Section II.III: The Burning Poison that is me

The small room is aglow from the cigarette in my face, eerily lighting my ragged hair and unwashed face. My dark brown eyes are black with death. A slim ray of heat grazes the tip of my nose and radiates against the skin of my fingers.

The house is large and empty of value, the front of it having been blown off in some long-forgotten battle. The only body within is the one I made. I take another drag.

Bodies litter the world now. Far too many than make sense. I remember seeing the mushroom clouds. The two fat pillars rising far into the sky; their tops flowering to grapple the clouds in their deathly clasp. Those sure didn't leave the bodies.

The following radiation had its place but it's still no explanation for so many buildings with corpses littering their floors while my small group lives. By now the bodies are nothing more than piles of tattered clothes and grey mush, but in the beginning...

Mr. Bain supposed biological warfare. I suppose he was right. It makes as much sense as anything else in this dead world.

You can't do this. I pull the cigarette away and look at its pitiful yellow light. The edges are a deep red and dying. Just lay down and die. I watch the embers snuff out. I shift my weight. The pistol at my hip digs into my skin and my belt chafes my skin. They're both painful. I like the pain. Just be a pile of grey mush. The group will move and leave you alone in this little room, confiding in only your misery. Just die. The cigarette has the faintest of faint cherry in its grey center. I can't see anything in the dark except the single point of burning poison.

His body hadn't responded to the shots as they went through him. He just opened his mouth and reached for his weapon at his side but his muscles failed him. I took a step forward and made a futile attempt to catch him as he face-planted. His left arm went out to find support but found none, merely a limp arm crushed by his body. I stood there with my ears ringing and arm outstretched to his prone body, my gun lowered. My heart hammered in my throat so bad I couldn't breathe or swallow, pain flashed through my mouth with every heartbeat.

He had just been leaning against a wall there. I saw the surprise in his eyes. His mouth slightly agape. Nostrils flared. His eyes were brown and his forehead a little too big. His body skinny and hands large. Like everything else on this planet, he only wore grey. Then there were three holes in his chest and two over his shoulder. I was down on my left knee and my hand outstretched in the impossible task of catching the gravity-bound corpse I had created. He made a muffled thud through my ringing ears.

There were more muffled footsteps behind me. I spun around and stood quickly. Too quickly. I fell flat on my ass as Rippy turned the corner, wild shots flying over his head into the ceiling. I laid back onto my elbows as he brought his rifle to bear, scanning the room. My heart hammered in my chest and my elbows flowered with pain. My butt hurt. I let out a shaky breath but the weight in my chest didn't go away. Anxiety clung to me like a wet rag. Rippy said something and I said something and things happened in a blur and then I lit a cigarette and stared at the body. I made that body. We stuck him in the closet downstairs.

I still feel the weight in my chest. The cigarette didn't take away the edge. Doesn't release the pressure. Doesn't do much of anything except make my throat itchy. I snuff it out. Burning poison deserves to die.