Robert drifted into awareness. It wasn't the slow lurching jolt that waking up normally brings, but rather a slow realisation that he was numb to his existence just shortly before. He began regaining control of his senses. The first thing he heard was heavy breathing, which he eventually realised was his own as he gasped for anything other than the air that was scorching his throat. Then the stench hit him and his limbs involuntarily tensed. He found that he had feeling in his fingertips when he felt a puddle of what he assessed to be his own vomit, although its smell was greatly overpowered by the stench of decay. He brought himself to his hands and knees and fought through the intense tingling of his limbs, regaining control, but it quickly escalated into agony. He crawled to his bedroom window with clenched teeth. He discerned in the obscured light that his skin was an unhealthy bluish-gray colour, his veins a dark purple. He closed his eyes and waited.
The fight for consciousness became easier as he gained strength and self-control. He was able to estimate that he was not nearly his old self, but the ability just to breathe felt like such a privilege at that moment in time. He brought himself to his feet and looked out his window. The first notion that struck him was the sheer clarity of his vision. Horror followed, seeping in before his eyes were focused or his mind could even form the word. His horror was validated when the idea solidified: Zombie. There was no mistaking this. The human form sitting - every movement slow and stutteringly calculated - outside of his window was far too damaged to be alive. Most of its torso was missing, the abdomen completely - cleanly, almost surgically - removed. The ribs were exposed and caught his eyes for a long moment. They were carved very intricately, the patterns were almost beautiful but composed of jagged, malicious edges. The zombie seemed to sense Robert and turned to look him in the eyes. It dropped the partially decomposed corpse that it was feeding on, stood up, and began a brisk stride towards the window, smiling and waving.
Robert stared in horror for a second, but managed to dive away quickly just before a carving knife flew and embedded itself in the window where his head was just a second ago. The zombie ran to the window, wrenching the knife out. It fell back for a moment as the knife came free, but quickly regained momentum, smashing its body into the window with unparalleled ferocity. Robert stumbled to his feet and ran into his garage as he heard the window break behind him, followed by a frenzied assault of limbs propelling an empty carcass forward. He quickly locked the door and expected to hear banging, but there was only silence as he held his breath. The doorknob turned for a second before the door burst open with a hail of splinters. The man fumbled for his axe hanging on the wall and gave a terrified swing, which the zombie easily ducked under, breaking his fingers with its strong hands in return. Robert backed into a corner and pleaded for his life, but the zombie followed him calmly. The knife was driven into his chest as he coughed a red spray onto the grey plastered walls. It waited for him to stop struggling then dropped the knife next to his corpse before leaving the kill to its brothers and went searching for another living soul to bless with immortality.
Robert's eyes opened to a breathtaking display. The walls were covered in splotches of red. He lay in a pool of it. He felt enlightened. He could see his weakness veined throughout every inch of blood, blackening and dying as it congealed. He took a deep, unnecessary breath, ended with a harsh cough as more dark crimson liquid ran down his chin. Looking down, the first thing he noticed was his distended belly. He poked it with distaste. Obscene, really, this soft, weak flesh. The one who enlightened him, however, left him a gift to fix his weakness. A silver knife, engraved with mesmerising patterns. Patterns contrasted against the filth of his surroundings. He felt he had seen these patterns before... in another life perhaps? No matter. There was work to be done.
