Chris gulped at the sight of the small shop. It used to look so comfortable, beaming of only positive energy, small chitchats and lustful conversations.
But now the facade had started to break down, the electricity was half gone, solely the huge sign on top of the building seemed to still work, even though the lettered were frequently blinking.
Chris didn’t know whether enjoy the sight at all. He had really needed to find somewhere to rest, he’d been praying to find somewhere to sleep, eat and drink, but from his experience he knew he could only expect another load of those zombies. Those filthy beings that had not only teared his life apart as if it consisted of nothing but paper, but also killed his sister.
His head had already been spinning but the world went in circles even faster at the thought of his sister. Pain hit him sharp in the chest, it felt almost real. His mind, his body, his entire self hurt — he couldn’t let go of all that had happened during the past years.
His stomach was already burning and his throat was sore. He was craving water like an addict craves a drug. His skin felt dry and as if it was clinging to his body with the little power it had left. As he moved forward and toward the shop, he felt as if it stretched so bad it was going to rip off by itself.
His mind was running in circles. Just a sip. Just one sip. One sip. One sip of whatever he could get, whatever he could find. He wouldn’t even what it was going to be. He just needed anything. Any drinkable liquid, just to keep him alive.
Chris searched his pockets for money. Nothing. He would have shrugged, but his shoulders didn’t let him. He felt as if his lids were going to shut and he wouldn’t be able to open them again the next time he blinked. He felt as if he could empty an entire ocean and still die of thirst.
Glancing through the window, he caught sight of what he needed most: a bottle of water.
He desired it.
God, why would he care if it was long expired. Why would he care if it was poison. He just needed to drink.
As fast as he could, he limped and crawled towards the shop. He felt like his eyes were going to roll back into his head any moment. He entered the shop silently through a broken window. Inside, he instantly spotted what he was looking for. He ignored the quiet cashier in the back and made his way to the shelf.
He burst into an uncontrollable laughter, sounding so rusty and dry, so old and clumsy that he almost wanted to let the thirst take him over entirely and to finally give in to the zombies.
He grabbed the bottle and started drinking from it immediately. He didn’t dare loosen his touch, he didn’t dare stop.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
In no way would he ever stop.
But as he finally put the empty bottle back on the shelf, his heart skipped a beat and his skin began to prickle. He heard a sound, a sound he wanted to forever forget, and, finally, before he realised his vision had started to get blurry, he noticed the guy he had thought to be the cashier was actually a zombie.
The zombie turned to him slowly. Its eyes had been poked out and its skin had been burned. It rushed toward him but he had neither regained his strength yet, nor his breath and the next moment he found himself pressed against the shelf and teeth were drilling down his skin, sinking in his body. His spine felt cold as ice, but at the same time, he felt as if it was burning.
His flesh felt devoured, torn apart and he collapsed on the floor. The whole world was spinning around him as he tried to push the zombie off, but he didn’t manage.
In his fall he managed to grab the bottle he had drunk from. He read the expiration date. 1st of March, 2003.
He didn’t know the day, nor the month, but what he knew was the year.
It was 2067.
The last bit of his vision ultimately faded and now so many different forces were tearing pieces from his skin, feeding on his raw flesh, drinking from his blood.
They were too many.
He couldn’t fight them off. He figured more than one zombie was attacking him now.
He felt one last sharp fang in his neck as his pulse was beat.
And finally, he was released.
He growled, his voice much deeper than before. His fingers weren’t touching the wooden floor anymore, instead he was lying on a weird metallic, cold surface.
The world seemed to have lost both: its colour and its scent. All oxygen seemed to have been replaced by the nasty, growing smell evaporation from him.
And finally, he opened his eyes.
The date wasn’t to be read anywhere anymore now. It had been burned into his mind.
Today was the first of March.
2167.
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