He looked around briefly accessing his surroundings, trying to figure out how he got here. He could almost hear the gears in his head grinding. As his gaze panned across the decrepit old room, first landing on the rotting wall paper in the corner, then the overflowing trash bin containing god only knows what kind of disgusting bile. There was no flooring, just bare concrete. A drain in the middle of the room was noticeably full and close to backing up. He could here the dripping sound as fresh liquid dropped through the grate into the dark depths. A foul odor crept out of the drain that was nearly impossible to describe. The half walls surrounding the urinal he was relieving himself into where rusted and puckered out. He put one hand to his forehead, the other aiming his piss into the urinal, he sighed deeply.
This was his life now. After a couple of great jobs the housing market went belly up and his firm went under. It took almost a year to lose everything, his job, his wife, his kids, his entire future. Standing in the old ruins of this bathroom he realized that he has officially hit rock bottom. He shook his dick and put it away reaching out to flush the toilet. When he grabbed the once shiny chrome flush handle of the urinal no sound came out. There was no flush, not even a trickle.
His unshaved chin dropped the his chest and he groans deeply. His eyes landed on a small stream of fluid running from the wall where the old yellowed urinal was attached. A steady stream of fluid was flowing out of the tattered drywall around the urinal, it ran to the floor, under his shoes and to the drain in the middle of the room. As it dawned on him that he was standing in a stream of his own urine he felt something in his mind fizzle. He screamed allowed, uncaring if anyone heard him, knowing no one would.
He stepped away from the urinal, straightening his brown, worn suit and shaking the piss off of his old matted loafers. Rubbing a hand against his neck noticing a tinge of pain he hasn’t felt in ages, he thinks to himself “I’m ok, I’m going to make it, this is just a bump in the road to my recovery.”
He turns to the door, grabs the rusty old door handle, and pulls the door open. The heat hits him in the face as soon as the door swings open. The horrible sounds of people screaming as their flesh is flayed from their bodies fills his ears. A hand swings forward wrapping its long boney fingers around his waist. He screams out in pain as the hand squeezes him so tightly he can barley breath.
His body floats off the ground and into the air. The hand belongs to a forearm, that ends in a black mass of slime and pulsing, writhing bodies. He is tossed into the air and caught by one leg between two ragged black fingers. There is a sound, the kind you would associate with a samurai pulling a sword from its sheath. Another hands swings forward and cuts a small ring around his ankle just above that old loafer on his right foot.
The flesh then begins to loosen itself. He screams endlessly as the meat and flesh separate. Expecting to eventually pass out from the pain his head is swimming with fright, pain, and disbelief. Blood is pouring down his face and into his eyes blinding him. With a plop he can see his skin splat to the floor, droplets of blood splattering around its point of impact.
Tiny brown creatures with sores all over their, slimy, puss covered skin scurry out from the surroundings and tear his flesh into small shards swallowing every bit as fast as they could.
He hangs there watching them eat what was so recently him. Then feeling a whoosh of air over his skinless body the hand draws him in tossing him into the black mass that is its body. He can feel the thing greedily sucking the meat from his bones, peeled like a grape he was being eaten alive. Everything slowly faded to black.
He opened his eyes, briefly accessing his surroundings, trying to figure out how he got here...
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