Here they iz!
The End
I was awake, but I thought I had walked into a dream. I was lying on the ground, covered with dirt and sweat. I tried to stand up, but my legs weren't strong enough to hold me. I fell back with a startled grunt, my chest heaving, my lungs feeding greedily on the stale oxygen in the room.
I rested there for a while, on the ground, collecting my breath, when I noticed the sign above the door. It read E.R. So I was in a hospital, but why, I did not know. It was then that I noticed the syringe attatched to my arm, and the red fluid inside. I pulled out the needle, and my arm went numb with pain. It fell to the floor, sending a wave of agony up the appendage and through to my spine.
My second attempt at getting up was more successful.
I staggered over to the door and stumbled with the doorknob, cursing my lame arm. I finaly opened the door and got over to the attendants desk, but the attendant wasn't there. I checked all the other rooms in the hospital, but they were all vacant. I gave a sigh of discontent, wondering where everyone could have gone.
I walked over to the main entrance, and nearly fell over again with surprise. All that lay before me was a wasteland. Cars overturned, whole buildings colapsed, destruction as far as the eye could see. I walked along the empty streets, my gaze falling over all of the deserted homes, the destroyed buildings, all the while wondering how this could have happened.
After the first month of traveling, I came to the conclusion that I might be the only one left. I knew I was alone in the world, the last of my kind. I fell down on my knees, the weight of the sadness that had welled up inside of me too much to bear any longer. I had decided to end this miserable existance once and for all. I carved on makeshift gallows a poem, my final words before I departed from this world.
Here I hang, overcome,
By sadness grief and sorrow.
And here I'll hang, 'til Kingdom Come,
Wishing for a better 'morrow.
Written by Pois0nArr0w
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An Answering Call
Death was the first thing I felt. Or, was it the pain? The sharp, searing agony that one might feel if he were to be run through with a stake. Yes, I believe it was the pain I first felt, but almost instantly, I was overwhelmed by a flood of darkness, nearly chilling me to my very core. This, I believe, was what killed me, not the fear, not the pain, no, but Death itself. It took me into the folds of its dark, haunting robes, and brought me here, to where I am now. I stand before a seemingly endless plain of tall, pale yellow grass. I look up to find no sun or moon, only a dark, menacing blanket of the deepest black. My gaze falls on everything around me, but it is like looking at a photograph, silent and unchanging. As I gaze, I think that surely this must be Hell. Suddenly, all thoughts in my head are pushed aside by something Man has known all of his life; primal fear.
All rationality is lost to me, perhaps even gone forever, as I run for my very life, if I still have one in this dark, abysmal plain. What I am running from exactly, not even I fully know. All I heard was a sharp, broken, high-pitched howl, and all I sensed was my own fear. This howl could have belonged to anyone, or anything, perhaps a demon, a Hellhound, or even the Devil Lucifer himself. As I ran, I stooped lower and lower, until I was leaping over the terrain like a wild animal, pushing off with my legs, landing on bent arms.
Then, the first changes started taking place. My ears grew elongated, tapering to a point. My jaw began to extend, stretching my skin until it was ripped from my skull. My hands and feet became bony, skeletal paws. I was doubled over in pain, my mind blank as to why this might be happening. When the changes were complete, I no longer resembled myself. I was, I am, a horrid creature, no more a man than a rock might be alive. I resemble now a skeletal hound, all bone and ligament, my flesh torn from my bony frame. I still hear those menacing howls, yet, they do not frighten me anymore. The calls seem welcoming, almost friendly. Sometimes, even I start to howl, and always, there is an answering call.
-Pois0nArr0w
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I think An Answering Call was a bit too fast paced. Maybe I edit tomorrow and post with other two shorts I'm writing.
