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Welcome the Darkness

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Welcome the Darkness

Water drips somewhere in the darkness: drip, pause, drip, pause, drip, pause-the sound pounds against my mind, maddening me, driving me to the edge of madness, yet the comfort of oblivion eludes me.

Who are you, the tapping voice asks. Who are you, the gibbering voices in my head, in my mind, in my soul, ask. Who are you, who are you, who are you, they chant with slavering lips, dancing on my soul.

Who am I? I don't know. All I remember is pain, burning, consuming, endless pain. The pain of hopelessness.

I don't who I am, but I know what I am. I turn my head, the bones in my neck grinding like sandpaper on metal, and stare at my reflection in the wall computer monitor. The left side of my face is gone the skin shredded to the bone. The hollow eye socket, rimmed in white, stares back at me, mocking. My splintered ribs thrust through my chest like some macabre game of pick-up-sticks and I can still see the teeth marks on my abdomen where the beast feasted on my entrails.

I don't know who I am, but I know what I am, dead yet living, dead yet wishing to die.

I finger the cold metal of the shotgun I hold in my hands and long to slip the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger, but the voices prevent me. The voices, in my head, in my mind, in my soul laugh and jeer. With slavering mouths, they mock me. We know what you are, they scream and scream, we know what you are, they chant and chant and dance upon my soul.

In the darkness, the water drips and the voices gibber and quietly, footsteps approach. The voices in my head, in my mind, in my soul, laugh and giggle, jeer and gibber, driving me to the edge of madness, and beyond, tormenting me with hatred and bloodlust, chanting, chanting, dancing on my soul. Kill, they scream, kill, they scream and I am powerless against the onslaught, against the torture, against the pain eternal.

I shuffle toward the doorway, toward the dark silhouette, fighting the maddening urge to raise the shotgun in my hands, fighting the endless torment of the voices in my head, in my mind, in my soul.

Kill, kill, kill the voices chant and chant and chant--but I remember now, who I am. I was sent to Mars to destroy them, the spawn of Hell, just like the brother Marine I see standing in the doorway.

"Kill me," I croak, fighting the urge to kill and kill, fighting the torment, the gnashing of the slavering mouths that feast upon my soul. "Kill me, please."

I see my brother Marine raise his .45 and I stare into the barrel, into darkness, into the promise of oblivion. With cracked, torn lips, I smile as the voices in my head, in my mind, in my soul wail in torment, wail in defeat as I welcome the darkness.

Author notes: Lest you think I am a crazed, suicidal maniac, this short is written from the perspective of one of the zombies in Doom and I tried to capture the horror of that situation.

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Great work. Yeah, I pretty soon figured that it was one of the zombies - it must've been a really tough guy as he's able to withstand the lust to kill this far.

I see that activity here in the fanfic forum has "exploded", so if you'll excuse me, I've got an index to update :-)

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Excellent work! It's certainly a new perspective, but you've captured it well. Reminds me a little of the diary entries from Resident Evil, when the writer is slowly becoming one of the undead.
You win a cookie :)

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