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Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 11

Morgan circled around the creature that had been his wife, keeping the pick axe extended in front of him. The beast moved with an urgency, quicker each moment, her distended blackened jaw working open and closed, faster ever since he had cut his elbow on the rocky ground. Morgan backed up again, feeling the small wooden fence that he had built around the house at his back. The creature, sensing he was trapped, dove forward in a lunge, swiping at Morgan with it's thick claws. Morgan threw himself backwards, rolling over in a reverse somersault on the opposite side of the fence. He sprung up from the crouch he was in and dived sideways as the creature fell hard through the fencing, splintering wood with tremendous force.

Morgan turned around to watch the creature get up. Bits of wood had cut into his wife's chest and face, black gore and green puss seeping from the wounds, but still she came. Morgan felt a thick knot in his throat, tears in the corner of his vision. God how he had loved Eliza. The woman who had brought him back to life, the woman who had shown him kindness. Who had shown him love. Whatever the fuck this thing was, it wasn't his Eliza. He still heard her cries, the pleading in her voice, the agony. Whatever this monster was, it wasn't his wife.

The monster had freed itself from the bits of fencing and continued towards him as Morgan brought the pick axe up. The creature opened its jaws wide, black spittle flecking free and snapped out at Morgan. He spun right, letting her jaws go wide beside him, clamping shut on empty air and came back around. Using the momentum of the spin he continued the turn, bringing the pick axe around with him and burying it deep into the beast's back. An eruption of vile green puss and blackened dead blood erupted as the pick tore in. The creature let out a gurgled cry and fell on its knees, the pick still stuck in her back.

Still the creature struggled though, slowly rising to it;s feet undeterred. You could see entrails and broken ribs bursting beneath the battered wedding dress, yet still the undead creature rose. Morgan looked around, finding himself only steps from the battered fencing. He quickly picked up one of the biggest timbers and struck out as the monster tried to turn about to face him. His first strike caught it across the jaw, muscled flesh tearing and spraying dark blood. The creature fell back, and Morgan struck again, bringing the beam down across the top of her head with all of his force. He heard a sickening crack and the monster fell to the ground, blackened matter seeping from her cracked skull. The monster stopped moving, but Morgan kept swinging until the timber was no more than a splintered nub, and the creature that had once been his lovely Eliza nothing but a battered pasty mess.

Spent, Morgan collapsed on the ground, as the implications of what he had done sunk in. Sobs racked his body, the guilt, the anger, the self loathing gripping his insides. Emotions Morgan had long buried these many months, since she had first died. He reached out, turning the bloody pulp of her head sideways, looking at the tattered remnants of her hair, instead of her accusing black eyes. Morgan cried, the weight of having to kill his wife a second time threatening to crush him.

When he closed his eyes he could still see her, his lovely Eliza, screaming in pain. The doctor telling him that their baby had killed Eliza from the inside. The mis-carriage had went horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do. There had been so much blood, blood everywhere. Morgan had seen some horrific things, had done horrific things, but nothing had compared to what he had seen in his wife's bed that day. The doctor told him all they could do was make her comfortable, ease her suffering, by overdoing her on morphine. Otherwise, the tearing in her insides would cause her to bleed out. In between her cries, even now, he could hear his wife's whimpers for her baby, the bloody mess that lay swaddled, so still, on the crib he had built. With a thick voice, he had told the doctor to ease her pain, and Morgan Randall held his wife as she slowly died in his arms, still asking for her baby. The baby he had given her.

Morgan cries of anguish was interrupted though by another sound, softer, though still a cry, coming from the burst grave his wife had just risen from.

End of Line.

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