Lost In My Flesh

 He just didn't expect it to be so soon, so sudden. When he finally made up his mind to quit for good, after years of this hard life, his chance of settling down was being taken away from him. That chance to make up for the time lost, he could not do it anymore.

Even though he neglected the time Adeline gave him, now that he was getting around to it, wouldn't it be fair to say he felt cheated, if at least for a bit?

He would not have it. Killjoy wouldn't have it. Even if it was greedy of him, he asked whatever was possibly listening in now to give him one last victory, a chance, and he'd be fine losing for the rest of his life. 

Just one last time.

Killjoy glanced down at his body, scrambling for something on him, anything that resembled a weapon, even in the loosest of definitions. His knife was destroyed, his gun torn apart, and what was left of the rifle was the only thing lodging the monster's mouth apart from swallowing him whole. 

He then saw something heavy, its metallic glint somehow untainted by the blood and sweat of his mauling: the harmonica.

It was long, flat, dull, and only fit in the palm of his hands. Barely anything usable.

The man stared at it, not believing what he was about to do. But he'd apologise to her later, because for now, for the last time, Killjoy would be selfish. 

He had to survive, even if it meant using Adeline's gift.

Killjoy tore his hand off his rifle and seized his harmonica, ripping it away from his belt. Killjoy couldn't hold on for any longer and his other arm collapsed to the snow.

The maw of the ghoul's mouth coated the hunter with its moist breath, its dry, calloused tongue licking around his delectable skin. It prepared to bite his delicious flesh with its giant teeth, separated only by the cold, crisp air. Killjoy could feel how the sharp fangs surrounding him reached his tender face, threatening to rip and chew; it was about to eat his head, and then himself. 

Killjoy drove the harmonica into its skull, screaming at the top of his lungs. He squeezed his eyes as he put all his waning strength behind his last strike. It was stupid, desperate, a defence mechanism that only the doomed can resort to, like drawing a toothpick against a revolver. 

Only a disgusting squelch could be heard.

He could feel the slick juices drooling from its mouth, seeping onto his face, ceaselessly without end. Killjoy kept the harmonica in hand, still waiting for his demise, for the blankness in his shut eyes to become a reality. But he could only sense the cool wind brush the wet saliva on his face, and the faint warmth of its throat. The hunter hesitantly opened an eye to see what was taking so long.

The jaw of the gaunt beast laid still opened around his skull, a statue of a predator about to devour its prey. But, like a statue, the monster was frozen in place. 

The hunter heaved at the sudden sight, reeling back his head in fear of it being snatched by the thing's teeth. However, the beast still didn't move. Nay, it let a slight moan escape from its enormous mouth, and the flesh and bones, visible through its taught skin, shook and quivered. 

It tried to move, escape some invisible shackles that suddenly took hold of it now, but couldn't. 

Killjoy felt a searing heat wash over his hand from the harmonica. 

Then, the skeletal ghoul lurched its head in the air, dragging the downed Killjoy up to his toes, still holding onto the silver instrument that…was attached to the monster's head. 

He glanced weakly at where his hand was, and the harmonica was wedged deep inside the monster's skull. Indigo-streaked blood began to run down his fingers. 

The skin where his harmonica somehow pierced was scorching hot, scalding Killjoy's hand where he held onto his makeshift weapon. