Chapter 17

Blood poured over my right palm and fingers. A vat of the shit drenched the twin-size bed. Splatters decorated the paneled wall next to the bed and resembled a Jackson Pollock work.

Zombie’s body fell out of my grip and flopped to the bed. It bounced and became limp on the blood-soaked comforter. His head faced to the right. His eyes were open and his bald scalp was splattered in his own blood. He lay still on his belly. His milk mustache was sprinkled with blood. More blood covered the bed beneath and around him, soaking into the fabric. A black and red hue accessorized the twin-size bed—a trophy for me. My prize. My sustenance. My delight.