Utterly Mad

The Director reclined back on the faux leather couch as the studio lights flashed on, blinding him in their furious light. "Welcome to the show Mr. Lorncraft!" The show's host said in his loud voice, straightening out his suit and reclining back in his chair, still wearing his fake smile across his face. "Its great to be here Barry!", his retinas burned as he tried to look past the glaring light, spotting a full crowd of equally eager faces. "So how are you doing?", the host asked moving into a hunched pose at the end of his seat. "Me? Oh I'm doing fantastic, I had a wonderful meal of lobster bisqu-" "That's nice, a round of applause for Mr. Lorncraft everybody." With the roar of the crowd, The Director reclined back in his seat in defeat, "It was going to be another one of those interviews."

The crowd began to quiet down as the host, lowered his hand, like he was calming a storm. "Now. Mr. Lorncroft, you've gotta tell us about this movie you're working on." "Its Lorncraft-" The Director tried to sputter out before being cut off by his host. "The movie!" The Host's demeanor changed from preppy to impatient, like a child that didn't get his 'treat' first. "The movie, yes... you see its about this Detective who gets shot up during the Chinese conflict and gets implanted with cyborg parts," he took a sip of warm water that was left on the table, he reeled in bitter disgust as the drink came to his lips. ", *ahem* anyway... the inspiration came to me when I realized that more and more people are ditching their skin to be "more"; when in reality they're regressing ou-" And for the last time he was cut off, the lights cut off in the studio, there were screams all around as heavily suited men burst through the doors. Their goggles lit up a fiery green, charging up their weapons, the slaps of their charging handles going into place; deafening silence took hold of the audience, with the gentle 'click' of safeties going off punctuating what would happen next.

His stomach had dropped in defeat, its weigh putting a burden on The Directors nerves. Adrenaline took hold as bright flashes of gunfire burst from the entry, bullets stormed into the studio as bright yellow shards of death. Ripping through anyone in their path, tearing apart the audience without care; people were collapsed on chairs or piled on top of each other in the small paths between the rows of seats.

With some quick thinking The Director rushed behind the couches to The Host's chair. The Host had taken a stray bullet to the right eye, viscous fluid leaked out of the chunky wound; quickly The Director grabbed his host's corpse and hoisted it over himself, playing dead as the massacre continued. For the remainder he listened to the cries of mercy coming from this slaughters victims.

---

With a jolt he shot straight up in his bed, clutching his sweat coated chest. He saw his (second) Assistant laying in bed beside him, in the nude. Powder was thrown all over the room, it looked like a Chicago blizzard blew in through the windows. Slowly The Director in his panicked state walked over to his clothes rack that wasn't spared in the Cocaine Storm, he pulled off a red bathrobe, dusting off the excess happy-dust before putting it on and heading outside.

It was another cloudy day in Miami, a common occasion nowadays. They were tinted dark grey, the wind was chilled The Directors exposed feet, and the smell of rain reeked permeated the air; but somehow it still managed to be humid, The Director peeled the bathrobe off his skin on more then one occasion. "Maybe today isn't a good day... nah might as well get one of the rain shots done and over with." He took a few minutes out of his long morning preparing the next shot for his film. It'd be one of the more melancholy scenes if he managed to stay sober through the shoot.




She sat in the plastic made lawn chair, its cheap material starting to hurt her back. Her brother sat on the rug in front of her, coloring away on the roof's concrete, trying to replicate the intersection that their home was built next to. The intersection was a military mess, APCs' shadows cast over the whole street; like the corpses of giants that were forgotten in a battle lost long ago, with no one to come claim their remains but the vultures. Speaking of, she thought she had spotted a few "vultures" lurking in the darkened alleys across from their building.

