The Survivor of the Madman.
By Emily Charlotte Cooledge
Copyright 2012 © EmilyCharlotteCooledge
For the endless limits of imagination, because nothing is impossible.
(Formally known as Born Human. Due to die a Survivor and Born Human. Due to die the Subject of the War..)
Book three in the Madman trilogy.
The white walls were sprayed in darkening crimson blood giving contrast for once to the pure white corridors of my home. I stared petrified at each droplet as the blood slowly dripped down the wall forming a small puddle underneath where the bodies lay, their eyes open and their mouths slightly ajar letting the echo of their last breath rattle up from within them.
But it was broken by the crimson droplets as they hit the white tiles on the floor.
Drip, drip, drip, and nothing else, no one dared breathe.
The softest sound of the dripping blood on the floor was the only sound to be heard, everywhere else was silent, no one dared move in the corridors, no footsteps came towards me. There was no one left, it was just me and him, the Facility sounded dead almost, there was nothing left to be heard and no one left to make a sound. I stood there motionlessly listening to the building as I stared at the bloody walls and the mass of bodies that laid on the floor or were slumped up against the walls, a bullet in their brains or a knife in their chest.
My body trembled with fear and thrill as I hungered for more, revenge, the beast within me was ordering me to walk forward, to walk along the corridor and up the stairs and end everything once and for all. The beast inside of me whispered in my ear, it crooned to me, purring softly inside me, begging me to make the final kill.
The kill that would free me forever.
Oh how I had waited for this day, how I had dreamed for this day the second since I had ever turned against him. It was the day of revenge, he had hurt me, so I would hurt him, I would tear him apart limb by limb just like I had promised him. I would make him beg for mercy and then become the merciful one and end his suffering before he could strike a hand against us anymore.
My once rich and shiny black fur coat was now soaked in other people’s blood, those who had resisted; instead of resting primly on my body it dragged off of me before clumping together in a sticky mess. I no longer cared about my appearance or the bloody paw prints I was leaving on the floor.
It was time.
Time for the end.