The Fuckno Wars CH 18 A Soft Glow

Logos   by Rodrigo y Gabriela

The northward sprawl of the megalopolis of Fuckno left in its wake a trail of slime and decay.  The prosperity of the clean, sunny streets on the top parts trickled down the street gutters and sewer grates and collected in the dark, forgotten parts of the city on the other end.

If you wanted a good time, you’d better bring cash, condoms, and crab cream.

The lights went out, and now it was every whore for herself.  Seen followed the sounds of the woman screaming.  He was curious, and a bit hungry.  It was going to be a long night.

He shined the flashlight at the edge of an alleyway, wondering what he would find around the corner.  Her cries and pleads for help ended in a half breath and echoed along the stucco walls.

He shined the light toward the end of the alley, were he heard the woman now gurgling. A white face glared back at him, red about its mouth.  Then the face went back to its meal.

He smiled and ran down the alleyway at the face.  He stuck his leg straight out and kicked the bloody face further down the alleyway.  He wasn’t trying to save the woman.  He was greedy.  He was hungry.

G L O W

On the top floor of a brick building, a single candle lit the room with a weak glow. Strewn about the floor were bodies in various states of repose, each on their own mindless journey. One figure among them opened his eyes and he looked down at the rubber hose around his arm.  His hand was numb; he’d passed out without untying the band.  His arm was purple.  He shook it and rubbed it to get the feeling back into it.  It felt like he was rubbing someone else’s arm.  He waited for the pins and needles to come, but they never did.

The new Walkin did not know, but he would find out soon enough.  He had taken over the body of someone whose arm had been cut off from its blood supply for much too long.  It would become gangrene in a couple of days. Until that happened, he would be in a growing state of pain, culminating in agony.

He was the freshly-killed second victim of Seen, and now he was awake, in another body.  He felt hungry, but for some activities he’d never done before, nor even considered.  He wanted to taste human flesh.  He wanted to cause someone pain.  These two things were not exclusive of each other.

He looked around at the circle of passed-out, young, fresh faces.  These were college kids, looking for a good time. 

He would show them a good time.

If only his arm would wake up.  It felt like a bologna sausage tied to his shoulder.

He cursed his bad luck.

In another building, an older gent reached down inside his pants and itched between his legs.  He dug around and scratched and felt the stickiness of weeks of filth, and it felt good to scratch.  Inside him was the next freshly-killed, and she had followed the weak, yellow glow of light in the black, hollow eternity of death.

She had looked into the glow, and this made her feel warm again, and then she was inside this new body.  The glow turned out to be a living body, but the owner was out for the moment, lost in a booze-coma from a half-drunk plastic handle of vodka.

She took her hand out her pants and touched her face.  It was hairy from being unshaven for months.  She smelled something bad.  She put her fingers up to her nose and smelled them.  Sour.

This made her vomit.

The third victim of Seen was the one at the end of the alley, and he had taken over another person’s body while they were sleeping.  He felt such hunger that he awoke and ran out into the night and attacked the first person he ran into.  She now lied on the ground, with her life seeping away into the sewer grate just by her head.  She would be the latest victim. He lied at the end of the alley, for someone had just kicked him in the head.  He could not feel his body.  His neck twisted in an ungraceful manner, and his head was caught under his torso.  It was hard to breathe, and there nothing he could do about it.  His neck was broken.

But there would be many more victims, and these would be from the activities of the first ones.

An infected Walkin had done this, and now he was out of control.  So were they. They were carriers.

The first victim of the Walkin had been Sven.

Sven had passed on his cannibalism, his torturous sadochism, and now each of the Walkins who followed, well, they were infected by his diseases.

But do you know,  Sven was now a Walkin.

He moaned in despair for the loss of his life.  He had met his end at the hands of a young man who was even stranger than he.  But he had so many more things to do.  He had a new bag of tools he’d bought in these United States, because he’d melted the other ones down in an incinerator back in Swizzleland.

Now he would never get to use those shiny, new toys.

He hugged himself and awaited the gates of hell to open and the fires to engulf him for eternity.

To his amazement, and an odd sense of disappointment, he simply sat in a pitch black depth of nothingness.  He was in limbo.  He was a Walkin, but he had no idea what this meant.

According to the ways of the Walkin, a new opportunity to walk the Earth does not come for a very long time.  The time between visits to this mortal plane is stretched for so long in order for the Walkin to consider what he has done, and what he will do during his next opportunity.

But something had changed.  The Walkin Seen had done something that a Walkin must never do, and that is to eat the flesh of the dead.  A single toe from Sven’s body had caused this to happen.  Seen took the skin from his living victim, and also the toes.  But he’d dropped one during his collection from the evil man.

The intention of the Walkin Seen had been to stop the evil man and also to seek out more people who caused such painful acts as torture, and depraved behavior such as cannibalism and necrophilia.  In order to pursue such a noble cause, he’d needed to wear the skin of the torturer and eat the flesh of the cannibal.  While the evil man was still alive.  He intended to wear two skins from the torturer’s hands, and five little toes for his own tummy.

For the loss of a single toe, rolled out of a spilled teacup onto the floor, Seen had collected another one.

Except that the man had expired.

One.

Single.

Digit.

Sven opened his eyes and looked around.  He saw a glow from off in the distance.

He did not understand anything at all.  He did not know that he was supposed to languish in a solitary state of blackness for decades or even centuries, depending on what he had done, alone with his thoughts.

Instead, he moved to the glow.

It was a purple glow.

He felt drawn to it.

It was warm, and it called to him.

He needed to be bathed in its glow.

He crept towards that glow.

Do you know, he would enter into the body of a Purple Robe.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

Tempest   by Deftones