She turned down the radio slightly. "What is it?", he turned to his sister with concern. The lawn chair creaked as she lifted herself out of it, she crouched down low to the ground, giving just enough height to peer over the roof. "Vultures,", her brother gasped as the words left her lips. He knew what to do: Get inside the apartment, tell Mom, and then hide until the all clear is given. His little feet pattered against the cold concrete, followed by the "silent" slam of the roof's entry door.

She crawled over to the nearby AC unit, underneath was a youth's hunting rifle with a few rounds of .308 Caliber. Breaking the barrel, she inserted a cartridge and slammed the barrel shut. Taking position over by the ledge, she waited.

Everything put her on edge, even the shadows of the light poles swaying in the chilly wind had her on edge. Nothing was going to get passed her, nothing. It felt like an eternity before they started to show, "Vultures". Psssh. They were one of the many 'going-away' presents left by humanity; they looked vaguely humanoid if you squinted your eyes. They crawl around on their hands and feet, sniffing everything they get near as their eyes are permanently sealed by an extra layer of drooping skin that covers most of their body; covered in a thick-layer of mucus their bodies to shimmer white when exposed to light. They're mouths are a jagged mess of teeth, rows and rows of sharp canines circle around the inside of their mouths, allowing them to grind anything they eat into pulverized jelly.

They sprinted around the street, sniffing the air, biting chunks out of 'bait' that she left out. Dead house cats, dogs, and the like; there's no real use in having pets anymore in her mind, its just another mouth to feed. Which is also why she won't ever tell her brother where "Kittens the Cat" is, she knew it'd break his heart.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her aim on the first to emerge, The Alpha. Its muscles bulged from its layers of snot, his nails were sharp and gnarly, and his mouth was blood covered and had pieces of cat pierced on the front rows of teeth.

Squeezing the trigger, a loud roar like a demon's came from below. The Alpha's chest had burst open, organs and mucus-like puss was sprayed all over the aged road. Desperately it tried to scoop its remains back inside itself, but it only made it worse. His nails torn and pierced the exposed innards, damaging them further. With one final screech of agony, it seized back and fell flat on its back. Unmoving. And like she predicted the rest howled against the cloudy skies, retreating in fear back from where they came.

Satisfied with her kill, she took a bottle of gasoline, lit the rag tied around it, and tossed it where the corpse lay. Missing by only a few inches, the gore burst into bright red flame before spreading to the rest of the body. The smell of burned flesh and rotten meat hung in the air, as she retreated back into her apartment.

---

Quaint, quaint was the best word to describe their space. It had a small radio on the kitchen table, the floors were mostly kept clean, the bathrooms are usually covered in filth, and the bedrooms are a mess of belongings that the siblings had collected over their lifespan. In the back she heard her mother go into another coughing fit, followed by the stomping of her brother's feet as he ran with a bucket to their mother.

She crept over to the doorway and peeked inside, her mother of hunched over the plastic mob bucket vomiting profusely. Chunky splatters of undigested food, coated the sides of the bucket. Her mother looked up at her; her eyes were red and the skin surrounding it was flushed, her lips were chapped, and the rest of her face spoke of 'death' despite what would follow. "Hey- *gasp* sweetheart... you find anything while you were gone." Neither her or her brother could figure out why their mother was this 'okay' with being sick. "We found plenty of food." "Did you run into anyone?" She asked. "No." The Sister said not making eye-contact. "Well your brother says otherwise." He slowly crept towards their mother hoping for some protection from his Sister's wrath, she glared at him but continued. "They were two harmless people, they wanted food, I fended them off." "If they were harmless then you should've shared your find."

After some vain attempts to convince Mom that they need to do what they can to survive, their mother slowly rushed out of bed and into the bathroom. It was probably another bout' of sickness that wouldn't require a bucket. With her and her brother left in the room, she grabbed him by the arm and tossed him out of the room. There were no words shared, just his head hung in shame and her shaking in anger. "You don't understand, dad isn't here to take care of us. And neither of you are able to figure that out yet." She opened up the window nearby, and sat on the perch outside. Her brother mournfully returned to his room.