I'm not completely pleased with this, as it feels really cliché to me, and I'm also not sure if the writing style is too choppy...but that's for you guys to tell me.
Thanks for any reviews!Dead End
A tooth fell out of my mouth. I didn’t feel it, just saw it on the ground, felt a gap in my teeth. Drop, drip, droop. Bye bye. That’s okay; I’ve got more. Lots more in my mouth. To bite with. Bite, crunch, snap, slurp. Bite fingers. Faces. People.
People’s insides. So soft and squishy, and pink. I like pink. My room was pink, with swirls, before it burned. Now it’s black. But I remember it being pink. Just like beneath people’s skin.
When you peel away the covering of a person’s stomach, you can see all of the shiny pinkness inside. There’s a lot of red, too. Beautiful, sticky, runny red. I like licking it up; it tastes like a penny. I swallowed a penny, once. When I was a child. It tasted shiny and…I don’t remember the word now. It was penny-like; that’s all I know. And this red drink—blood. Yes, blood—it tastes like a penny. So sweet, yet sharp. So…metallic. That’s the word. Like metal.
There goes a person now. He’s screaming. I see blood on his face. My own pinkness is aching now; I need food. Real food. Not dog. Poor doggy. Bye bye. It cried when I broke its legs. But it couldn’t get away then. So I didn’t have to chase it. I could eat it. But its insides were small, and tasted like brown. Like dirt. Like…what did I use to say? It was a mad word.
Shit. That’s the word. That’s what it tasted like, the inside of the dog. My dog. My puppy. Frankie. Birthday…he was my birthday present. When I was a child. Am I still a child? I am. An older child. Not an adult…
A teen. I was a teen. Am a teen. Sixteen. I could drive. Now I’ve forgotten, but it’s all right because I can still walk. Though I’m slow. But my friends help me. Just like before. We all get in a circle and trap the food. The human.
Human. I need food. I can see some of them ahead, running away. Running, screaming, crying. They’re sad.
One just fell and there's a loud noise. His head hit the ground and made a sound like when a stick hits a ball. What's that game? Baseball. Yes. Pavement is like the bat; head is the ball. And I win. I get the food.
The man is making noises; he’s moving his mouth. I see his teeth, all yellow and white. His eyes are staring at me. They’re blue. I like blue, too. But I like pink better. I want some, now. It’s hard, at first, opening it up. Have to poke nails in, hard, and pull. Poke, poke. Stab. He’s screaming; they always scream, unless they’re asleep. Not breathing. But this one is, barely. And he’s screaming.
Riiip! I like that sound. Like when I ripped my jeans once. My face turned red and my friends laughed. I see red now. My arms are weak, but I am hungry. I pull and pull, and the man screams, and his stomach rips. I see pinkness now. Everything is covered with red, with blood. I take the pink and pull it out. It’s like that thing I found in my yard before, all pink and twisting and slimy.
An earthworm. But this tastes better. It’s chewy. Yum.
The man’s stopped screaming. I’m happy. I like sitting here, with no screams, able to eat.
Loud shouts now. It’s hard turning my head, but I try. I see big things. Green and black. Like what I used to drive, but big. And scary. Like a monster.
I forget about eating. More people are coming, but they’re all the same. They’re all green and they all carry black things. Loud black things. I hear them speak—they can talk, but I can’t. I wish I could. They’re shouting at everyone. One is walking to me. He is mad. His face is mad. I am in trouble. He points his—what is it?
Gun. Trigger. He’ll pull it and shoot. This is bad. I will be hurt. I stand up and drop my food. The man looks happy, but a bad happy. I start to move away, but he is fast.
“Come back here, you little motherfucker!”
I can’t talk. I want to. I’ll tell him I will not eat him—he looks like he’s brown inside. Full of shit.
A loud noise, like the sky when it’s dark with clouds. I feel like fire just hit my head. I reach up to feel my face. It’s gone. Not all of it—just one side. Boom. Bye bye. The man is still coming. He’s too close; he hits me, hard, with his foot.
Snap! Something broke. That was the sound of breaking, like a branch on an old tree. I fall. It was my leg that was broken; that’s why I can’t stand. I can’t walk. The man is standing in front of me.
I grab his boot; maybe I can bite him. Whenever you bite a human, they scream and run away. I want him to run away, far away. He is bad and I feel scared.
I haven’t felt scared in a long time. No more feelings, besides hungry. But now I am scared.
The man moves his foot and steps on my hand. My fingers snap. Off they go. Now I can’t grab. He leans down and shows his teeth. Smiling. Happy, but I’m not. Because I’m scared. Shitless. I used to say that.
“All right, little monster,” the man says. “Time to for you to go back to hell.”
He pushes the gun into my mouth; I taste something like dirt, but worse. And metal. Metallic. Like blood.
Like a penny.
Yet I applaud you. I don't think I've ever read something quite as mental as this, where you seem to subtle-ize everything. It almost seemed as though this zombie creature was justified in its own mind. You delved into its mind and pulled out the thoughts in an almost mixed up sort of way. I couldn't even really bring myself to describing what type of mindset this person was in. Definitely wild, but also childlike, as if he/she didn't know any better. An interesting character for sure.