Ellis/Witch
I wrote this because I could.
Ellis lay awake at night because of the Witch's wailing. Every time he thought he was going to fall asleep, there was a fresh howl and he jerked awake. He was envious of the others snoring softly beside him. It must feel like nirvana.
His body felt like it had been treated by a meat tenderiser. His mind felt like the gooey mashed potatoes his mom used to make. Overall, he felt like a dog's breakfast. When the next screech came, enough was enough. He dragged himself out of bed and opened the safehouse door. A uncomfortably warm breeze blew, exacerbating his grogginess.
The almost-full moon afforded him a little light. It made the pools of swamp water reflect silver, marking his way. He could pick out the ubiquitous shapes of the Infected, moaning and swaying and scuffling with each other. If I pretend to be like a zombie, all stealth-like, they won't attack, Ellis reassured himself, just like in that movie. How do zombies act, anyway? Ellis slowed his walking speed to an agonising crawl and tried not to squelch too much. Once some zombies turned towards him, their eyes glinting golden in the darkness, and Ellis let out a quiet squeak, but nothing happened. He followed the sound of the Witch, tightening the grip on his auto shotgun.
She was curled up in a fetal position on a little island of mud, a white and silver silhouette in the moonlight. He crept closer towards her.
"Why you gotta be so loud," he said. "Some people are tryin'a sleep." The Witch ignored him, sobbing harder into her arms. He had been angry, but the emotion drained away because she looked so small and thin and helpless.
"And... um... I wish you would stop," he said. "You're makin' me feel real sad, y'know. I don't like to see a girl cryin' like that."
He edged even closer. "What are you sad about? C'mon, you can tell me," he said softly. "Is it because you're all naked an' alone?"
The Witch was silent now.
"I can go back an' give you my blanket an' you'll feel better. Promise."
He forgot himself for a moment and tried to reach out to touch her. She stood herself up on her skinny legs and started growling at him, extending her lethal claws.
"Shit shit shit," he muttered, his mind suddenly frozen, his shotgun held limp in his hand. She lunged and he instinctively brought the shotgun up and squeezed the trigger over and over again and she jerked backwards like a marionette. She flopped onto the mud and lay quiet and still.
"Shit..." he whispered again.
He fell to his knees, gulping back tears, gazing at her white lifeless body. His hands moved on their own accord and stroked the Witch's skin - her thin arms, her concave belly. He wondered what she felt like. She felt unnaturally cold, her skin moist from the swamp water and covered in goosebumps. A painful lump caught in his throat because she didn't respond.
He stroked her face, and her wispy, matted hair, his fingers becoming slicked with the black blood that was oozing from her forehead. He pressed his lips to the Witch's and they too were slippery with blood. It tasted earthy and sour and unlike human blood and he briefly reminded himself about the zombie germs, but he didn't care. He forced his tongue between her stiff lips and felt her pointy teeth. Her tongue felt dry and furry.
His hands went to the scanty covering on her small, shrunken breasts and he removed it. He bent and circled a pale, hard, almost translucent nipple with his fingertips. He licked the other. Somehow, for some reason, he was aware of the blood surging to his crotch and he felt ashamed. He couldn't help it -- she was beautiful, in an emaciated, sickly, bestial way.
He slipped off her tattered underwear and pressed himself inside. His entire body shuddered. She was deathly cold. His cock felt like he'd engulfed it in liquid ice, but it was strangely pleasurable. He thrust. She was lubricated but it was clumpy, bloody, foul-smelling stuff, and leaked out when he pulled back. He continued thrusting, his body sliding against hers. He suppressed his moans, his breathing becoming ragged.
"Ellis?" came a cry in the distance, and he froze as he recognised Nick's voice. "Where are you?"
He continued to thrust, then started to panic when he realised that he wasn't coming. His pleasure was building up to an agonising level but there was no release. He swore inside his head, all the swear words he could think of, willing himself to come. But he couldn't pull out. It was too late by now.
The footsteps were squelching dangerously close. He was sure Nick was listening for him, and he was frightened of what would happen if Nick heard him or, even worse, saw him doing this.
Then he exploded, and it felt something like he was on a roller coaster speeding down an enormous hill after a long time travelling to the vertex. He convulsed over and over again, releasing what seemed to be an impossible amount of semen, and he almost bit his tongue through in an effort not to make a sound. He got up and fumbled dazedly with his pants. He managed to get himself presentable just as Nick appeared.
"Ellis, what the hell? I woke up and noticed you were gone." Nick's eyes gleamed, cold and suspicious, and Ellis realised that his clothes were covered in dark bloodstains. He was glad Nick couldn't tell how red and flushed he was in this gloom.
"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "Cos of the Witch. I... I had to take care of her."
