Kill Me Twice For A Price

Discussion in 'The Artist's Corner' started by Goopus, May 7, 2011.

  1. #1 Goopus, May 7, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: May 7, 2011
    (Nobody reads my stories here. Why am I posting this? I have no clue.

    Here ya go)


    I tried to raise an eyebrow to express my annoyance. Oh, I remember.. I'm fucking dead...

    "Relax?" I asked in this new moaning language that I was being forced to use.

    The others were using it, too. Somehow the language made sense to them. They could somewhat understand me, and I could somewhat understand them. It was bittersweet. Most of them had gone insane with the knowledge that they were walking corpses. So it was constant babble. This guy talking to me seemed to be one of those nuts. He was far too optimistic.

    "How can I relax when the entire left side of my face is gone?" I moaned.

    "Look on the bright side," the other guy gurgled. "We can't die twice."

    A deliberate bullet disagreed, smashing through the dude's forehead and exiting the back of the skull with a spray of gore and rotting brains. He collapsed to his knees with an almost dreamy expression in his mangled eyes. The next bullet caught him in the throat and tore part of the rotting structure clean away. He folded onto his side in an unnatural position.

    Shit, I thought dimly, and turned in the direction that the bullets had come from. A flash erupted in a window high in the darkness. I heard it slap into an abandoned car to my left with a sound of shattering glass and wounded metal.

    "Holy shit," I moaned.

    "Dinner, dinner," one of the other dead nuts began moaning, sounding very close to human in his excitement. It definitely showed in his face that he wanted some fucking food.

    "You'll be eating a bullet," I moaned dismissively, turning to stumble towards the corner of the street.

    "This is so fucking trippy," I grunted to myself. "I'm a corpse. I can barely control this dead body. Why can I control my dead body? What purpose can I serve?"

    "Dinner, dinner!" the other nut began singing. Dull moans. "Graagh."

    Another gunshot roared, and the muzzle again flashed in the darkness. The nut took the bullet in the shoulder and was sent to his back by the impact. He began to weakly totter back to his feet. Another gun flashed and crackled and boomed in the night. Blood sprayed thick and heavy from the nut's thigh.

    "They're playing with me," the nut moaned in stuttering shock.

    I stopped staggering away from the gunshots and turned slowly back towards them to watch. The breathers had exited the building and were trooping along the sidewalk towards me and the limping nut. We were the only two no-brainers nearby.

    "What do you want?" I moaned at the breathers, knowing they wouldn't understand.

    I had tried endless times to communicate with them. Once -- shortly after waking up like this -- I had tried to talk to my grandmother. She had responded by trying to kill me with a knife and out of some instinct, I had done a bad thing. I ate my grandmother from the neck up. I even cleaned off the bones. I ate her brains. I had never believed the whole "Braaaiiins..." thing in zombie movies, but they were tasty.

    I waited for her to wake up, too. Then I remembered that she had no brains to even have that little spark like me. I had eaten her brains. I felt a little guilty, but not as guilty as one would think. My grandmother had been an old hag.

    I drifted back into reality. Don't forget you're dead, I thought with a wry smile that existed in my thoughts if not in my facial muscles. These breathers were shining a flashlight in my eyes now. I sighed, not even bothering to try to lift my right arm to cover my eyes. It wasn't exactly working right now. Some woman had sawed my right hand off at the wrist with a machete, just because I was trying to eat her.

    I got her after that so it wasn't a big deal.

    "This one has no face," one of the breathers was joking to the other one. He raised his voice as if to include me in the conversation. "You have a nice smile, sweetheart."

    "Keep talking, smorgasbord," I moaned angrily.

    That particular breather was probably a meal for five no-brainers. He had to weigh at least two hundred and sixty pounds.

    "Do you want to put her in the pit back home?" the other breather asked. "We'd have to cover up those little things. Not good to get the crowd riled up too much. It never ends well these days."

    He gestured at my chest as he finished.

    I flopped my head on my limp neck downwards so I could see my chest. Oh my, I thought. My pretty pink blouse had been ripped by one of my grandmother's knife slashes apparently. So had my matching pink bra underneath. There was a thin infected slice across my right breast. That was the only thing keeping them from being perfect, in my opinion.

    Even after death, I got some nice hooters, I thought proudly.

    "Rope her up, Jamie," the first breather replied after a long look at me that focused mainly on my chest.

