After (#3)

Chapter Twenty-One

Thunder crashed through her skull.

Lava. Molten hot lava flowed through every vein.

Bullets pattered around the streets as mundane as rain.

No. Not bullets.

It was like chattering gun fire, but it wasn't.

She wasn't wearing camouflage. Not anymore.

These weren't her friends, her comrades.

But it was a warzone.

It must be.

But who were the enemy.

She wasn't sure anymore.

She felt the hatred running through her, burning and soothing somehow at the same time.

But she didn't know who she hated.

Them?

Us?

Me?

Everyone?

There was no coherence.

She couldn't string more than half a thought together before stuttering onto the next.

Nothing was ever answered.

Her head was a sea of questions without question marks.

And her body, her body wasn't her own anymore.

It was there. It was whole. Uninjured for the main part.

It worked, but it wasn't hers.

Her legs moved like robotic pistons, marching to the tune of the crowd.

She was a sheep.

But who was the shepherd?

And why would a sheep have such taste for blood.

No. No, she was a wolf.

And this was her pack.

She had been reborn into it.

This wasn't through choice.

She knew that much.

She was always aware of that.

Maybe that was the worst part.

She knew it was wrong. She knew this wasn't what she wanted. But she couldn't help it.

No. Not a wolf either. She wasn't with this pack by choice.

She was a rat.

A rat carrying a plague and dancing to the tune of the Pied Piper.

That was it.

These noise of bullets was the music in her ears.

The sea of limbs around her were the rats.

Gnawing. Nibbling. Biting.

Where was she being led?

She hoped to her death.

Peace.

Or food?

Fresh flesh.

No, death.

Definitely death.

But whose?

She didn't think she'd killed.

Not yet.

Maybe she just couldn't remember.

She felt hungry though.

Maybe that was a sign.

An empty belly, made a full conscience.

Where were they walking?

No one seemed to be leading, yet they moved as one.

Were they the same as her?

Were they having the same thoughts?

Their eyes looked empty.

They were vessels.

Moving limbs.

Muscle memory.

Maybe that's how she looked too.

Or maybe that was to come later.

She didn't know whether she wanted the thoughts to go or not.

The thoughts hurt.

Maybe emptiness was the only escape.

Autopilot.

For the rest of her days.

Houses.

She could see houses.

And shops.

She couldn't take her eyes off them.

But why?

It was as if it had been programmed into her.

Just like her movement.

The doors.

Doors.

Doors.

Doors.

Every building with doors on sent her mind racing.

She didn't know what it meant anymore.

If it had ever meant anything.

It didn't matter.

She wasn't her anymore.

She was them.

They were a thing.

A collective.

One undulating wave of blood and bullets.

Red.

Everything was red.

Blood.

Guts.

Eyes.

Even the setting sun.

And her hair.

Yes, her hair was red too.