Anti-Socio

Warning: contains graphic violence.

*

Deep in the back of the alleyway I watched as the morbid flesh dangling procession slunk by, their steps taken with care as if walking on the last existing glass photos of their remaining loved ones. Cat-stepping dead, they were, and I could smell the stink of decay just as perfectly, as if I'd rooted in face-first to the rotten softness of one of their buttocks. Lucky for me, there was some sort of distraction in the street, compelling the walking dead to press forward instead of taking notice of my warm live body, crouched behind a dumpster there, and waiting for the coast to be clear. Who knew, if it ever could be again? I didn't. That was a given.

Waiting it out, I was, much like I'd done after brutally raping that pigeon feeding woman who was well into her geriatric dementia, well enough to not have ability to put into words what had happened to her, I was sure. As soon as the deed was done and I'd pulled my sticky cock from between her drooping asscheeks, I'd heard voices and jumped stealthily up into a nearby elm tree. Waiting, and waiting, watching as people came, then police and paramedics came, and they examined the elderly victim as my cum dribbled from her incontinent asshole and her hand clutched the bag of bread that she'd fed the beggar pigeons, just as she had the day before and the day before. Waiting for the scene to clear so I could creep down from my perch, and get a drink of water. I'd licked the palm of my hand clean of the shit and semen that smeared it, as I'd silently stroked myself watching the crime scene below me, and it had made me incredibly thirsty. I remembered that just like it had happened moments earlier, not weeks ago. As I watched the dead march on, I remembered my inane fear of the pigeons somehow giving me away, as I hid like a criminal cat up there in their tree.

The corpses wore their cerements like models on a catwalk conveyor belt. I still had no clue as to what was compelling them to move along the way they did. It made me most curious and I realized that it was in reality, only a matter of time before I could not bear the suspense, and would slink out of my hiding place in order to see first hand what was so goddamn funny. I knew it was something funny, because every last one of those dead fuckers were laughing their asses off as they dragged their rigid cold limbs over the pavement, lurching forward and cackling with a sick death rasp. Some without lower jaws laughed in spite of their would-be limitations. It had to be one of the more mentally constricting things I'd seen thus far in my bottomless pit of a life.

They are too consumed to ever smell me. Heh, its probably just a myth, that zombies eat live brains anyway. Yeah, fuck this. I'm going to go right out there and see for myself.

I'd thought that I was silently thinking these things, until I realized that I heard myself speaking them, out loud. I shook my head violently, as if I were a bobblehead Chihuahua on the dash of a '78 El Camino as it sped down a pot hole'd and neglected back alley in San Salvador. Then I held very still, allowing a moment for my eyeballs to hold still enough for me to focus again on the death parade. I shook off a reflexive shiver, and got to my feet, and stepped out from behind the dumpster.

Each step I took towards them was heavy, like an elephant's. Heavy, but cat-silent. I was halfway there now. Then next step I took startled a pigeon, who'd been pecking at the glass shards and crepe paper remains that littered the alley, and he flapped his wings in a frenzy as he defied gravity and was lifted into the air. The sound of him flapping made me jump, and then pause in my tracks. My hand went to my chest in an automatic motion, as if to hold my pounding heart in place. I sucked in a hard breath, and lifted my foot up again to take the next step towards fulfilling my overly curious brain. As I did, I felt a cold weight clap down on my shoulder. My head whipped around and there behind me, with long boney fingers extended and curling into claws was a corpse, grinning insanely and almost looking familiar.

It took me a moment of smelling the rotten stench that almost visibly drifted from her slack jawed mouth. It was the park lady, the pigeon lady. She found me. My eyes traveled up and down her badly decomposing form, and I could see the marks I'd left there, on her neck with my teeth. A gluey substance was painted at the corners of her disgusting mouth, and upon closer inspection, also on her upper thighs. I wondered if it could possibly be the cum I'd dumped in and on her, or if someone else had shown her a good time since then. Then in a wretched squeal, she began to attempt to speak. Her larynx must've been crawling with maggots. A few of them spilled from the gash in her throat as she rattled and strained to communicate with me.

Nothing she said did I understand. Not only did she speak in a crazy post mortem way, it sounded foreign to me as well. I cocked my head and raised one eyebrow, signifying my lack of comprehension. At that exact minute I felt a hard blow just beneath my sternum. The old dead bitch had put her fist right through my gut! It knocked the wind out of me, to say the least. My eyes were wide now, and I forced myself to look down and see what it looked like, to watch her fleshless forearm disappear into my intestines. She pulled back out and her nasty arm now glistened with a coating of slime she extracted from my body, along with a good amount of blood. I could hear it make a

glug

sound as it was pumped out of the hole in my middle. Then the crazy zombie bitch grinned again, and shoved her arm deeper in that she had the first time. I began to lose consciousness as I came to realize I was being belly-fisted by the animate corpse of the pigeon lady I'd fucked.

What did it all mean? I had no idea. All I knew as the blackness closed me off from this world was that I never had found out what was so goddamn funny.