I shamble slowly toward you, a trail of rotted flesh behind me.
You fumble with your shotgun, weeping.
“Shoot him!” Your companion screams, “I know it’s hard, but you have to remember, he’s not in there anymore!”
But I am in here. I see everything, feel every sensation. I’m conscious of your fear, equally conscious of my hunger.
Perhaps you see that flicker of consciousness in my eyes, because you hesitate before pulling the trigger.
It’s time enough.
As I tear into your flesh, I know you don’t understand why I’d do what I’m doing. But you’ll understand in time.