass, moaning in the agony of the undead and smearing dark brown, viscous blood all over his window.
It was time to go. Where? he didn't know.
No comments:
Post a Comment