Her footsteps were labored and prolonged, the starvation and disease having taken its prolonged toll. Each step drew her further up the stairwell. They'd come so far now, the miracle that willed them here, each and every agonizing step, had brought her home to die.
Coming upon a landing, her eyes, glazed over and weary, cast glance up to the damned souls there.
Disease has driven into them the madness. During the night so much had changed. Inside of them all, the disease altered, and they could eat again…only now their hunger was far too grotesque in nature. Around them the bodies of fallen, gray and sunken as time passed, became the feast these poor retches of life desired with every part of their dementia.
Her mouth was dry, lips sticking above the gum line, panting through the desire to join, she continued on. Drowning away the noise of ripping skin and bones snapping, she only paused for a moment when a line of mahogany goo spattered across her cheek. Once this sludge had been blood, the disease made it this way, something about the smell of this contaminated substance drove her crazy, teasing the hunger. It was like the sweetest smell she'd ever beheld, a savory delectable, just one little taste it begged. That thought alone ripped at her stomach in disgust, how could blood, old and gelatinous, be so tantalizing?
'By now,' she thought dully to herself, 'I must look more like the corpses getting torn apart, then those doing the tearing.' had the blood inside of her too become thick and delicious? Straining for the water and food it could not ingest only oxygen and disease remaining.
Their eyes had gone red, full now yes, but there was no color save the red. Even now, so close to death, her eyes still clung to the brilliant blue that was their memory. Those eyes, which had seen so much, seemed so far away, in them was a past that no longer held any ground, the sickness seemed to kill even the memories. Agonizing hungry, revolting desire, regrets, so many regrets hence, and lastly the joys and laughter but dim echoes in a time she'd closely forgotten.
The hard fall of her footsteps resonated around her, tranquil air, none of the enraged have come here, for no dead yet occupy these upper rooms. He would be waiting there though, as promised. His shadowed prints were already left before her in the dust.
Sun flooded in through the particles dancing midair, cracks in the window refracted light onto her precarious continuance. Once flushed cheeks have drawn in and left to light hints of indigo with feathered strands of blonde hairs plastered against them. Too much like the walking dead, it was a near miracle that kept her walking. The steps ended and what seemed like hours climaxed in minutes to where it was time to end.
Particulate light haloed her in the doorway she'd at last reached, looking almost angelic in this feverous moment of damnation. She stepped into the room, he was there, like promised, looking through a curtain at the world as it had become. His eyes remained tired, not yet completely taken by the sickness, and lingering was the smallest remainder of color in his cheeks. For him, the disease had it's onset a good time after her own, and though his days were short, he was almost handsome in the morning sun. It was a moment she studied as long as she could, eyes washing over the man she'd married not a year ago. The weakening heart within her did a flutter, for sorrow or joy, she didn't know, but she knew this was the last time it would.
"There used to be quite a different view from here….the valley used to be green, and that tree didn't have bodies in it." His brow rose slightly as if in a jest, though his tone was solemn, a haunting reverence, just a calm whisper. "You see over on the rise? The hill where we where we were married, the morning dew has covered the bodies out of view…it's almost beautiful again."
She walked to his side, willing the last of her energy to keep her standing just a little longer. Biding for more time, she leaned against him, frail form not much of a burden anymore.
"It will always be beautiful to me, no matter how this world may taint it." Her voice was low, breathed in and out as if only able when exerted through such.
"We do not have to end love, we…we could…"
"No…I will not…feed this hunger, if that is the cost…."she paused, coughing, her voice pained as gasps fill in the gaps, "This…this hunger…what happens when there no more dead to eat?" Tears mustered in his eyes still, where hers were far too gone to reflect the gesture. Her legs buckled and he gently lowered her to the ground, cradling her in his arms. "Don't you see…it is better I die here, in your arms, with the same mind I fought this journey with? If I suffice this hunger…I will never be me again. So I will die here, now, as me, your wife, and that is what I want." Trailing into mumbled rambles of days past, she could give him just the one last gift of a smile, as the woman she was and once was faded.
With callused hands he caressed the side of her cheek, her soul leaving as the venturing sun moved into their window. The widower had no tears to cry as he buried his head in her ratted hair. Gently sobbing, he began planting tender kisses along her forehead, whimpering words of regret and begging god. As the warmth vanished from under his lips and her body became rigid, he could no longer hold back the hunger. Her aroma was a torturous yearning that drove away his remaining sanity and love. Kisses gave way to bites and within moments he began to gorge upon his wife, the burgundy of her and bright red of him spatter the curtains. Vigorous want cut away his own flesh where broken bones crunched through, their echoes joining that of the fallen below.