Freed part 2 (The Unhallowed Gathering)

Freed part 2 (The Unhallowed Gathering)

A Poem by Justin Littlefield
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Second addition to the trilogy

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Wine was a worshipped wonder to a mother
Unsteadily blundering by the comfort in its numbers
She sat at the bar lapsing rounds with herself
Nearly clearing a bottle from the bottom shelf
This was her method, how she’d let time pass
She sought salvation in the bottom of the glass
But instead found herself worn,
Tired and forlorn,
As hollow as the bottle she’d swallowed, alas.
“Alright Cheryl, I gotta make the last call,”
said the bartender, shrouding the place of its midnight pall
“Is it really that time?” she asked in a daze
Yeah. It is. How are you still functioning? I’m amazed.”
“I know… I can’t drive. Do you think you can take me home Mark?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t want you driving like this. Especially in the dark.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for the burden. I’ll get my car in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about it. You need to get home to your kids,” he said like a warning.
“Yeah… they’re probably still awake and driving Mary nuts.”
Little did she know her friend was hunting them, dumping out her guts.
“Alright well, I guess I ought to lock the place up then.
We wouldn’t want her getting livid with your children!”
“Yeah,” she cackled, “Her temper’s kind of short.”
She knew not the least what form her horrors could contort
Mark leant her a laugh, “Alright then. I’ll be right back.”
He went to lock the doors, clock out, and restock the racks
When he was done, he cut the lights and they were out
Believing all was normal, not a fear nor a doubt
Arthur and Amber were stopped by a cop
Alongside a road, either side-- endless crop
He put on his lights, called them forth after halting
Arthur limped to the door, sweat running to his wound and salting.
“What do you kids think you’re doing? It’s after midnight!”
He saw their helpless eyes, soaked with cries of fright.
“Jesus Christ! What have you kids gotten yourselves into?”
He couldn’t begin to understand the hell that they’d been through
“Come on. Get in!” They opened the door and sat
“What happened to you kids? Where the hell do you live at?
“Oh wait… you’re Carol’s kids. How’s she doing, is she sober?
I think I pulled her over ten times in October…”
After a pause, “Probably not. She’s always wasted. She doesn’t care.
I’m taking you home.” He turned the car around and headed there.
“You can’t take us home!” Arthur cried in retrospection
Knowing what awaited them: the vicious figures of infection
“Sure I can. You kids are too young to be out this late.
Someone’s gotta be held responsible. This isn’t up for debate.”
“No you don’t understand! We can’t go back! It’s not safe!” he screamed
“What do you mean? Are you kids getting beat?!” 
That’s certainly how it seemed.
“No! We’re not getting beat. My mom’s not even home! She went out!”
“Calm down son. Just tell me what happened. There’s no reason to shout.
If she’s not home, why you kids running around? You should be at home in your beds.”
“Mary was watching us… but… now she’s dead!
So is the old man! He… he tried to kill us… but I cut him up instead!”
The cop was shocked, his jaw dropped, eyes nearly popped out of his head. 
“Jesus Christ! Why didn‘t you tell me that kid?!” 
He hit the gas, blared the sirens, and off down the dark road they sped  
**
In the meantime, whilst the moon was clouded gray
And the gusting gales trajected a vicious, vaporous spray
The martyrs of malice made their way through the placid lanes
Treading in tandem, voracity driving vile pulse through veins.
A couple was about, no older than twenty
Strolling through an alley toward home
They came to a point where the shadows were plenty,
Where fate placed the ravagers to roam
The guy held his gal with a gait tightly pressed
Shielding the wind and offering heat
But nearest their end, she tarried them lest
she thought she could hear the sound of approaching feet.
And then they were stormed,
Surrounded, and swarmed
The fellow first sacrificed to the feast
His girlfriend helplessly hollered
And then too was slaughtered
Honored as though ritual to the beast.
Raising from death, they joined the unhallowed gathering
To hunt for what life was to waste,
Morbidly slavering, lips frothy and lathering,
Enraged and rapacious for taste.
A man getting out of his car was attacked,
Another was drunk and in sprawl,
A woman out jogging had viscera ransacked,
Annexing to this forage of Fall.
One unlocked his home and went to step in,
Just as he heard the first moan.
Before his reaction, teeth sunk in his skin
Ripped red; he died all alone.
His daughter sleeping, son watching television,
Wife with her mom on the phone;
He helped the marauders dismantle his kin,
Committing to eat them to bone.
Some in their cars, driving unaware
Stopped to make mind of the crowd
Threads torn to shreds, flesh stripped and bare
Devoured, murder howling loud.
The night swelled with gloom,
Death dispersing bloom,
So briskly had the small town turned a grisly mold.
The raven flit in flock,
Fleeting fit like hawks,
Scavengers collecting souls in the cold.
As they paraded, a truculent army of the night,
Stalking the shadows, foul and oblivious,
The home was set in the officer’s spotlight
Welcoming them, grim and insidious.
“That’s where you live, right little boy?”
He asked, deciding what next he should do.
