Post by Eddie "The Mutt" Sillian on Apr 10, 2009 19:04:32 GMT
Edward opened his eyes. He couldn’t move. What the fuck!?. His mind raced through all of the possible causes. Zombies? No, he wouldn’t still be thinking, he’d be moving, trudging around the streets eating corpses. Tied up? No, his hands were at his sides. Actually, they moved. Come to think about it, he could move his arms, and his toes...
He nearly choked with relief, physically laughing as he realized his mistake. The two heavy dogs had slunk onto his makeshift bed in the night and it seemed, made themselves comfortable on his back and legs the weight of them pinning him down entirely. Now that he wasn’t worrying about his body, he ran his internal checking process of thoughts. It ran like this;
Yesterday, what happened? I was on the streets running, the dogs killed them... I got into a shop... house! Flat above the shop. What did I do after that? I barred the door, wait no. I got food from the shop then came up and barred the door. I ate, I smoked... I drank. He moaned. That explained the throbbing head and the huge almighty straining of his bladder. Urgh.
Suddenly rather urgent he pushed his hands under him and pushed hard. It made absolutely no difference. He couldn’t have gotten up if a horde of zombies started chewing on his toes. It did wake the dogs though and they reluctantly got off their warm bed, Malificent leaving a rather large damp patch at the bottom of his back where she had drooled in the night. He pushed himself up and darted around the flat, nearly running into a wall on autopilot, only remembering at the last second that this wasn’t his flat.
He threw open a door, relieved to find himself in a bathroom. The dogs still in the bedroom heard the clatter as the seat hit the cistern and the huge sigh of relief from Ed as the pressure was lifted. He returned to the room moments later and sat down on the bed, his head throbbing from the effort of running. A moan escaped his dry lips, he could still taste the alcohol crusted on them.
As soon as he had himself seated Jones leapt up at him, licking Ed’s blanched face and wagging his tail madly. His alpha was up and looked unhappy, he would cheer him up. Ed pushed the Alsatian’s muzzle out of his face in a gentle way, onto to have the dog come back and lick him again, fixing his huge jaws around Edward’s slightly stubbled chin in a way that to dogs was a friendly greeting and sign of respect.
Finally, after giving up on removing him, Ed acknowledged him with a firm scratching behind the ears and around his ruff and nudging him away. He gave his customary good morning to Mal, a rub of her head, before going into the kitchen of the flat to find himself something to eat. He opened the fridge. There was no power here and all that was left was a putrid rotting mush that was dripping down to the bottom of the fridge. The vegetable drawer was a graveyard of decayed fruit.
He closed the fridge with some despair on his face and turned to look at what he had grabbed last night. A row of tins was on the bench as well as a row of empty bottles. Damn... he had more than he realised last night. He ran his tired, bloodshot eyes over the tins, what was there. Peaches... bastard. He hated peaches.
Custard and mushy peas! He had got the last three tins he could find and what were they, peaches custard and mushy fucking peas. He snarled in irritation, the sound making the dogs look up and see what was wrong. When he resumed clattering around the kitchen they put their heads down to get some more sleep.
Ed began to search through the drawers looking desperately for a tin opener. He became more and more furious with every drawer he opened. “How many bleedin’ drawers can one person fuckin’ need?” His voice was even gruffer than usual, as if he had been smoking permanently for the last 15 years. Well, in actual fact he had but that was beside the point.
“Damn it! The one place I choose in this whole fuckin’ street and it’s the one place without a damn tin opener!” He shouted at the cupboard and threw a tin at a wall in outrage. The already weakened tin smashed on the wall and dripped down onto the floor. It had been the mushy peas. Ed sighed, determined not to throw anything else, lest he lose the custard as well and be left with only peaches. He’d rather starve than peaches... nearly.
Moving into the sittingroom, he placed the two tins on the coffee table in front of him, watching and looking at them for a long time as if in a trance. All of a sudden he drew a knife from his side and began stabbing wildly at the tins. “Fuckin’ open you fuckin’ bleedin’ twattin’ bastard!” He shouted in synch with his stabs, most of them missing and taking chips of wood out of the table.
He calmed down when he managed to puncture a hole in the custard and pulled the tin to his chapped lips, consuming all he could as quickly as possible and cutting his lip at the same time. Sods bloody law. Finally putting the tin down, he took a drink from his water flask and poured some more into a bowl for the dogs. They came and lapped it up greatfully.
Moving over to his pack, he dug his way into the bottom and fished out a couple of rolls of dog food. Some kind of tripe and liver... lovely. No, he wasn’t that hungry. He cut open the sausages and put them on the floor and watched the Rottweiler and Alsatian tear into them, demolishing both in less than two minutes.
Three months. Three months living like this. Well no, living better than this. The problem was, the safer areas had been cleared out of food. He had to keep wandering into worse places just to find something to eat. Damn it. This place was shit. He drew the stub of a cigarette out from behind his ear, the nicotine graveyard always had something to provide him with some comfort, and put it to his lips, lighting it with a match.
Smoking the cigarette intently, he looked out of the window down onto the empty streets below. It was fairly quiet below the shops, what was he saying, it was dead quiet. Rolling his eyes, he went to the door and unbarred it, hitching it open and whistling for the dogs. They launched after him and ran in front, noses to the floor, sniffing out the trail from last night. Nothing had followed them.
Walking down the stairs he emerged in the back of the shop. It had been late last night when he got here, too dark to see properly. He’d grabbed all he could find and gone upstairs to hide as he had been doing since this had started. Now he took his time to examine the stores more, he found another tin of peaches on the floor and a bottle of water in a desk drawer. He took it with him in case.
