The air tasted of ozone; a humid saltiness like dried sweat and dirt, blood and tears. The air was still, deathly silent. Still, the life of the landscape creaked and frolicked in a pervasive and encompassing fog that hung in the air, almost tangible. He couldn't believe he was here again.
Not again, gawd please no, not this again.
He pushed through the thick underbrush; coming upon a sudden clearing, he blinked against the glare of the sun. Sunspots flickered on his eyelids. First lesson they taught you in training camp; never look at the sun directly. The jungle was harsh, the elements unforgiving, the enemy ruthless.
It was strange; he was aware what he saw wasn't real, but that did nothing to ease the horrible images flashing before his eyes. The edges of the world began to seem grainy, as if slowly losing their focus like the view through a window in the pounding rain. Soon all he was left with was blurred visions of sharply contrasting colors and movement. It was almost as if he could see the air moving and smell the dirty world around him. The colors were runny and warm, melting into one another in one mass blur of redness. For some odd reason, he thought of runny eggs, the yolk popped and oozing that puss like substance that tasted
that tasted so good. Like a boil being lanced, dripping lovely delicious red, red flowers like the roses wifey loves so
And then he stumbled upon it; the dead body of a young girl. It was the first dead body he had ever seen, even in his first week of heavy duty. She was no older than his own daughters back home.
But that isn't right, you have no daughters, you barely a man as it is.
And in the distance, he began to hear voices. Not evil voices telling him to do psychotic things, but the voices of his friends, his fellow survivors. He could hear...Jim, talking excitedly.
"You know he's going to pull through; this is Mark we're talking about, man."
"I'm not getting a pulse. What do you want me to do?"
"You're a fucking doctor! Do something!"
"He's doing everything he can. Let him work."
"That's not enough! Get out of my way, let me try..."
The voices faded away again, their dim echo reverberating in his mind. Let me try, let me try, let me...He began to suddenly feel thirsty, thirstier than he had ever been, ravenous for something liquid to run down his parched throat. The thirst seemed to rack his body with pain; he couldn't think, he couldn't see. He could only…desire. Desire to quench that deep, dark part of himself, howling to be sated.
And so before he knew what he was doing, he set upon the body before him with reckless abandon. It was more satisfying than anything he could recall in his lifetime, coating his bone-dry throat with the syrupy thick blood of the dead girl.
Back in the real world, the thing that had been Mark Wilkins opened chalk white eyes. It smelled fresh flesh before it, and its gaping maw sought it out.Its grisly jaws snapped open, hungrily reaching for its first meal.
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