First Person Sample: I can't control them, they haven't got minds to control. [ Charles hisses, his accent thick in a bout of emotion, for perhaps the fourth time. His shoulder is aching, pressed firmly against the stairwell door, struggling to keep the grasping hands and biting mouths as far from his person as possible. Being this close he can smell them, the dead, rotting flesh so easily sliding off of the bone on the older ones. The newer ones nearly passing as human if it weren't for the blood splattered fingers and lack of thought. They functioned, he reasoned, on a base level-- the desire for food driving the reanimated corpses into action.
Charles couldn't remember the last time he had seen another person alive, the last time he hadn't had to smell that wafting stench of blood. This wasn't the kind of thing he was made for, dead or not the bodies still existed and killing them required a skill he wasn't adept at. A visceral reaction to life was all they provided, unfortunately that reaction was death. ]
Bloody hell! [ Charles yelped feeling dirty fingers curl in the shoulder of his cardigan, digging for flesh, for meat and bone and everything that Charles had left. He jerked back, just enough, and barely in time; leaving the clawing hand with nothing it desired and only a chunk of the fabric covering his shoulder to speak for. His head snaps to the side and he casts another glance toward the stairs. ] Hurry up and find something to barricade this blasted door and come back down here! [ Perhaps shouting wouldn't help anyone of them focus, but considering the fact his weight was only going to hold back so many of them for so long-- and their persistence never wore out with the smell of flesh so close-- he felt the matter was dire. ] There's nothing in there-- it's-- so vacant. [ His breath hitches nervously, a glance to the side, hoping someone will arrive with something to prop the door closed soon. ] What if-- [ He's terrified to ask, but his mind can't stop circling the idea of the others. The children. What about them? ] We need to find them as soon as possible.
Sample 1
Charles couldn't remember the last time he had seen another person alive, the last time he hadn't had to smell that wafting stench of blood. This wasn't the kind of thing he was made for, dead or not the bodies still existed and killing them required a skill he wasn't adept at. A visceral reaction to life was all they provided, unfortunately that reaction was death. ]
Bloody hell! [ Charles yelped feeling dirty fingers curl in the shoulder of his cardigan, digging for flesh, for meat and bone and everything that Charles had left. He jerked back, just enough, and barely in time; leaving the clawing hand with nothing it desired and only a chunk of the fabric covering his shoulder to speak for. His head snaps to the side and he casts another glance toward the stairs. ] Hurry up and find something to barricade this blasted door and come back down here! [ Perhaps shouting wouldn't help anyone of them focus, but considering the fact his weight was only going to hold back so many of them for so long-- and their persistence never wore out with the smell of flesh so close-- he felt the matter was dire. ] There's nothing in there-- it's-- so vacant. [ His breath hitches nervously, a glance to the side, hoping someone will arrive with something to prop the door closed soon. ] What if-- [ He's terrified to ask, but his mind can't stop circling the idea of the others. The children. What about them? ] We need to find them as soon as possible.