The entrance wide open, doorframe destroyed,
Arthur replied, “If you go they will get you too.”
“This is Officer Paul Rogers, responding to a domestic emergency, discovered while on patrol.
I’m in need of backup. There’s a situation here, possible murder on 4th and Carol.”
There was no response.
“Base, do you copy?”
Several times more he tried.
Making the call,
“This ain’t gonna stop me. 
Wait here, I’m going inside.”
He parted from the car and darted through the yard
Discarding his regard for support.
Boldly he showed the code of heart he followed
With courage, the unfortunate sort.
Breeching the scene, what first he had seen
Was the gore coloring the floor.
It had spilled from Mary, enough to make him wary
That something gruesome was in store.
But where was she now? Had she walked off somehow?
Clumpy red puddles trailed to an open entrance.
It lead out to the side where Ms. Mary had died
The proctor, serving a sinister sentence.
There was a bloodletting, a slaying at the setting
And the corpse had to have been robbed.
Where would they have head toward and why was the front door broken outward?
Did the killer not know how to use a knob?
These were the questions he thought, infested by the stench of rot
There was surely something grave about the air.
An evil in the cold, the way the darkness did enfold
Left him feeble, feeling vulnerable and bare.
Abandoning the scene, complexion glowing green,
It seemed as though he’d become rather ill. 
Freezing in the breeze, breaths steaming as he wheezed,
He hurried back to the car to escape the chill.
Opening it quick, he felt even more sick,
Seeing that the children were not there.
He called out in the cold, his own echo followed,
Then only the whisper of the wind in the air.
“Those God damned kids! I can’t believe what they did!
Little killers! Devils running loose like dogs!
…Where can they be..?
YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME!!”
He called out like a monologue in the fog.
Getting in his vehicle, eyes sharp like icicles 
Paul pressed the gas and blasted fast in his seat.
If only he had waited, for not a minute translated
Before their mother arrived on the street.
Slurring words to Mark, like “Y’should just park.
Come in fer’a while. Stay over, I’m lonely.”
He was known for his game, women drinking themselves to shame
So he could comfort them, that night only.
But when they got closer, suddenly she was sober,
Seeing the damage done to the place.
She ran in and then back, screaming “MY CHILDREN WERE ATTACKED!”
Mascara cascading down her fading face.
Tumbling to her knees, eyes spilling seas,
She screamed and she heaved in her woe.
Mark, dismayed, held Cheryl as she laid splayed,
Waiting for some sort of solution to show.
As though it was his answer, by chance, like cancer,
Something terrifying and terminal went their way.
A woman in pink pajamas, silk and spotted with traumas
Tottered toward them with a senseless sort of sway.
“Oh my God… she’s hurt!” Mark began to blurt,
Rising from Cheryl to inspect the one forthcoming.
Seeming suddenly scared, he screamed, “She’s bleeding everywhere!”
Her thirsted throat was hoarse and hungrily humming.
The widow, the mother, stood up to see another,
A man in his boxers stumbling in the streetlight.
Behind him was his brother, she knew them each as lovers,
Both on her drunken and unconscious sort of nights.
The first man’s name was Bob, the brother’s was Rob
They were veterans, both bearded, bald, and fat.
Bob’s eyes weren’t in their skull, they were just red, weeping holes
and Rob wore his brain like a hat.
The woman, within meters, gave off a putrid fetor
Mark and Cheryl stepped back to keep their distance.
Then five more filled the streets, dangling mangled meats,
Lurking without vital existence.
“D-Do we help them? Should we run? Do we call 911?
What are we sup-p-posed to do?” Mark stuttered in fear.
“All I care about right now is finding my children somehow!
Let’s get the hell out of here!”
The brothers blocked the car, the two garnished in scars
groaning, gullets gargling guts.
There was no choice but to scurry away from there in a hurry
before they too were clustered with cuts.
Weaving between the wretched, wasted, dead, infected
Fearing as they’d never feared before
Gunshots resounded, chaos unbounded
The town had turned a territory of war.

© 2015 Justin Littlefield


Author's Note

Justin Littlefield
Get ready for part 3 >:D

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Reviews

How do you have such focus!?
My god, the envy.
I have such trouble with extended pieces,
you seem to stick to storytelling so effortlessly.
All of the envy in the world Justin, this is grand!
-VM

Posted 4 Years Ago


Justin Littlefield

4 Years Ago

Thank you Vanesa!
Focus might just be my one natural gift with writing.
In the same res.. read more
I can't wait for part three! That was a very interesting part. Loved it!
Nicely written, you got my attention, hurry up and write more-kidding :P Don't rush!

Posted 6 Years Ago



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Added on March 16, 2013
Last Updated on January 7, 2015
Tags: freed, zombie, undead, horror, dark, blood, guts, gore, evil

Author

Justin Littlefield
Justin Littlefield

Las Vegas, NV



About
I'm Justin, 24 years old, out of Las Vegas, NV. I've been writing for as long as I can remember, it matured with me, became something entwined in my spirit. Reading almost any piece of mine you may de.. more..

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