Short Story Part 1

I feel like writing and it's about time I actually started working on this story. I hope whoever reads this digs it. This is MOSTLY freestyle writing, on the spot kinda shit. I've had the idea for the plot in my head for a while but everything else rough draft, and it'll probably stay like that. Here we go...




The cross hair fell upon her face, her beautiful, tragic face. For weeks he would come out onto the roof of the store and just watch her dance her lifeless dance in the street below through the scope of his rifle. It was so hard looking at her, but for some reason he just couldn't tear himself away from her, nor gather the courage to put her out of her misery. Leaving her alive (intact) seemed to be the only thing that he felt left him connected to his life before the disaster. It hurt seeing her the way she was, but the situation prevented the feeling of loneliness from overwhelming him.
Memories of her floated through his mind. Memories of their wedding, of their children, of the gorgeous house they had lived in for only a short period of time. These memories grew sour with everyday he stared at her. These beautiful memories poisoned by reality; and even after all of the things she had done he still just couldn't do it. She killed them. She fucking killed them! Their three wonderful children consumed and eaten alive by his very own wife in front of his eyes. The scariest part was how much she enjoyed doing it. Even amongst the chaos of the moment, he swore he could see a slight smile on her face as she sunk her teeth into their infant son. These are the memories that really plagued him, the ones that made him wake up every single night and vomit from shock and horror. Memories that will stick like a molasses of pain and depression that no magic drug or doctor would ever be able to get rid of.
Why doesn't he just shoot her? She's dead already, just put her down, stop torturing himself. He didn't know. This long of time being stuck inside of a barricaded general store surrounded by thousands and flesh eating humans can create many conflicts in a man, make his mind masochistic prison. Like whether or not to make a run for it and try to find survivors, or whether or not to to shoot his wife, or to stop delaying the inevitable and just put a fucking bullet in his head. These are the conflicts that ruled his life now. No longer was it go to work or not go to work. No longer was it simple. Everything from his old life seemed simple now, no matter how supposedly "big" the decision was. This is true reality now. And the true reality is that everything's fucked.
He hated them with every single bone and muscle in his body. Those stupid, pungent creatures that somehow managed to ruin every persons life in the entire world, old or young. He couldn't even call them humans anymore. They didn't discriminate, they killed everyone that got within biting distance and they didn't give a fuck who you were. Unbiased slaughter. Nothing, absolutely nothing could stop one of them from making your little world, theirs; except for a bullet.
He didn't know what to think of all this other than how much he hated it. This was all so unnatural, but yet, nature can be pretty fucked up sometimes. Maybe this was our punishment for neglecting our duty as humans, or fucking up our planet so bad. We'd never know. Not at least until we died.
So he finally decided.
Fuck it all. This staying alive was pointless. For all he knew he would be there, on top of that general store for the rest of his life, for however long that was really going to be. It would all be just a waste.
He lifted the rifle slowly to the bottom of his chin. The cold barrel of the gun made his throat tense up with nervousness and break out into a cold sweat. He couldn't tell if the pain was from choking back relentless tears, or if he was just pressing the gun so hard against his throat it was crushing it. Its not like the subject even mattered, everything was about to be better than it ever had been before. Just a few more seconds now. He wanted to be calm when he did it so he could leave this world with a sense of peace. He kicked off his shoes so he could pull the trigger with his toe instead of having to struggle with reaching. The last thing he wanted was to have to bleed to death. After a full ten minutes of complete silence, he felt that it was time. Cold sweat had made his feet slippery, proving it hard to get a good grip on the trigger with his toe, but he finally did it. The countdown began:
5........


4.......


3.......


2........


1...
And then there was a scream.






I apologize for the bad grammar but i kinda bombed English class in high school everytime I took it. The segment seemed kinda short for me but this is only the beginning I guess. For those who stumble across this I'd really appreciate feed-back, even if it's in a few years from now. Be critical, be honest, but don't be a fuckin dick. PEACE.