Excess 4/3/25
Added 2025-04-03 15:23:32 +0000 UTCTucked within the closet of a suburban home, buried beneath a mound of old clothes, I find my sanctuary. A refuge that gives my rattled primate brain a false peace of mind. Trying to ignore whatever is crawling within musty, moth eaten cardigan draped over my face, I cover my mouth with both hands and close my eyes. I try to steady my breaths, to quiet the staccato of the beating drum within my breast, if only to ensure I can hear something other than my heart. I have to ignore the way the cuts on my hands from scrambling in through the broken window are aggravated by some kind of wool top. I have to dismiss the awful smell of decay and death within the articles of cloth that make my fortuitous sanctuary a reality.
Finally, the throb of my blood-pumping core damped from my ears. I can hear them.
I can hear them in the distance, chittering to each other, shrieking and snapping at each other as their excitement grows, some mistaking their fellows for prey before being put back in their place. Oh, no. It’s a hunting party. Seeking out a fresh, delicious living meal that their stomachs so desperately crave. The bottomless organs demanded satisfaction of these former civilized beings to a maddening extent, reverted to a horde of ravenous carnivores that can focus only on their next meal.
I can only wait, hope and pray that they find some other poor soul before they find me. I do so quietly, and muffle my sobs as the itch of fear tugs at my sanity. One must have bumped into an abandoned car, because the alarm sounds and they descend on it. The crashes and bangs of their assault is accompanied by the howls and hollers of their outrage. I think it would be enough of a distraction to lower my guard and close my eyes.
Just for a minute, maybe five...
