Looking up from the dark spot in the bar, the glass bottle was empty, with only a trace of the former dark amber liquid remaining. My eyes roaming over the sparse occupants that were still remained together over the years. Friends that once were as close as a brother or sister, dead, missing, or simply left for something better, never to be heard from again. Stretching from the cramped position that had held me in my slight drunken state, the ground seemed steady enough to walk on.
I was only a face in a million, on that was once, normal. The adventures that I had since the death of man, was not of the ordinary, nor did I ever stop to think about them since they happened. With the increased laziness however, my thoughts become one of thought, of pain, of death. Walking over to the opening of the stairs I felt a hand on my left shoulder. A quick sniff told me that it was of a friend that I both hated, and still somewhat liked. "You don't look so good Stray."
"What makes you think that I care?" I asked without turning around, my back still to him. "I still care, you can't get rid of me that easily." The gentle rise of his voice told me that he was softly smiling. "I don't care Don. Careful with touching me though, I just might cut off that hand of yours and eat it." His hand quickly left my shoulder as I started walking up the stairs, not caring if I hurt his feelings or not. "Crazy psycho.." I heard him mutter as he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. The Winchester was a place ran by the name of Warkeeper, a man that was as elusive as he was seen. Here and there for only a few days at a time before his business lead to some latest venture.
A time before hell on earth had broken out, I would of never even thought of going to a bar, let alone one filled with the outcasts of society. A priest is what I was labeled, leading those who once cried out for the absolution of sins to the repentance and grace of God. Even then I could feel the hunger inside of me awaken at times, the hunger that was with me when I tried killing myself at the age of six. Raised in a normal family, with two little brothers and one sister, I was the one they all looked too, a fact that I did little to act upon.
Opening the door on the thirty sixth floor, a smell of cinnamon, mint, and dried ruffles reached me. A familiar smell that I had started using to mask the odor of death, blood, and unwashed flesh. Stripping off my clothes I walked into the bathroom, the cracked mirror above the sink which allowed me to see my healing wounds. Ones that I had recently endured to feel that rush of exhilaration envelop my body, the screams of the damned as they fell before me was something that kept me somewhat sane.
Turning on the water for the shower, I jumped in without a second to consider the coldness that wanted to numb me. Hot water was a luxury no one could afford anymore, not even a warmonger in this day and age. Wiping the grunge and sticky blood from my brown and white fur, I sighed as this body was one that I had not been born with. A popular thing when the internet was rampant, were the use of animals with human appearances. Furries, I think they were called, a few of the parishioners that had come to me for confession had told me of indulging in such manners.
At the time, I had told them that exploration of what the world had to offer was not a sin, but allowing ones own self to accept what they found, was. Cupping my breasts in heated disgust, I could still remember the body of a normal man, a human that had the tendency for some good in his life. Once I felt the cold water numb me even further, I turned off the water and stepped out from the tub. A dirty towel quickly dried me off and I returned to the clothes that I had taken off. The smell of bodily fluids was ever present, and dirty clothes were better than clean ones.
The eight by ten square foot room was more than enough for my needs, a bed, a small dresser, and a battered nightstand that held my need for drinking and smoking. Taking out a fresh pack that only had a few missing I took out the lighter from my pocket and lite up. The brand had faded off of the box, but I no longer cared about the safety of my lungs, or the fact that I had hated smoking growing up. Walking back down the stairs, I could hear one of the still remaining women in the bar getting it on with a man. Not caring to hear the sounds of moans, heavy breathing, and sex, I continued down with stairs until I came to the main bar area.
A few still remained while one or two were gone, Don himself cuddling his tail in a chair as I walked passed him. My eyes not meeting his as I did, "Where are you going?" I could hear the slight pain of emotions as I didn't stop to answer. "Out." It was the only time I could feel anything anymore, the soul, the heart, the mind can all be corrupted with the right ingredients. This apocalypse was only the mixing bowl, and the dullness of everything had only withered away with each passing day. The fast approaching night was beginning to swallow up the remaining light. This was when I felt the most alive, this was when I felt the most powerful, this was when I could hunt those who I sought, the damned, or humans remaining.
As I walked down the street that was milling with the dead, a human walked out of an alley, his disheveled black hair and blue eyes met mine. A mixture of wonder and distaste swam through him, but approached my anyways. "S'cuse me miss, happen to have a few dollars to spare?" A beggar, the filth of those that were to lazy or weak to find strength on their own. His clothes were as filthy as mine, and his armor had been torn and stain.
"Sure, but let's go inside." I replied, my heart starting to quicken a little. Once inside the building that had seen better days, I reached into my pocket, his eyes gleamed as he was ready for whatever I ready to give him. Pulling closer to him, my hand emerged with a small knife and plunged it into his stomach. This caused him to scream in both pain and horror, as I twisted the blade a few times he struggled to get away and fell on his back. Tears rolling down his face as he started to cough up blood. "You, you, YOU CRAZY BITCH!" He screamed as I then stomped on his chest, a loud snap told me that one of his ribs was now cracked. Crying even more, his screaming had stopped though.
Leaning down I pinned his struggling body under mine, and smiled as I started grinding my hips against his. "Shhh, you don't want to ruin this for me, now do you?" Unable to reply, I took my knife and held it to his throat, right above his vocal cords. His eyes widening as I looked directly into them, this is what I lived for, the fear was intoxicating, kissing him on his bloodied lips I then spoke softly. "Thank you for tonight." With that I stabbed him into his chest, again, and again, and again, laughing with the pleasure that rolled through my veins.
I didn't stop until I was slightly drenched in his blood, the corpse now under me was now just another unworthy plaything. Licking the knife and slightly cutting my tongue in the process I lifted my head and howled before getting off of it and making my way out the door. Tonight was just another night, the young full moon making things easier to see, this was when I felt everything, this was when life was worth living, and this was only another chapter of things to come.
