"Take this away, take this away
I can feel it on my mouth
I can taste you on my fingers
I can hear you like the holy ghost
And kill you if you get too close"
-Left Behind, Slipknot
Begging didn't help, but then again, neither did trying to forget.
Sobbing filled the air like a sick parody of a lullaby, constant and painful. It was not made by one, but by many. Several figures stood out amongst the throng that wandered back and forth aimlessly along the high-street, three infected that where consumed by their own personal all encompassing grief. They too staggered around from place to place, but it was not as mindless as the commoners around them, nor too organised to have a destination.
One, however, didn't want to move. It simply sat on the cold, worn cobbled street ignoring the grunts of the Infected around it, bloodshot yellow eyes staring into a puddle of water that had pooled in the street after the recent rainfall. For a moment, this infected was silent, calm. It had focus on something else, and that was good.
A rather thin face stared back at the infected, a mockery of what it had become. Eye length brown hair that was more albino than anything, the skin equally as pasty, as if it had not seen sunlight for months, a faded black tee-shirt and jeans that where muddy, ripped and stained. No shoes or socks.
Damian was different, he knew that much. As far as he could tell, there where no others like him – at least, no other males. The others, the ones who he could identify with, where all female. Their claws where longer, too, Damian's where only twice the size of normal fingers.
What did survivors call the female ones like him? Witches?
Witches…
Suddenly, and even as Damian cried out, the memories came back. The memories of her, the girl who he couldn't protect, who he'd give his life, his heart for...
Hannah.
His sobs now filled the air, hard and fast. He hunched over, sobbing so hard his body was shaking. The puddle rippled and broke as tear after tear shattered the mirror. Pain, that's the only thing that filled his mind. Pain and anger, sadness that he couldn't save her as she screamed his name, as she was dragged from his clutches and out of the door…
His head was in his clawed hands now as his sobs joined the others. Damian HATED this, and worst of all it didn't stop. The image of her smiling happily on a warm summer's day as they walked along the street, as if the world would bow at their feet and they could do anything. He felt her hand in his, he could feel her against him! His cries came more and more now, the tears flowing down his cheeks like rivers.
A lone common wandered too close and Damian's anger found a outlet, claws gutting the man with a screech as his claws ripped the infected apart, blood spraying across him and his clothes, until finally the anger subsided again, and the torment of loss took over.
It was a few hours before he managed to regain control of himself again, the memories fading for the moment. He looked up and saw apart from the two of his kind who where now sat sobbing in their own torment, the street was largely clear. For some reason, probably the strength that his kind possessed, other infected stayed away from him and the others, though he could hear them laughing and insulting him in their language – all Infected apart from Commons could speak their own language, it was universal. He had observed that humans could not make head or tale of it. Even the behemoths stayed a respectful distance away from him when it could snap him like a twig. For all of its size, it FEARED what he would do should it get too close.
Humans, on the other hand, usually had no such sense. Damian was a murderer, but for that he felt no guilt. His anger was unconditional; it made no distinction, and quite frankly he had nothing left to live for… what did it matter?
He recalled the time a loud, obnoxious human wielding a large weapon had waltzed into the house he had previously been residing in, bawling and shouting in the language he no longer understood, blowing apart infected left right and centre. When he had busted into Damian's room, raising his weapon and firing at the others, the anger swelled up inside of him. He just wanted to be alone, to have the torment end. He recalled the fear in the mans eyes as his gun could do nothing so close, and Damian could outrun even the fastest person.
By the time his anger had subsided, the man looked nothing more than a pile of offal. Damian had fled, wanting to be alone again to try and get over the torment.
Now, Damian got to his feet and wandered across the road as the sun was just setting on the horizon, to find a place to rest for the night. He would get no sleep, and he preferred to be in a quiet place when the pain started.