A Postal Story
by Brendan
HOME
The earth is hungry. Its heart throbs and demands cleansing
---------------------------------------
Home, home is where the heart is. Not here, not at my home.
Sounds are a blur, everything a rush. I hear muffled screams, screaming towards
me, at me. Everyone is against me. They’re infected with the virus. I walk into
my room. I grab my Kalashnikov. I will go to the roots of the virus and destroy
it once and for all. Everyone is against me. I walk to the front door. I kick
open the door, the entrance to my domain. I leave
I open fire on the infected. Bullets rip into their flesh,
sending gore onto the ground. The police open fire on me, bullets tearing chunks
away from the fence. Policeman fall left, right and centre. I have no emotions
from killing them. Their infected, and must be cleaned, cleaned by the bitter
way of death. The firing stops, but the stench of death reeks through the air. I
hear moaning, someone uttering for help. The infected trying to get me to help
them, to infect me, ME! There is no force on earth that will make me help them.
I walk over to the still moving corpse.
“I can’t see, help me, I can’t see” Machine-gun fire rips into her face as
bullet casings hit the ground.
I walk further up the road, slaughtering all who oppose
me.
“There is one left in this area, cleanse him” screams the voice in my head. I
walk silently on, only the cold hardness of my machine-gun as my friend. I see
the infected standing out the front of a nursing home. I open fire on him,
letting the bullets attack, letting the blood spray the windows. I walk over to
the corpse, and stare.
The body rolls over and grasps my ankle.
“Why?” Mutters the man.
I raise my foot and drive it into his head.
Parade of Disasters
A glorious symphony of slaughter! 76 tromboners lead the death parade
---------------------------------------
Here I am, in the second town of the infected. I hear the
sound of trombones drifting up on the wind. I run out onto the main street, and
see the parade, army of infected, all against me. I open fire on the parade.
Blood spills onto the ground, seeping into the depths of hell. The firing stops,
but the groans don’t. I finish them off with a few, well placed bullets to the
head, ending their infected life. The trombones fill my head like a hive,
screeching like parrots. I scream and run down the street.
I walk past a service station, occupied by a gang. The
firing starts up again. I position the barrel of my gun at the gas pumps, and
fire. The flames engulf the gang, the searing heat melting their flesh from
their bones. I walk over to one of the corpses and scream into its burnt face
“You think you can stop me?!”
I push my gun barrel into its mouth and fire off a single
shot, flying pieces of flesh sticking to my face.
I drop the corpse and boot it across the ground, watching
the corpse roll like a rag-doll. I walk back into the street, only to have a
hail of gunfire pummel around me.
I fire back at the infected. Gunfire echoes through the
air, leaving its mark by silence. The street remains motionless, golden casings
littering the ground like pebbles. I drop to the ground and utter an oath, an
oath to cleanse this world. I get up and go grab some weapons. Check the
remaining ammo, and holster them. The gates loom in front of me, touching the
sky. To get to my destination, I must go through. The gates consume me as I
enter the park.
Central Park
No day in the park. Too much blood on me is mine. But the day is not done, and
I’ve miles to go to make them sleep.
---------------------------------------
I walk through the car park, the first half of the park. I
see a wedding in the distance, blinking on the horizon. I make my way across to
the wedding. A policeman steps out, brandishing a knife. I dodge, un-holster one
of my weapons (trusty 12 gauge) and smack him in the back of his head.
Collapsing onto the ground, I point it executioner style at him, and fire. His
carcass bounces off the ground, leaving bloody prints on the concrete. I turn
around to be confronted by another hostile character. I hit him across the face
with my weapon, grasp the back of his head, and drive it down towards hell. A
sickening thud accompanies a gurgling scream. My anger rises out of control, and
I raise his head once again
This face is going directly to Satan.
I repeatedly smash the face into the ground, each thud
splattering blood over me. I let go, get up and continue across to the wedding.
I pass a playground, occupied by hostiles and policeman. I
open fire on them, narrowly missing a barrage of bullets. I empty the rest of my
shells into my remaining foes. I stare at the scenery, blood littered and bullet
ridden. I holster my shotgun, reload my Kalashnikov and look away, turning my
attention towards the wedding, soon to be funeral.
“I hereby declare these two married. You may now kiss the
bride" exclaims the priest. I open fire on the wedding, their infected and must
be stopped from reproducing infected children. The bullets from the gun fly like
angry bees, reaching their destination and stinging continuously. Someone runs
at me with a knife. I kick it out of their hand, and on the knifes trip down,
drive it into their skull.
The voices in my mind start again, screaming, taunting,
trying to take me to insanity. I walk past the corpses of the wedding. The wife
is still alive, crying over her lost, infected husband.
“Miss, I cannot deny a wife an eternal marriage, so you
will be joining your husband” I point my gun to her face, and pull the trigger.
I retrieve a lighter from a corpse, then
pile the wedding occupants on top of each other. I get all the alcohol from this
wedding, and pour it over the pile. I light the lighter and flick it onto the
pile. I exit the park through the other gate, with flames licking the sky behind
me.
The Trailer Park
Human trash spills from its containers as death rain downs upon them, sweeping
the streets in a cleansing cloudburst of blood.
---------------------------------------
I entered through a haze of gunfire, and I will exit
through one. I am the cleaner of this virus, cleansing the infected with searing
hot lead.
Music enters my ears from the entrance, the new path to
get to my destination. I take a step past a caravan, hearing voices emerge onto
the air from my right.
“OH NO BILLY BOB, HE’S GOT A GUN!” I open fire on the
rednecks, sending their beer, blood and shotguns to the ground. I holster my
Kalashnikov, pick up one of the shotguns and continue walking, this time
shooting burning shells into infected flesh. I continue walking, taking my steps
with ease. Footsteps run up behind, so I whisk around and fire a point blank
shot into my nemesis’s head. He collapses onto the ground, flailing like a fish.
I look at his corpse.
The blood has gushed out of his eyes; the brain has seeped
out of his ears and infused with the blood to paint a sadistic picture. I turn
away and continue walking.
BOOM, CHA-CHICK, BOOM! I throw the shotgun away, out of
ammo, no need for it now. I un-holster my Kalashnikov, point it through a
caravan window, and open fire on the people on the other side. Glass shatters
down on top of me, sprinkling with me with tiny glass crystals. I bend down and
pick up a shard, its sharpness cutting into my hand, spreading pain up my arm. I
notice someone further ahead, back towards me. I sneak up behind them and raise
the shard, ready to strike.
I slam the shard home, straight into the kidney area. The
body instantly collapses, with only me holding it up. I grab the shard, rip it
out, and in one foul, swift motion, slam it into his neck. Blood gushes forth,
while he kicks, gargles and chokes to death on his own fluids.
I notice a truck in the distance. I walk up, only to
notice someone is in it. I rip him out, and force there head in-between the
truck door. I slam the door shut, open, shut, open, shut, until all I can hear
is begging and the thumping of steel on flesh. I drop the corpse, and jump in
the truck. I start it up, and reverse straight over the individual’s head,
sending hair chunks, flesh and bone everywhere. I crunch it into accelerate, and
speed off into the night, to my next destination.
The Ghetto
Black leather smoke coils up my nostrils tingling with death’s surprise. Human
remnants cling to my clothing like bloody briars as I continue to wade hip deep
in flesh, bone and viscera
---------------------------------------
(Story unfinished)
Sites
