The claws inch their way deeper into my skin. I can feel the tendons and muscles in my neck and chest tearing, like a thousand rubber bands being pulled apart slowly. My blood is a river, oozing out and streaming down soaking the elastic waistband on my underwear. I am dead. For all intents and purposes, this is it. Time is slowing down and it's getting harder to maintain focus and try to fight this evil rotting corpse away from what little flesh is left on my face. It wasn't always this way though, I was one of the best. I had survived for seven and a half years out here.
The first year was hell, quite literally. In-Fighting amongst small bands of survivors was the norm. Famine, rape, cold blooded murder, you name it because it was happening. Most of my time was spent inside of a lonely island beach house, suspended in the air on stilts originally to protect from heavy flooding. All was well at first, until their slithering bodies started piling up like a disgusting rotting mountain. It was time to flee.
There isn't much to tell that you haven't heard. Bash them in the head, sever it, destroy the brain. I was good with a sword, and even better with a machete. Apparently not good enough though, and I close my eyes and slip deeper into this warm and comforting abyss. The seven and some years were tough, and the loving embrace of death is slowly wrapping its bony arms around be. I take in one last gasp of air through the gaping hole of ripped trachea, goodbye cruel world. This is the next chapter, I must prepare so I am ready.