"Well, you do that again and I'll kill you. I'm fucking tired." They walked back to the safehouse, and Ellis immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Ellis lay awake at night because of the Witch's wailing. Every time he thought he was going to fall asleep, there was a fresh howl and he jerked awake. He was envious of the others snoring softly beside him. It must feel like nirvana.
His body felt like it had been treated by a meat tenderiser. His mind felt like the gooey mashed potatoes his mom used to make. Overall, he felt like a dog's breakfast. When the next screech came, enough was enough. He dragged himself out of bed and opened the safehouse door. A uncomfortably warm breeze blew, exacerbating his grogginess.
The almost-full moon afforded him a little light. It made the pools of swamp water reflect silver, marking his way. He could pick out the ubiquitous shapes of the Infected, moaning and swaying and scuffling with each other. If I pretend to be like a zombie, all stealth-like, they won't attack, Ellis reassured himself, just like in that movie. How do zombies act, anyway? Ellis slowed his walking speed to an agonising crawl and tried not to squelch too much. Once some zombies turned towards him, their eyes glinting golden in the darkness, and Ellis let out a quiet squeak, but nothing happened. He followed the sound of the Witch, tightening the grip on his auto shotgun.
She was curled up in a fetal position on a little island of mud, a white and silver silhouette in the moonlight. He crept closer towards her.
"Why you gotta be so loud," he said. "Some people are tryin'a sleep." The Witch ignored him, sobbing harder into her arms. He had been angry, but the emotion drained away because she looked so small and thin and helpless.
"And... um... I wish you would stop," he said. "You're makin' me feel real sad, y'know. I don't like to see a girl cryin' like that."
He edged even closer. "What are you sad about? C'mon, you can tell me," he said softly. "Is it because you're all naked an' alone?"
The Witch was silent now.
"I can go back an' give you my blanket an' you'll feel better. Promise."
He forgot himself for a moment and tried to reach out to touch her. She stood herself up on her skinny legs and started growling at him, extending her lethal claws.
"Shit shit shit," he muttered, his mind suddenly frozen, his shotgun held limp in his hand. She lunged and he instinctively brought the shotgun up and squeezed the trigger over and over again and she jerked backwards like a marionette. She flopped onto the mud and lay quiet and still.
"Shit..." he whispered again.
He fell to his knees, gulping back tears, gazing at her white lifeless body. His hands moved on their own accord and stroked the Witch's skin - her thin arms, her concave belly. He wondered what she felt like. She felt unnaturally cold, her skin moist from the swamp water and covered in goosebumps. A painful lump caught in his throat because she didn't respond.
He stroked her face, and her wispy, matted hair, his fingers becoming slicked with the black blood that was oozing from her forehead. He pressed his lips to the Witch's and they too were slippery with blood. It tasted earthy and sour and unlike human blood and he briefly reminded himself about the zombie germs, but he didn't care. He forced his tongue between her stiff lips and felt her pointy teeth. Her tongue felt dry and furry.
His hands went to the scanty covering on her small, shrunken breasts and he removed it. He bent and circled a pale, hard, almost translucent nipple with his fingertips. He licked the other. Somehow, for some reason, he was aware of the blood surging to his crotch and he felt ashamed. He couldn't help it -- she was beautiful, in an emaciated, sickly, bestial way.
He slipped off her tattered underwear and pressed himself inside. His entire body shuddered. She was deathly cold. His cock felt like he'd engulfed it in liquid ice, but it was strangely pleasurable. He thrust. She was lubricated but it was clumpy, bloody, foul-smelling stuff, and leaked out when he pulled back. He continued thrusting, his body sliding against hers. He suppressed his moans, his breathing becoming ragged.
"Ellis?" came a cry in the distance, and he froze as he recognised Nick's voice. "Where are you?"
He continued to thrust, then started to panic when he realised that he wasn't coming. His pleasure was building up to an agonising level but there was no release. He swore inside his head, all the swear words he could think of, willing himself to come. But he couldn't pull out. It was too late by now.
The footsteps were squelching dangerously close. He was sure Nick was listening for him, and he was frightened of what would happen if Nick heard him or, even worse, saw him doing this.
Then he exploded, and it felt something like he was on a roller coaster speeding down an enormous hill after a long time travelling to the vertex. He convulsed over and over again, releasing what seemed to be an impossible amount of semen, and he almost bit his tongue through in an effort not to make a sound. He got up and fumbled dazedly with his pants. He managed to get himself presentable just as Nick appeared.
"Ellis, what the hell? I woke up and noticed you were gone." Nick's eyes gleamed, cold and suspicious, and Ellis realised that his clothes were covered in dark bloodstains. He was glad Nick couldn't tell how red and flushed he was in this gloom.
"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled. "Cos of the Witch. I... I had to take care of her."
"Well, you do that again and I'll kill you. I'm fucking tired." They walked back to the safehouse, and Ellis immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.