The Creeps (Sequel to The Weirdos)

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Narcolepse stared blankly at the body lying at his feet, blood seeping into the earth. Her cold, lifeless eyes stared right back. He would've thrown up if he were physically capable of doing so. But this body was not his own... He couldn't even cry or scream or tell the world he was sorry. Tell her he was sorry. That he never meant for this to happen. He never would've done these things on his own. He wanted to end himself, not other people. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't a murderer... Scratch that. He was. As of three weeks ago, he was a murderer... His soldier body lifted his head and started walking, holding the gun carefully, pointed at the ground, but still at the ready. When would this end? And how? He figured he'd end up dead in a ditch one of these days. And he'd actually deserve it. He was going into a deep dark pit of hell for the bodies he was stacking up. His hands were stained a permanent blood red... Their blood. Forever ingrained in his palms. As he marched along the field, hunting in the fog... A light flashed in the distance and a whizzing sound went by his ear. He was going to die... He knew it when more of the sounds echoed around him and the flashes became a constant. He felt the bullets hit his shoulder, his arm, his thigh... He fired into the fog and heard bodies thumping to the ground. I'm sorry! He wanted to yell. Please stop me! Kill me, please! Make me stop! But he wouldn't stop... He kept going with the bullet wounds in his body. He kept going even when his belly was ripped open by someone's blade. He kept going... Until all of them were dead.