Written by: Philip Raymond Mui

Chapter: 1


The hammer slowly slugged the bullet in an act of grace. He had only found haven once the little smudge in the distance had dropped to the breast of the earth complimenting the thunder. The clouds would choose not to roll anymore as the stinging bounced through his ears. The old man stared down to his Kalashnikov, old and steamy in it's complexion, and begged it forgiveness. In his moral beating he came to realise he had missed by only couple inches and whipped his head back to only sight the body was not there anymore.
He scattered his sight for the body knowing if he didn't kill this one, more would come. His palm gripped harder and harder onto the splintered handle and sweat drizzled down his forehead. Since he had miss his shot in the clearing, his only clarification now is shadows brushing in the darkness behind the trees. His tanned wrinkled skin molded the sweat into a shiny coat where the sun gladly illuminate for the crows of prey to see.
In his panic, he pulled the trigger and let loose lead, scattering blue jays and sparrows in every direction further disorienting him. The world was unrelentless turning his mind round and round as he lost perspective of direction. He scampered his hand towards his sack for another magazine when his target pounced from the neck of the undergrowth.
Time froze, his heart thudded no more, his sweat paused and his light blue eyes widen. Time froze, but his mind wandered about only to be slaughtered by the motions of fate. The face of the infected was tore apart with the stench of rotted flesh about; the old man had only missed his medulla oblongata by couple inches. As quick as his thought, the air sliced with the swinging of the butt of the rifle. The mechanism clanked but the head shattered open, exploding gray matter upon the forest floor. He stood in agony and watch his wife twitch away.
Before the outbreak he lived on the outskirts of Montauk Point where his house stared down at the ocean being always sung by the ocean waves. His wife had left him and his children long over careless of the world. They had all moved on to become the roots of the ever growing wheel of time and Uriel was floating, drifting and lost forever. Uriel was growing old, his bones creaked furiously at his content net fishing and his back had been prone to nature's hand. He couldn't stop; no. There was no room for conditions and compromises, only the forward leap into the abyssal void of the endless waves.
He loved his wife, his two kids and everyone else who had to face the road of rude extinction. He had found time again and was trapped in his own hell.