Deadly Encounter

Deadly Encounter Part 4

Chris edges his way on his backside, sliding across from the top of the table down to the foul-smelling floor next to him, the poor girl with the sorrowful stare of death is still holding out her arm.

Sobbing he gets on all fours and crawls slowly, his arms and hands shaking through the lake of blood, urine and faeces now covering the floor, the absent green colour of the fire exit is his goal.

Sobbing and vomiting, he's trying to hold his breath and not look as people are continuously being ripped to shreds as he has tunnel vision, only focusing on the door, he feels as if not making eye contact with her will save him somehow.

Staring down at the offensive floor, he refuses to look towards her, still crawling towards the exit sign of salvation. Edging closer carefully and extremely slowly, pushing past remains as people stood in front of him are being grabbed and pulled away out from his path. It's as if being on his knees saves him from her terrible limbs.

Choking and vomiting at the stench only a foot away from him, he's not far from his salvation, breathing slowly, sweating profusely and continuously holding his breath, trying not to inhale any more faeces, his mother's words ringing through his mind. "If you smell it, you taste it!" But all he can taste is the vomit and the bitter remnants of the beer he so longed for.

Finally at the door, while people behind are still being grabbed and drained by these dreadful arms, the screams and pleading begin to die out as she makes her way through everyone on her dinner list.

The exit sign that gave so much comfort is above him now, the door in front of him that offered the same comfort still won't budge. The dreadful reality sinks in that he now has to wait for his turn.

He can't turn his head away from the door, still on his knees and clenching the leg of his trusty stool that was dragged along with him like a comfort blanket.

He cries not able to breathe anymore the fear taking over, he presses his forehead and hands against the cold wet door.

"STEVE! ...Please! Let me out!" He shouts and sobs, pressing his head against the door even harder.

The distance from the table to the door was only ten feet but it was like crawling the length of a football field for him. Exhausted and terrified he curls into a ball at the right corner of the door holding onto his legs, still breathing slowly and holding his breath, still crying, his eyes glued shut with fear, his body and neck are so stiff from the tension that his spine feels like it's going to snap outwards like a lolly stick.

There's only one girl left now, she's pleading for her life while the Goddess laughs a mocking echoed giggle. The terrible limbs are pointing and shaking towards the girl, pushing and poking at her playfully while tearing at her top and scratching her skin.

"No! Please! I have children! Don't kill me! PLEASE don't kill me." She begs, sobbing on her knees.

"Fuck it!" Chris shouts, empowering himself getting angry with the realisation that he will never see his family or friends again, gritting his teeth he opens his tearful eyes, the adrenaline pumping he clenches his sticky blood-soaked fists and dares himself to look.

For a few seconds, he wants to fight one last stand and die on his feet, and to make sure to give her the exaggerated middle finger in pure arrogance, becoming emotional at the mass of now unfamiliar bodies on the floor, struggling to recognise his drinking partners that he has shared so many memories with.

He can't process the carnage looking on with anger in his eyes as he leans against the corner, his hands grabbing at the slippery wall as he stands, no longer afraid for a moment.