He peered his grimy face out of the door of the shop and looked out onto the silent street, glaring at the mass of empty cars that could disguise a zombie. The problem was that with his heavy pack it was hard to run fast. He needed to be cautious. The dogs went out first, tails upright and wagging, no sign of anything dead and moving around.
He nearly choked with relief, physically laughing as he realized his mistake. The two heavy dogs had slunk onto his makeshift bed in the night and it seemed, made themselves comfortable on his back and legs the weight of them pinning him down entirely. Now that he wasn’t worrying about his body, he ran his internal checking process of thoughts. It ran like this;
Yesterday, what happened? I was on the streets running, the dogs killed them... I got into a shop... house! Flat above the shop. What did I do after that? I barred the door, wait no. I got food from the shop then came up and barred the door. I ate, I smoked... I drank. He moaned. That explained the throbbing head and the huge almighty straining of his bladder. Urgh.
Suddenly rather urgent he pushed his hands under him and pushed hard. It made absolutely no difference. He couldn’t have gotten up if a horde of zombies started chewing on his toes. It did wake the dogs though and they reluctantly got off their warm bed, Malificent leaving a rather large damp patch at the bottom of his back where she had drooled in the night. He pushed himself up and darted around the flat, nearly running into a wall on autopilot, only remembering at the last second that this wasn’t his flat.
He threw open a door, relieved to find himself in a bathroom. The dogs still in the bedroom heard the clatter as the seat hit the cistern and the huge sigh of relief from Ed as the pressure was lifted. He returned to the room moments later and sat down on the bed, his head throbbing from the effort of running. A moan escaped his dry lips, he could still taste the alcohol crusted on them.
As soon as he had himself seated Jones leapt up at him, licking Ed’s blanched face and wagging his tail madly. His alpha was up and looked unhappy, he would cheer him up. Ed pushed the Alsatian’s muzzle out of his face in a gentle way, onto to have the dog come back and lick him again, fixing his huge jaws around Edward’s slightly stubbled chin in a way that to dogs was a friendly greeting and sign of respect.
Finally, after giving up on removing him, Ed acknowledged him with a firm scratching behind the ears and around his ruff and nudging him away. He gave his customary good morning to Mal, a rub of her head, before going into the kitchen of the flat to find himself something to eat. He opened the fridge. There was no power here and all that was left was a putrid rotting mush that was dripping down to the bottom of the fridge. The vegetable drawer was a graveyard of decayed fruit.
He closed the fridge with some despair on his face and turned to look at what he had grabbed last night. A row of tins was on the bench as well as a row of empty bottles. Damn... he had more than he realised last night. He ran his tired, bloodshot eyes over the tins, what was there. Peaches... bastard. He hated peaches.
Custard and mushy peas! He had got the last three tins he could find and what were they, peaches custard and mushy fucking peas. He snarled in irritation, the sound making the dogs look up and see what was wrong. When he resumed clattering around the kitchen they put their heads down to get some more sleep.
Ed began to search through the drawers looking desperately for a tin opener. He became more and more furious with every drawer he opened. “How many bleedin’ drawers can one person fuckin’ need?” His voice was even gruffer than usual, as if he had been smoking permanently for the last 15 years. Well, in actual fact he had but that was beside the point.
“Damn it! The one place I choose in this whole fuckin’ street and it’s the one place without a damn tin opener!” He shouted at the cupboard and threw a tin at a wall in outrage. The already weakened tin smashed on the wall and dripped down onto the floor. It had been the mushy peas. Ed sighed, determined not to throw anything else, lest he lose the custard as well and be left with only peaches. He’d rather starve than peaches... nearly.
Moving into the sittingroom, he placed the two tins on the coffee table in front of him, watching and looking at them for a long time as if in a trance. All of a sudden he drew a knife from his side and began stabbing wildly at the tins. “Fuckin’ open you fuckin’ bleedin’ twattin’ bastard!” He shouted in synch with his stabs, most of them missing and taking chips of wood out of the table.
He calmed down when he managed to puncture a hole in the custard and pulled the tin to his chapped lips, consuming all he could as quickly as possible and cutting his lip at the same time. Sods bloody law. Finally putting the tin down, he took a drink from his water flask and poured some more into a bowl for the dogs. They came and lapped it up greatfully.
Moving over to his pack, he dug his way into the bottom and fished out a couple of rolls of dog food. Some kind of tripe and liver... lovely. No, he wasn’t that hungry. He cut open the sausages and put them on the floor and watched the Rottweiler and Alsatian tear into them, demolishing both in less than two minutes.
Three months. Three months living like this. Well no, living better than this. The problem was, the safer areas had been cleared out of food. He had to keep wandering into worse places just to find something to eat. Damn it. This place was shit. He drew the stub of a cigarette out from behind his ear, the nicotine graveyard always had something to provide him with some comfort, and put it to his lips, lighting it with a match.
Smoking the cigarette intently, he looked out of the window down onto the empty streets below. It was fairly quiet below the shops, what was he saying, it was dead quiet. Rolling his eyes, he went to the door and unbarred it, hitching it open and whistling for the dogs. They launched after him and ran in front, noses to the floor, sniffing out the trail from last night. Nothing had followed them.
Walking down the stairs he emerged in the back of the shop. It had been late last night when he got here, too dark to see properly. He’d grabbed all he could find and gone upstairs to hide as he had been doing since this had started. Now he took his time to examine the stores more, he found another tin of peaches on the floor and a bottle of water in a desk drawer. He took it with him in case.
He peered his grimy face out of the door of the shop and looked out onto the silent street, glaring at the mass of empty cars that could disguise a zombie. The problem was that with his heavy pack it was hard to run fast. He needed to be cautious. The dogs went out first, tails upright and wagging, no sign of anything dead and moving around.