Fallout Dreams: 12) Crazy Eyes

This thing, its eyes seem to emanate madness, that it is simply a product of instinct. I can almost share its insanity, laying here on this dirty floor, as hungry and thirsty as I am, rolling around with this extra from a bad nightmare.

It doesn’t bite me, just grabbing at me, swiping at me, thankfully missing mostly, but I know if it lands one serious blow then it’s lights out, and then what. As I struggle I notice it wears some torn trousers, as if to cover its modesty, and the moment I see this I am confused, laughing at the absurdity of it, and at the same time suffering from shock that every moment of my being awake brings with it a new attack.

Again the creature digs its hands into me, no, not hands, almost claws, worn away by incessant scratching at something. As it pushes me, I struggle with all my might to push it away, but it is too strong, and I am weary.

Now, it pushes hard again and I can feel myself slide along, the gun, in reach of me, I grab it, my arm drops loose and I pull the trigger, one shot, again, another, and the thing snaps away, rolling across the floor like a beached shark.

I struggle to my feet, wary that it will spring to its feet again, but no, it just writhes around, not as strong as I thought. I hate myself for it, but I must do it, one more shot, that echoes around the huge factory, banging against the walls as a terrible reminder, of the bullet I put into its head.

It stops. the struggle is over. One of has survived, and thankfully once again it is me.

I look closer at it, still afraid at what it might do, that it might grab me, but my curiosity overrules my common sense. It skin is dark, like a decayed brown, as if it has suffered persistent burns. Its eyes remain open, as if its lids have burned off. Its hair is wiry, almost none existent. I cannot help but fell such pity for it, but that is just how I am. I wonder how long such sentiment will last.

No matter, for now it is over, and the only sound I can hear are from my own stomach. Rumbling away, complaining that it needs something. I wonder if I could cook the thing I just… killed, but no, I would rather die than be so savage as that.

I move on, looking around. There is a room, almost a room within a room ahead, up some small metal steps. As I walk in, I see a desk, some tiny lights still working, even after what seems like years, decades even. There are filing cabinets and some shelves. As I search I see a picture frame, very worn, but I can see a picture of three people, one a woman, smiling so happy, a young girl with her, and a man. My mind explodes with what I see, the man, those stupid trousers the thing was wearing, they are the same. Surely, that thing is not a result of him?

I feel sick with the thought of it.

I open drawers to take my mind off of it. Success! A packet of something dried, apples it seems, just need… More success! Three small bottles, on the side written in what appears quite fresh marker, purified water.

I don’t hesitate, I break off the top and drink it down. It tastes foul, like old and dusty, but still, I need it. I have to have some, and it feels good, perhaps washing away my sins.

I won’t stay in this place. I have enough to keep me going for now, so I will go, I am sure I will find more soon.

It is dark again outside, but surely daylight hasn’t passed so soon? Then I hear a loud rumble, not my stomach this time, huge, with flickers of light in the distance. I run, to some steps, a sign says:


I shall have to shelter in there. Rain begins falling, and I wonder if perhaps I could wait a moment, drink some of it in, but then.. it burns! My skin burns, acid rain, spattering on everything around. It stings my eyes. I cannot see. I try to find my way down the stairs, find a mesh gate, push it open. I still cannot see, but I can feel the warmth of it inside, so I go, into the subway system.

I cannot even imagine what I might find down there.


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