Blood-Soaked Walls: Flash Fiction

Updated on December 25, 2017
Paul Garand profile image

I write classic "good vs evil" creative writing pieces with smart twists inspired by vintage action cinema, gaming, and heavy metal.


Nothing but screams were heard in the dark hallways that saw so much killing that the walls became red from all the bloodshed. Screams, weapon mechanisms spelling either imminent death when the ammo ran out or futile resistance of chambering whatever last round was the last I heard before losing grip and passing out. My platoon was ambushed during a nighttime patrol; retreating back to base we were all ripped up.

Now, as I load rounds into an AK74 magazine, I wait to face what was known as "Gore." Bigger and able to carry more firepower than any man alive; I thought it was just something the sergeant used to scare us during training. Oh, it was very real; flying around like a psychotic tornado of chainsaws and shotguns; even the USSR's finest ALFA GROUP operators couldn't stop it. This thing was skilled with a pump-action shotgun; despite the heavier armor some of the men wore; it still knew where to hit.

Moments later, "Gore" was looking at me as I nervously gripped my rifle, hoping the ammo I had would suffice, the whole base was at his feet bleeding out, begging for death and curling up to die. As it moved closer, passing a burning truck the fire shed light on what it looked like; broken bayonets, bullet holes, knives and a few loose wires sticking from what would be a human's eye. It had no facial features.

"Die you...." is my last thought before feeling my bones shatter and my flesh rip; didn't even get a shot off. We failed to stop this thing, what will it do when it reaches the town nearby?! Humanity truly reached its peak and its time for breaking even as more "Gore" sightings were reported worldwide; blood-soaked photos, CCTV footage, patient suicides in psychiatric wards. Not even mercenaries want to take a shot at it.

Years later, information started to surface that this thing was "aging" as its attacks became less frequent and with each one, it took more and more damage; could it be that it was searching for something special?

Human Waste Disposal

The big rusted-out doors moaned as I forced them open with my shoulder; my AA12 automatic shotgun in hand and turning on my shoulder lamp with another; the place looked like it had tea with the Bubonic plague; nothing but bodies; in weird positions. There were 2 skeletons hugging in the corner, one semi-decayed body with its hands on its face as if crying and one clutching a double barrel shotgun; half its head was gone. Could it be those they abducted to breed and contaminate? Considering one carrier was already caught and detained in our town, I am not that far off.

Their hive was very hard to find so before the local police chief approved a stakeout of marksmen and reconnaissance patrols outside of town; there were many disappearances and deaths. Killing one straggler outside a hospital, tracking suspicious walking silhouettes on the outskirts; we were able to find the entrance. Authorities abstained from moving in due to the nature of the threat; seeing it as waste disposal rather than criminal or terrorist.

"Something is out of place!" I heard echoing in the dark behind me, I turned around to face one of "them;" the lepers who allegedly bled poison and bred abominations to contaminate the surrounding area. No thought required I opened fire and tore him up; greenish fluid ran off the walls behind him. The thought that these things lived under our homes scares me to the core; birth defects, strange incurable diseases; all their doing. They lived underground for years now, appearing human but they were far from it.

I already killed many of them, lured them out and burned them with a propane canister explosion. They didn't seem to know what a gun was since no matter how many fell to my AA12; they still ran at me; screaming for me to join them, become one with their kind. This is my last magazine, but they are not going to get me, not going to get us; genuflecting and saying my last prayer; I prime the beacon for the airstrike my command greenlit.

© 2017 Jake Clawson


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