Cult Loves to Scribble – Flash Fiction on the Fly #2

Posted: December 9, 2020 in Cult loves to Scribble, Horror Shorts, Horror Verses, Humor, Short Horror
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The Typical Day to Day, More of the Same?

Teeth upon my neck. Digging through flesh.

“Sweetie.”

…This might well bring about the end to all?

“Sweetie.”

Crimson decorating my surroundings.

“DAMN IT! Get up your alarm has been going off for the past five minutes”.

This wasn’t the normal way I awakened. Admittedly, I usually lay staring at the alarm clock for several minutes before flipping the switch to inactive. It takes me awhile to tell myself to get up and at em’. Everyday is pretty much the same.

This morning was slightly different. The night, or a large portion of it, was filled with lumbering monoliths sporting confused glances, children in tow. “I’m not sure? This is beginning to freak me out”. Then, the lunging and pressure upon my neck. For some reason I found myself giggling as this was transpiring with the words “Dawn of the Dead” upon my lips. Repeated, over and over until my head toppled from its fleshy perch to hit the floor. Can you see why I was glad to finally be able to escape sleeps lingering embrace.

On this particular day I rushed out of the door (it was normal I only usually gave myself enough time to gather my thoughts, make coffee and pack my lunchbox); not forgetting to kiss the wife, as I offered her the customary yet slurred “love you, have a great day” farewells. I watched as the garage door nestled into its closed position and checked my pockets one last time for all the necessary bits and pieces, I needed to ensure my morning went off without a hitch (whatever that in fact meant?) With coffee in hand I had the quiet drive to work to look forward to.

The next few moments brought little of significance (the neighbors children left their bike and scooter out in the street again) with the only major decision being the audio of choice. Should I listen to classical or blast that which my ears were otherwise accustomed? I choose the soothing movement of wind and brass over the chaotic riot inducing percussion coupled with the grunts, shrieks and groans I often chose to excitedly emulate.

Streets blurred into one other as my eyes roamed the landscape for eager officers of the law, hidden from view in plain sight their laps most probably powdered by the remnants of recently devoured baked treats. It was safe. Nevertheless, I found myself adhering to the frustrating whims of the holy light triad. One never knew when someone might greet one’s existence with abrupt flashing lights on account of the merest instant of not paying attention (“But Officer… it was yellow”).

One light in particular, I found, was in quite the fanciful mood. As I watched green turned to yellow, to red, to red again (wait what?) I became increasingly more frustrated. Three revolutions, close to five minutes. Seriously, who was taking the piss? Was there an individual in headquarters watching me, teasing my movements, readying to call out the authorities lest I cross an imaginary line in hopes I could trigger the sensor, a sensor, is there even a sensor? Does flicking your lights work? Just where was the left turn arrow, or even a green for those on “my side” to enable those to travel forward.

Amidst my frustrations and various hammering upon the steering wheel (movements I usually reserve for appreciation of the type of music I mentioned earlier), I noticed activity on the crosswalk across from me. My mind span, was this the individual responsible for the strange light activity? The more I paid attention the more I decided there was little, to zero chance, it could be. This person could hardly stand. Much like a new born deer it was as though they (singular tense) were learning, struggling in fact to keep their form from colliding with the dirt at an alarming rate of speed. I continued to watch, my sight occasionally switching to the stale red light (“change dammit!”) This was quickly deteriorating into fascinating entertainment. The person was jaywalking (do they even still give tickets for such an infraction, as many as unsolicited do you believe in God “argumentalists” who trespass to knock upon unsuspecting residences?) the light of the incoming traffic was green (Oh bliss, to have a light of such mesmerizing qualities). And yet still they paid zero heed.

Eventually the figure reached the median, tripped in fact, in a comical manner, which brought a childish smirk to my chops I’ll admit. (Please touch the button) I felt like jumping out of the car and proclaiming “For the love of all that is holy trigger the fn’ light”. But I resisted the urge and the figure managed, somehow, to not touch the area in which the button was located, every other part of the pole but that one location it seemed. Dammit!

However, I remained transfixed, at this point my frustrations had transformed from the get-away-from-that. That-will-scar-your-flesh boiling water on the stove type heat to more a controlled simmering. The figure weaved, a crazy dance where left meant right and up most probably meant down. One might easily ponder on whether in fact they existed in another dimension within the boundaries of our own (have you ever been that drunk?) But this person wasn’t drunk. In fact, on closer inspection (the light was still red) they appeared to be wearing the type of attire one might don to a special occasion.

Left leg, right leg…

I caught sight of a peculiarity. The folds of cloth shouldn’t bend in the way I was witnessing. Something was amiss. Was there an artificial limb in attendance perhaps? My gaze lifted and our eyes locked. Had he also been watching me this entire time?  The persons stare fell from my own, and…the light was still red, as they toppled. I swear I saw a placid expression turn to one of curiosity then depart from one of wonderment to something else entirely. The forms pace picked up. At this juncture he was crawling (the form appeared male though I know I shouldn’t assume). Scratch that. His hands were digging for purchase. Frantically. His eyes locked upon mine and I was swimming, drowning, in deep indecision waters. Should I take a picture (or a video? “Worldstar -”) or get out and help him or call the authorities (“wait you ran a red light and were driving one mile an hour over the limit?”)

I continued to watch, subconsciously my knuckles were tearing into the material of the steering wheel. I was stuck. I couldn’t move (the light was still red). Surprisingly I hadn’t seen a car since all of this had transpired. All of close to five minutes which seemed to have lasted a torturous lifetime.

An audible pop, quite unlike that of a champagne cork escaping its confines, broke the silence of the early morning stillness. And the figure moved with increasing vigor, a ferocity in its movements only matched by its formidable stare. With a start I noted the forms lower extremities. Devoid of movement, the combination of pants, socks and shoes amusing in their resting position (yea, we just thought we’d take a nap. Have you ever tried being a pair of legs? It’s exhausting!) The two portions now several inches apart, a fact which is strange in itself but it was then that I believed I saw a sight I’ve only ever seen in the movies; an uncoiling of that which should never see the light of day. Fuck me I was a character in a real-life zombie movie. Was my new regime of meds responsible? I wasn’t about to discuss it with the fellow who was getting ever closer. A leering look of I-hope-you-have-ketchup-in-your-car plastered across his features with shocking intent.

Fuck this, I was out of here. I looked up. The light was green. The fact that it might well have been green for several seconds of no importance to me now. My foot hit the gas with a viciousness reserved only for a downed opponent within the octagon. My tires squealed.  And I bid adieus to the form now mere inches away from the door beside which my form was seated.

The rest of my work day would in no way compare to this of that I was sure.

Cult

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