Welcome to Gaia! ::

I've been this character in my dreams, a few times. Last night was one.

I put some dates to make this maybe more reasonable to understand? I don't know. I would appreciate commentary.

Does it scare, worry, bother you when you're too deep into your own story? I don't know what to think when it happens.

I don't mind that Numb has killed so many people. Or is it that I have killed them?

...


<5:17am>

The hideous, grinning thing sat there in the lab coat. Or, rather, the skull grinned. There was very little flesh left. Nothing to indicate any change in emotion, really. Perception of emotion was left, but no real motivation. Eyeless sockets surveyed the handywork of the last few hours.

<8:00pm the previous day>

After the first few weeks in the hospital, with a heartbeat so weak that even the machines apparently could not detect it, the doctors were starting to wonder why the man wasn’t already dead.
Little did they know,
He was.

Time went on.
The man still moved, talked, insisted upon his release.
With such odd vital signs (there weren’t any), the good people of Mellview Hospital had no choice but to refuse his ever more violent demands until they could safely conclude his recovery… or demise.

After discovering the man in an apparent state of shock from a chemical overdose, the days were filled with waiting, even more waiting, and a steady monitoring of the man’s deteriorating physical condition.

A scientist by trade, his research had grown ever into more arcane and questionable realms of study. A seeker into immortality, another on the quest for the fountain of life, now either the victim of fowl play or of the folly of self-testing.
Now…

<6:03am>

It paced restlessly back in forth in the office. It twirled a scalpel thoughtfully (but what thought could be possible inside that degraded cranium, who can say?).

Through the bloodstains on the bullet-proof glass, the carna
ge down the hall presented itself for viewing like a randomly-arranged gallery of horrors.

The creature waited, patient, calm. The last few changes were taking place. There wasn't much longer, now.

<11:30pm, the previous day.>

That he was in a state of decay was obvious. Rigor mortis had set in, leaving teeth exposed in a wide, mocking smile. He moved around stiffly at this time, demanding a wheelchair, demanding to be taken outside and released. Eventually it wore off, leaving a wider range of movement. His agitation grew. The smell was incredible.

With a tongue that could barely still form speech he pleaded with the staff, the doctors, the other patients. Freedom, just a last taste of freedom. He phrased the appeal as the last request of a dying man. By the time his skin became purple and bloated, and the first of the flies began to land, (so many flies, in such a sterile environment, where did they all come from?) the man became manic and hysterical. Attempts were made to confine him in a strait jacket. The few who could tolerate the stench and spongy feel of his flesh finally cornered him in one of the more out-of-the-way examination rooms.

Once confined, the man slumped down, in defeat or death none could say. The night nurses had come in by that time, fresh and unaware of the spectacle which had ended mere moments before.

No attempt was made to explain the body’s condition.

No watch was set.

No living being stood witness

…as the dead eyes slowly opened.

<8:13am>

Surveying its handiwork, the decaying corpse took final stock of its situation. The organs and meat were far gone by this time. It ripped them easily off, shedding them in wet slivers and moldering clumps.

There were sirens from outside. No matter. I can handle anything at this point. They'll never take me alive, hah-hah. Fools.

It pulled the rest of the flesh away, weakness that bound those who gave into it.
Then, in a final bound, smashing through the shatter-proof glass, the naked skeleton was finally free…
To taste whatever pleasures the night could offer the damned.

Note to self, do not read this after midnight when I have no roommate.