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Description
It's surprising how badly it hurt at first.
In all my life I had never endured anything more than a mere sprained ankle, but this… this was in a category of its own. But now, it doesn't hurt so bad, in fact it doesn't hurt at all, except when I think about it... or when I think about anything for that matter. I tend to find myself becoming increasingly devoid of thoughts lately, and I don't mean just "spacing out." It's as if my conscious mind has become a barren wasteland, and each of my thoughts is one of the last few survivors -- every time one would die, so would part of my mind. It's funny… it's little analogies like this that keep my mind active, keep me from slipping away.

I begin to feel myself going numb, so I look down at my wound. I can hardly stomach looking at it, and with it being four days old, it just keeps getting worse. I look at it to remind myself that it should hurt, I try to trick my brain into believing it is true, anything to put a thought in my head, even if it's just to buy me a little time. I refuse to give in that easily, as almost everybody else has. Despite my weakening mental state, I am one of the strong ones; I will persevere, even if I'm the only one left.

They don't bother me much anymore. At first, they banged on my door relentlessly, all of them doing that same, monotonic moan—it was hypnotic. Ever since I got the bite, that moan has been my primary nemesis in retaining my state of mind. It's so beautiful, it calls out to me, beckons me to join it. But I don't give in, I'm not that weak. Now though, they leave me alone. In fact, I can even leave my sanctuary for small amounts of time before they attempt to again beckon me to join them. They don't say anything of course, but… that moan conveys a thousand words, more convincing than even the most articulate argument. However, I'm stubborn; I won't give in.

I'm so hungry, but it's not what you think. There's plenty of food in my sanctuary, but I am not able to eat any of it. I remember these foods being so delicious, so satisfying, but now, they taste like dirt. I have this craving, and almost an uncontrollable urge to satisfy it. I'm not daft, I know what it is, I've seen what they've done. I'd rather starve to death than succumb to these urges. But even if I starve to death, I'm not sure that would stop me… that's a scary thought, isn't it?

I don't dare sleep, incase I succumb in my sleep, and I can't allow myself to do that. So for now, I try to keep my mind busy. I try to read, but the words on the pages become a scribbled mess. I try to watch old movies, but I find myself losing all interest almost immediately. Even music has no importance to me anymore. My only viable option is to talk to myself, but who knows if I'm really saying anything, I sure as hell can't understand myself.

I hear the door downstairs open, expecting another onslaught of my brethren calling for me, I prepare for the worse. But all is not what it seems. Instead of a multitude of feet slowly dragging across the wooden floor, I hear something completely different—a set of lone feet, hurried but stealthy. I can hear him looking through the pantry downstairs, and ultimately hear his whimper of defeat. I can't believe it. Is there really somebody there? With nothing to fear, I step out of my sanctuary, to meet with this man.

I'm smart enough to realize that after all these years, I probably do not have the capability to speak coherently, so trying to talk to him is out of the question. I must do something "human" to let him know I am not one of "them." I head downstairs, towards the kitchen where I can still hear him foraging for anything edible. I don't want to spook him, but I know if I do, he will just run. He won't shoot at me with a gun, or even scream for that matter, as it will just draw more attention to yourself, and bring with it the crowds. The smart ones learned this ages ago while the heroes were dying and the cowards were running, and ultimately surviving.

I pull a chair to the counter and sit in it, a very "normal" thing to do. He whips his head out of the pantry and stares at me, prepared to take off in a moment's notice. I meet his eyes with my own, and I blink rather slowly and forcibly trying to convey myself. He continues to stare at me, until I throw him the bar of chocolate and an expression of surprise and complete happiness washes over his tired body. I wave at him to follow me to my sanctuary, it will be nice to have someone else around, I get awfully lonely.

As we step into my sanctuary, I show him my stash of food, water, clothes, movies, books, tv's, radios, and even board games. I was one of the smart ones before, until I made my ultimate careless mistake. After I shut the hatch behind me, I notice his eyes are gleaming with tears of happiness. His frail body is quivering with excitement. I throw him a can of food, peaches I believe, and wave at him to go ahead and dig in. He pulls the top off and digs in, and I watch as life returns to his frail body. It's a beautiful sight, to see someone in such a state of extreme happiness over something as simple as a can of peaches.

