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Living Dead


All I feel is overbearing pain. It starts in my stomach, blossoming out, following the trails of ruby red blood, dripping from within. Droplets hit the gravelly pavement intermittently, sounding loudly in the heavy silence, a sepulchral symphony cutting through the deafening quiet.

The cold begins to creep. It starts in the fingers and crawls slowly up the arms. The same happens in the toes, dragging itself slowly, lovingly, caressing its way up the legs. The cold will soon reach its mark. Life blood will stop flowing, heart will stop beating, lungs will stop breathing, and cold will set in. Cold always sets in.

It's happening now. A final ragged breath and all is gone. All is darkness. All is empty. I open my eyes and the sight assaults me. Blood. Ruby droplets coat the pavement, coat my hands. I let out a breath, breathing for myself, hating every second. The emptiness is back. There is never an escape. I turn away from the alley. There is no life for me here now. All is cold. All is empty.

Death is emptiness. Emptiness is death. I am death. Without death I cannot live.

Story by:

Trisha Gricken

12 February 2014