    Oh, you gotta be kidding me, I thought.

    I took a few shuffling steps backwards, probably looking aimless and brain-dead to the pair of breathers. I stumbled over my own limp feet in these damn heels and fell over. My head bounced off the pavement like a basketball. All of a sudden, I couldn't move any more.

    But I could still think.

    Why.. can't.. I.. die?

    The breathers were kneeling on each side of me now, looking at me with heads cocked to one side.

    "Yeah, that's a broken neck," Jamie said, spitting casually on the pavement and laughing as my eyes turned to watch it.

    He sighed, disappointed. He stood back up and pulled the pistol out of his waistband. He aimed at the side of my head. He was staring intensely into my dead eyes as he did it. I thought that perhaps he got enjoyment from the eye contact with the undead.

    Whatever he was doing, he didn't get to enjoy it this time.

    The nut had stood there dumbly watching for a few moments. He had stood there dumbly watching long enough for Jamie to dismiss him as too injured to really come for them at the moment. As Jamie turned his back vulnerably to the nut, the nut was only a few steps away.

    He took those two steps as the other breather stood. He was opening his slack mouth to bite as the breather aimed the gun. As his finger slid to pull the trigger, the nut bit a big chunk out of the side of Jamie's neck and ripped another chunk from the wound as Jamie screamed and staggered. The nut staggered along towards his right holding the two prizes between his teeth and fingers. He looked so pleased with himself.

    The other breather screamed and stood straight up, pulling out his own gun with surprising agility. He aimed the pistol and fired twice at the nut. I wasn't as impressed with his aiming ability, however. The bullets both missed, plowing into the wood of a fencepost behind the stumbling corpse.

    The breather went to a shooter's crouch, aiming towards the nut more steadily. As he crouched, his thigh nudged into position against my cheek. He didn't notice. He was staring towards his target even as I stared towards mine. He was close enough to bite. He was close enough to tear into.

    I lunged as far as I could, sinking my teeth into the soft and juicy skin of the breather's thigh and he screamed and fell onto his side. His eyes were bulging with horror. He looked down to see a piece of his thigh missing and began letting out little half-crazed howls as he rolled around on the ground.

    "You fucking bitch," he shrieked, aiming the pistol.

    Before he could, Jamie sat up from where he had fallen. He stood slowly, looking around with a sort of dazed horror in his dead eyes.

    "Welcome to hell," I moaned contemptuously to him from where I lay.

    "Fuck youuuuuuu," he moaned in a sort of horrible keen.

    "Jamie?" the other breather asked. His voice was shaking and his eyes were wide and shocked. "Fuck, man."

    The breather fired and Jamie was caught in the side of the temple with the bullet. Jamie's time in hell was a mere minute. The first breather turned back towards me and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

    "Fuck you," he spat at me and aimed the pistol at my head. He stopped, and put the pistol against the side of his head. "Fuck me," he whispered, thinking only he could hear and understand it.

    He pulled the trigger and slumped sideways. I stared at the warm slab of meat that I could be eating if I hadn't tripped and fallen. I tried to calm myself down.

    "Eventually some food will come along in reach for me to eat," I moaned softly. "I've got time. I'm dead."

    I lay there looking like a real corpse now. Occasionally a hand or a leg would twitch, but otherwise I looked like a real corpse now. Hopefully some survivor would make a mistake like that man I had doomed to suicide. Hopefully I could get more than a little chunk next time.

    The nut knelt down clumsily beside the man who had shot himself.

    "Dinner, dinner, dinner!" he began singing again often through a mouthful of tasty fresh human flesh. "Winner winner chicken dinner."

    "Fuck my life," I moaned.
  2. You should read exit here by Jason myers. Reminds me of the style.
  3. I've never read it, might give it a look.
  4. I just read some of your other stuff. Keep writing, man.
  5. I don't have the time to read it all right now, I'll finish it later. But I have a little constructive criticism if you don't mind. I'm not much of a writer, so take this with a hefty grain of salt. You've used the word "fuck" outside of the dialog and it seems out of place and gratuitous, and kind of amateur. But by all means keep the swearing in the dialog. Also you used the words "the dude" and "the guy" outside of dialog. I'd use "the man" instead. But so far I like it.
  6. Hmmm thank you, constructive criticism is vital in my opinion.

    And thank you, Roland.

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