Chains of the Flesh

The dreams are back again. The overpowering stench, the dank dripping surroundings, the panic. The horde turning on me and picking me limb from limb just as I watched them do the others so many times before. Waking up I know where I am, who I am and the creature next to me. The guard, my guardian. The hoarde has always been there for me but it\'s still unnerveing on some deep level to realize what they are. They\'ve provided for me when I was in shock and didn\'t know what was going on, well they provided what they knew to provide, flesh. They\'ve protected me from strays and stragglers and I\'ve watched them rend the flesh of the transgressors with a grim effincey and satisfaction that still makes me shudder. I\'ve noticed a strange sort of caste in my hoarde. Workers, fighters, ones that take care of menial tasks. That day, the day I was saddled with this responsibilty, this curse still burns bright in my mind as does the view of the hospital in the setting sun. We\'ve moved away since then at the urging of the stronger ones. To find new ground and plentiful lands. I\'ve already begun to miss how things were. The convince of knowing I could go in and watch tv. Not this apocalyptic hell hole I\'ve been thrust into. And thrust into a seat of some sort of twisted power no less. Why did they pick me? Why do they care so much for me? Are there more like me? Or am I alone with my shambling hoarde, my grotesque children. God I want this to be some nightmare and I can just wake up back in the hospital room. Plus besides the misery of having to rough it I think I\'m going crazy, or crazier at least. I\'m starting to think these, THESE THINGS..... are actually talking, like me like a person. But that\'s not possible is it? I mean they never have in anything I\'ve ever seen. God that\'s it I\'m alone with these creatures and I\'m just imagining they can talk god I need my meds. Or death..... death might be good.....