True Fear

I'm not a story writer. I write angsty "wah wah wah daddy issue" prose and poetry. I know. But for the past two days this has been in my mind. It's five in the morning, and I'm just writing this now. I know this needs a lot of work, a lot of editing and a lot of ...whatever else. This IS a zombie story. Not "braaaaaaains" zombies, not Romaro zombies, and not fucking Resident Evil zombies. These zombies scare me a lot more.

I will be working on this, but I need to sleep but I need somewhere to put this. Though I know it isn't really ready for "publishing" I would still like some sort of review or opinion on this piece.



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We don't know how this happened. We don't know why this happened. Is it some sort of sick joke from God? Or has God given up on us as much as we'd given up on him? Has God let his guard down and let Lucifer wander our forsaken lands? Or is it just some sort of freak nature?


It slowly started with the men in November. I didn't feel as safe around them anymore, as unattractive as I'm usually found to be. Two crooked front teeth, a rounded belly from a love of food and small tits seemingly balanced on top of larger rolls beneath them. But with the strange deviant vibes I got from men, random men on the bus, in the street, in the shops, I felt naked and that I couldn't hide behind my natural defenses. I found myself gorging on fast food, ice cream and everything bad for me in hopes of making my skin break out in those deep red pustuals and to make my rounded belly turn into rolls of fat. Oh, if I had known how hard it would be to come by such luxuries again! I strived to make myself as unattractive as possible to stop the unwelcome gazes that were unmistakably sexual. The news in January became riddled with stories of rape as the men couldn’t restrain themselves anymore, pictures of formerly beautiful women, now with sallow skin and hair greasy and lank with neglect. The women at the beginning were lucky.

Women were hardly seen on the streets in February. We were a rare breed in public, and when we did dare venture out, we dressed in our ugliest clothing, we pushed our bellies out, slumped forward to hide our breasts and didn't bother with makeup. We didn't want the attention, and we didn't want to be the next victim.

As the violence escalated through the months, the pathetic victims who were brave enough to leave their homes in March and April began to venture back out, no longer worried about the attention they garnered. They dressed scantily, and were unafraid. The men didn't bother with them, and walked past them as if they were just part of the scenery. The rolls and flaps of skin were replaced with large mounds, tumor like protruding from the gut. They would look like pregnant bellies, if the skin didn't look loose, so ripped with veins, and so bulbous, like eggs just sitting under the skin. We found out soon enough though, they WERE pregnant.

The gestation period from fertalization to birth was only three weeks by the time the rate of rape had climaxed in April. At the beginning in January, women weren't always impregnated. In the beginning, the gestation period was unknown, because the babies often died before women even knew they were pregnant, and the wails of anguish were the only sign we had that our neighbours had been victimized and lost what creature they were given.

The streets were flooded with drugged, drunk and abused women, birthing anywhere from 3 to 18 children at a time near the peak of it all in April and May, all varying in birth weight and sizes. We were all adjusting to the influx of violence and attacks on the streets, we barely noticed the ferocity of which the babies came. The tumors on the women's stomachs would pulse and tear as sharp little fingernails would free whoever was attached to them. Sometimes, often times, this would happen as the women were walking down the street looking for a meal, or a man. The sex drive was as rampant in these women as they were in the men at the beginning. The women would barely stop to catch the baby as it tumbled out of her bloody knobbly stomach and latch it onto her nipples. If it were a baby of unusual tininess, she often wouldn’t bother catching it and just let it splat on the sidewalk; she wouldn’t look back. Women with acceptable sized children would have the most torn up nipples from sharp developing little teeth and fingernails.

The women who were "mothers" soon started showing the same violent characteristics as them men. It was as if all they cared about was fucking and eating. Farmers in rural areas were reporting their livestock being found devoured, down to the bone. Not a single morsel or hair was missed, and often times the bones would be cracked open and the marrow would be sucked out. The reports began to change to the farmers themselves eating the animals. And then the farmers themselves just being eaten. Those who had been unaffected, that is, the women who never left their homes, wished to remain ignorant of who might be committing the crimes. The reports by this time, were no longer being shown on T.V. It was not on the internet. It was shouted in the streets, the streets that were usually quiet at 4 in the morning, and the streets we used to trust at high noon. Human voices, bereft of everything that made them human, would shout their conquests in a droning monotone, between moans of pleasure while they fucked, and between great swallows of whatever flesh they happened upon.

Bones began showing in the streets, cracked open and hollow. Blood stained the sidewalk, and the women with the torn up stomachs walked as naked as the men.

Below my window I heard fighting on an hourly basis. After the first three days, I stopped looking, because I knew what I'd see. Women, fighting naked with no shame or fear over some scrap of meat a male had tempted them with. And a circle of men with now deformed looking cocks, rigid and pulsating as they tried to force their way into the women. The ladies wouldn't even stop to acknowledge the invasion as they continued to fight for the scraps, and the men would do what they could to reach climax inside.

The babies grew quickly. The mothers would abandon them soon after their first suckle on their rotten tit, as soon as the children were able to walk, within three days on average, they were out on the street. Often they were made as food for men and women alike, and sometimes larger children. The weak ones were dropped on their heads and left for the scavengers to devour.

By the time the children were three weeks old, they had a libido. It was disgusting to see, disturbing to hear, and depraved to know. They had the bodies of 10 year olds, their age and time escalating quickly, and the women would throw them off before they had a chance. They turned their attention to the animals on the streets, the stray dog which had avoided being devoured, a cat which had only been bitten and then gotten away. The children would force themselves into the animals after they had broken the limbs, and would often chew on the animal’s neck during the forced and diseased coitus.