I throw him another, but he refuses by pushing it back towards me, he is a modest guy, I like him. I persist silently, and he gives in. He opens the can and takes another bite, another look of pure happiness washes over him. And that's when I hear him speak.
To my surprise, if I strain enough, I can make out the words more or less. What I gather is that he is extremely grateful, and that he has a name (the concept is so wild to me, I can hardly bear it). He then says, which I hear almost completely clearly, "You have no idea how good it feels to eat after having not eaten for days on end." He's right, I do not know that feeling, but he do know of the hunger, the craving to eat that he described. I'm so hungry.

The realization hits me. I can not keep up this charade of my humanity up forever, and this man, is what I have been waiting for all this time. That's when I hear the moan. I think it's coming off from far in the distance, but to realization it is not. It is coming from me… my entire world comes crashing down on me, it can not be... i look at the man, the hunger in my stomach is overwhelming, and i stand up... I see the look on his face, utter terror is the only way I can describe it. This completely "human" gesture however, allows me to break the hold on me for but a moment… but it's too late…

My moan was like a beacon, calling out to the rest of my brethren, and I can hear them approaching. The man is pressed up against the wall, with nothing but fear in his eyes. I try to explain what is happening, but to no surprise, only a garbled mess comes out. He is more scared then ever. I hear the crowd below enter through my front door, and that's when I make my final decision. I reach in my pocket and take out the key to the door of my sanctuary. I unlock it, and open it to step outside into the crowds of my approaching brethren. I take the key in my hand, and with one last look at the terrified face of the man, and throw it to him. He should know what to do. I shut the blast door, just as I am swallowed by the crowd of my brethren, and I hear a satisfying *click* as the man locks the door. I smile a little as I give in to the ultimate pleasure of becoming one of my brethren. It is a pleasure unlike anything you could ever imagine, and it's made all that much better knowing that at least someone, the man who I met in my last hours, will survive.

END

Description
It's surprising how badly it hurt at first.
In all my life I had never endured anything more than a mere sprained ankle, but this… this was in a category of its own. But now, it doesn't hurt so bad, in fact it doesn't hurt at all, except when I think about it... or when I think about anything for that matter. I tend to find myself becoming increasingly devoid of thoughts lately, and I don't mean just "spacing out." It's as if my conscious mind has become a barren wasteland, and each of my thoughts is one of the last few survivors -- every time one would die, so would part of my mind. It's funny… it's little analogies like this that keep my mind active, keep me from slipping away.

I begin to feel myself going numb, so I look down at my wound. I can hardly stomach looking at it, and with it being four days old, it just keeps getting worse. I look at it to remind myself that it should hurt, I try to trick my brain into believing it is true, anything to put a thought in my head, even if it's just to buy me a little time. I refuse to give in that easily, as almost everybody else has. Despite my weakening mental state, I am one of the strong ones; I will persevere, even if I'm the only one left.

They don't bother me much anymore. At first, they banged on my door relentlessly, all of them doing that same, monotonic moan—it was hypnotic. Ever since I got the bite, that moan has been my primary nemesis in retaining my state of mind. It's so beautiful, it calls out to me, beckons me to join it. But I don't give in, I'm not that weak. Now though, they leave me alone. In fact, I can even leave my sanctuary for small amounts of time before they attempt to again beckon me to join them. They don't say anything of course, but… that moan conveys a thousand words, more convincing than even the most articulate argument. However, I'm stubborn; I won't give in.

I'm so hungry, but it's not what you think. There's plenty of food in my sanctuary, but I am not able to eat any of it. I remember these foods being so delicious, so satisfying, but now, they taste like dirt. I have this craving, and almost an uncontrollable urge to satisfy it. I'm not daft, I know what it is, I've seen what they've done. I'd rather starve to death than succumb to these urges. But even if I starve to death, I'm not sure that would stop me… that's a scary thought, isn't it?

