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Authors: K. Bartholomew
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toward the Titan Building.
On the street corner, over by the fire hydrant, several morts gathered in a crowd looking out, snarling at the humans as they went about their business. That same ridiculous music, which to John’s ears sounded the same as the other trash he was forced to endure at home, boomed from car speakers. Several morts danced on the sidewalk – At least John thought it was dancing. In truth, it was some strange tribal thing where they bent over, grabbed onto a railing and shook their asses in the air to the passing humans. Several morts wore their pants almost round their knees whilst partaking in this strange custom of the dead. Then a human, female and probably a young teenager approached the group and joined in with the dance, in full view of other humans who walked by covering their eyes. Two morts approached the girl, ran their hands down her chest and legs then pressed their bony crotches up against her.
John’s lunch stirred in his belly as he continued down the street. The numbers of dead were beginning to pile up and because of that, society was changing before his very eyes.
Then John saw something that made him want to vomit. In fact he surprised himself by his stomach’s ability to keep his meagre meal down. Across the street, a mort walked hand in hand with a female human. “What the hell is happening to this country?” John said aloud to himself. He studied the show as his meal danced a tango in his belly. The human; short, fat, bespectacled, long straggly hair, blonde, withered in appearance and dressed like a tramp looked down to the floor as she walked. “Probably a crack whore.”
Most of the humans who approached the odd couple on that side of the street crossed over to avoid them, the few who didn’t, the mort stared cold in the eyes as if to gloat he was sleeping with a human – Even if she was right at the bottom of the gene pool.
“I’m never going out for lunch again.” John shook away the disgusting spectacle. Thankfully the workplace was just up the street. With a bit of luck he could reach the Titan Building without passing another vomit inducing freak show.
Just ahead, two hunched over elderly gentlemen conversed with grocery bags in hand. The American flag had been stitched onto their jackets, their hats had ‘V.F.W.’ emblazoned on them – Veterans of Foreign Wars.
John smiled and nodded to the two men as he walked by. There were still people in America to admire.
He heard a thud followed by a tearing and John whipped round to find two morts attacking the veterans. Their grocery bags had been ripped open and various items were scattering about the sidewalk. Giving up on the raw meat within, the morts now turned on the elderly humans, punching, scratching, opening their obscenely wide jaws in an attempt to consume the men.
John sprinted to help, his hard hat tumbling to the ground, just as one of the men went down clutching his heart, gasping for air, face turning purple. The other man now tried to fend off both morts – John was close. One of the morts brought his opened mouth around the veteran’s throat and bit down, tearing away the flesh, sinews, nerves and muscle.
John screamed and launched his foot at the mort’s head, “get off him!” He connected with full force, sending the mort crashing to the road. John lifted his foot up and brought it down hard on the creature’s head. The other mort came for John but he grabbed his hardhat from the ground and threw it into the mort’s head, distracting him, before quickly following up with a succession of punches to the face. The mort crashed to the floor, John landing on top where he rained down blows upon the mort’s face, head and windpipe.
The crowd that had gathered shrunk back, nobody coming to aid John. He didn’t notice as humans took out their cell phones and filmed the event, yet did nothing. He didn’t notice the cops as they sped up, threw open the doors and cuffed him.
*
It was
On the street corner, over by the fire hydrant, several morts gathered in a crowd looking out, snarling at the humans as they went about their business. That same ridiculous music, which to John’s ears sounded the same as the other trash he was forced to endure at home, boomed from car speakers. Several morts danced on the sidewalk – At least John thought it was dancing. In truth, it was some strange tribal thing where they bent over, grabbed onto a railing and shook their asses in the air to the passing humans. Several morts wore their pants almost round their knees whilst partaking in this strange custom of the dead. Then a human, female and probably a young teenager approached the group and joined in with the dance, in full view of other humans who walked by covering their eyes. Two morts approached the girl, ran their hands down her chest and legs then pressed their bony crotches up against her.
John’s lunch stirred in his belly as he continued down the street. The numbers of dead were beginning to pile up and because of that, society was changing before his very eyes.
Then John saw something that made him want to vomit. In fact he surprised himself by his stomach’s ability to keep his meagre meal down. Across the street, a mort walked hand in hand with a female human. “What the hell is happening to this country?” John said aloud to himself. He studied the show as his meal danced a tango in his belly. The human; short, fat, bespectacled, long straggly hair, blonde, withered in appearance and dressed like a tramp looked down to the floor as she walked. “Probably a crack whore.”
Most of the humans who approached the odd couple on that side of the street crossed over to avoid them, the few who didn’t, the mort stared cold in the eyes as if to gloat he was sleeping with a human – Even if she was right at the bottom of the gene pool.
“I’m never going out for lunch again.” John shook away the disgusting spectacle. Thankfully the workplace was just up the street. With a bit of luck he could reach the Titan Building without passing another vomit inducing freak show.
Just ahead, two hunched over elderly gentlemen conversed with grocery bags in hand. The American flag had been stitched onto their jackets, their hats had ‘V.F.W.’ emblazoned on them – Veterans of Foreign Wars.
John smiled and nodded to the two men as he walked by. There were still people in America to admire.
He heard a thud followed by a tearing and John whipped round to find two morts attacking the veterans. Their grocery bags had been ripped open and various items were scattering about the sidewalk. Giving up on the raw meat within, the morts now turned on the elderly humans, punching, scratching, opening their obscenely wide jaws in an attempt to consume the men.
John sprinted to help, his hard hat tumbling to the ground, just as one of the men went down clutching his heart, gasping for air, face turning purple. The other man now tried to fend off both morts – John was close. One of the morts brought his opened mouth around the veteran’s throat and bit down, tearing away the flesh, sinews, nerves and muscle.
John screamed and launched his foot at the mort’s head, “get off him!” He connected with full force, sending the mort crashing to the road. John lifted his foot up and brought it down hard on the creature’s head. The other mort came for John but he grabbed his hardhat from the ground and threw it into the mort’s head, distracting him, before quickly following up with a succession of punches to the face. The mort crashed to the floor, John landing on top where he rained down blows upon the mort’s face, head and windpipe.
The crowd that had gathered shrunk back, nobody coming to aid John. He didn’t notice as humans took out their cell phones and filmed the event, yet did nothing. He didn’t notice the cops as they sped up, threw open the doors and cuffed him.
*
It was
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