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Saturday, January 19, 2013

The Fuckno Wars TFW CH 28 The Gates Of Hell Open


Taboo.


There are societal rules we follow for various reasons, but the most basic is the rule of Taboo, and this goes down to the DNA level, baby.

Some Taboos are:


Do not become romantically involved with your sibling.  (Your offspring will likely have serious deficits.)


Do not eat excrement.  (You will get sick.)


Dead bodies are scary.  (You can get an infection, or their cause of death might be near you.)

Do not eat human flesh, living or dead.  (You will be sidelined by the rest of humanity.)


Do not eat your own flesh.  (This will open the gates of Hell.)


For a Walk-In, whatever their agenda, that is tantamount.  It releases forces about which little is known.


But we will find out here, if you care to follow along?






LENNY

OPENS

THE

GATES

OF

HELL






You Rascal You    by Hanni El Khatib



Lenny looked down the tunnel at the tiny spark that flickered.  There were folks he knew back there fighting folks he did not know.  But no one knew him anymore, including himself.  He had lost his body, and now he was losing his mind.


He had been killed by an infected Walk-In, and found himself in a new body.  The person who formerly inhabited their body was left to wander in limbo, until their body was released from the Walkin-In.  If that happened, then the lost soul could return to their body.


If their body died while the Walk-In inhabited it, then the lost soul would remain in limbo for eternity. 


To become a Walk-In, one must be killed by a Walk-In.  Before the events of Fuckno, this had occurred in the number of human occurrences exactly three-thousand, one-hundred and seventy-two.


Fuckno became a gate of Hell.





Lenny looked down at the sausage arm in his lap and his stomach growled.  He was hungry.  He recalled how the scent of human flesh cooking from the human leg torch smelled good to him.


Yet, he considered that raw human flesh would taste nice as well.


He lifted the limp, numb appendage attached to his shoulder, and understood that it would turn gangrene in a day or two if he didn't remove it.


The bones inside where broken from his fall upon it, during his panicked sprint away from the melee behind him into the dark hole of the sewer drainage system of Fuckno, built eighty years previous.



He could have a bit of a nosh and then slide the broken bones out of the meat and in doing so prevent the gangrene from setting in.



He would have to tie off the arm so as not to bleed to death. 



It made perfect sense to him.


Perfect sense, you know, is not something that the drug-addled brain of a druggie or a drunk can possess.



They make their own set of ethics and rules, and then they break them.


They, us, you, me.  We all make excuses for the bad behavior we are each capable of doing, and then we do.

Lenny knew that he wore different clothing now than from before he had been attacked (and died).

The pockets were all weird.  He now wore a track suit.


He was dressed similar to the scary man who held a human leg as a torch.


They had both come from the same heroin party on the top floor of  the heroin hotel.


They must have been friends, but Lenny didn't know anything.



He did not know anything at all.



However, he would become schooled there in that underground tube, in the dark.




Lenny took the drawstring out of the track suit pants and wrapped it about the sausage arm.  He made a slip knot and yanked the string so tight it almost snapped.  He could feel nothing at any rate. 


He held one string in his teeth and yanked on the other end and pulled the loop to close the knot, then made a bunch of simple but firm granny knots and then let go.


He was hungry.



When you wake up in the middle of the night and find your arm to be asleep, it can be unnerving. 

In such a state, if you were to bite your own flesh, you would not feel anything.



When your arm woke back up, after the pins and needles the pain would be excruciating.


Lenny knew that his arm was dead.  It had been asleep long enough to determine that it would never wake up.



But to eat your own flesh?


That is the ultimate Taboo.


He began with the fore-arm because it was meaty and handy, so to speak. 


He was hungry.


The skin tore away in his teeth.

Blood squirted out across his cheeks as he bit and pulled  Warm oil from the sub-dermal fat made his lips greasy.  It tasted like a combination of rust and olive oil.


The meat underneath was sort of tough, but he found that his teeth were sharp.


He dug right in and pulled out a sizable chunk.  It chewed like hot, tender steak, and it tasted like heaven to a cannibal.  It made him want to eat all of it and more.




All about him he heard whispering.


Some folks were called to this occasion, this feast.


These folks were not human, although some of them might once have been.



A slippery sensation of falling backwards down a flight of stairs, before hitting the steps below, entered his brain.


He felt the world tilt away, and he kept right on chewing.





Fire and Brimstone   by The Bootleggers 



In that dank cavern, the echoes of past lives filled the tunnel with howls and shrieks.


Lenny could not hear a thing.


The screams of a fight way off down yonder by the tiny spark combined with the screeches of the newly freed.


Lenny pulled away chunks of tasty flesh from the arm and barely chewed them.  He gnawed on the bones of the ulna and the radius, until there was no more meat on them.


He frowned in the pitch-black of the tunnel.


Then he remembered what he was doing.


He grabbed the arm by the hand on the other end, and he pulled.


It would not come away.


He wiggled it and felt resistance from his shoulder.

He got to his knees and he held that hand firm in his grasp and yanked as hard as he could.


Indeed, the bones pulled away from what remaining connective tissues there were, and the skeletal arm came free.


The voices about him caught his attention.



Finally.



His eyes grew wide in the dark.


He was not alone.  He should have known this.  And now he did.


He staggered up and whipped the bony arm about, to fend off his new attackers.


He was holding his new weapon by the hand.



There was no connection.  He hit nothing in his frenzy, his rage upon being attacked.



All he heard then was whispering.




“…thank you thank you thank you…”


“…it must taste gooooood….”



“…i want some….”



“…we will follow him…”







“…the gate is open…”






“…follow him to the end of the Earth…”




Indeed, the Gates of Hell had been opened.




This would change everything.







God Help You.


God help Us All.


---willies out.









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