I don't dare sleep, incase I succumb in my sleep, and I can't allow myself to do that. So for now, I try to keep my mind busy. I try to read, but the words on the pages become a scribbled mess. I try to watch old movies, but I find myself losing all interest almost immediately. Even music has no importance to me anymore. My only viable option is to talk to myself, but who knows if I'm really saying anything, I sure as hell can't understand myself.

I hear the door downstairs open, expecting another onslaught of my brethren calling for me, I prepare for the worse. But all is not what it seems. Instead of a multitude of feet slowly dragging across the wooden floor, I hear something completely different—a set of lone feet, hurried but stealthy. I can hear him looking through the pantry downstairs, and ultimately hear his whimper of defeat. I can't believe it. Is there really somebody there? With nothing to fear, I step out of my sanctuary, to meet with this man.

I'm smart enough to realize that after all these years, I probably do not have the capability to speak coherently, so trying to talk to him is out of the question. I must do something "human" to let him know I am not one of "them." I head downstairs, towards the kitchen where I can still hear him foraging for anything edible. I don't want to spook him, but I know if I do, he will just run. He won't shoot at me with a gun, or even scream for that matter, as it will just draw more attention to yourself, and bring with it the crowds. The smart ones learned this ages ago while the heroes were dying and the cowards were running, and ultimately surviving.

I pull a chair to the counter and sit in it, a very "normal" thing to do. He whips his head out of the pantry and stares at me, prepared to take off in a moment's notice. I meet his eyes with my own, and I blink rather slowly and forcibly trying to convey myself. He continues to stare at me, until I throw him the bar of chocolate and an expression of surprise and complete happiness washes over his tired body. I wave at him to follow me to my sanctuary, it will be nice to have someone else around, I get awfully lonely.

As we step into my sanctuary, I show him my stash of food, water, clothes, movies, books, tv's, radios, and even board games. I was one of the smart ones before, until I made my ultimate careless mistake. After I shut the hatch behind me, I notice his eyes are gleaming with tears of happiness. His frail body is quivering with excitement. I throw him a can of food, peaches I believe, and wave at him to go ahead and dig in. He pulls the top off and digs in, and I watch as life returns to his frail body. It's a beautiful sight, to see someone in such a state of extreme happiness over something as simple as a can of peaches.

I throw him another, but he refuses by pushing it back towards me, he is a modest guy, I like him. I persist silently, and he gives in. He opens the can and takes another bite, another look of pure happiness washes over him. And that's when I hear him speak.
To my surprise, if I strain enough, I can make out the words more or less. What I gather is that he is extremely grateful, and that he has a name (the concept is so wild to me, I can hardly bear it). He then says, which I hear almost completely clearly, "You have no idea how good it feels to eat after having not eaten for days on end." He's right, I do not know that feeling, but he do know of the hunger, the craving to eat that he described. I'm so hungry.

The realization hits me. I can not keep up this charade of my humanity up forever, and this man, is what I have been waiting for all this time. That's when I hear the moan. I think it's coming off from far in the distance, but to realization it is not. It is coming from me… my entire world comes crashing down on me, it can not be... i look at the man, the hunger in my stomach is overwhelming, and i stand up... I see the look on his face, utter terror is the only way I can describe it. This completely "human" gesture however, allows me to break the hold on me for but a moment… but it's too late…

My moan was like a beacon, calling out to the rest of my brethren, and I can hear them approaching. The man is pressed up against the wall, with nothing but fear in his eyes. I try to explain what is happening, but to no surprise, only a garbled mess comes out. He is more scared then ever. I hear the crowd below enter through my front door, and that's when I make my final decision. I reach in my pocket and take out the key to the door of my sanctuary. I unlock it, and open it to step outside into the crowds of my approaching brethren. I take the key in my hand, and with one last look at the terrified face of the man, and throw it to him. He should know what to do. I shut the blast door, just as I am swallowed by the crowd of my brethren, and I hear a satisfying *click* as the man locks the door. I smile a little as I give in to the ultimate pleasure of becoming one of my brethren. It is a pleasure unlike anything you could ever imagine, and it's made all that much better knowing that at least someone, the man who I met in my last hours, will survive.

END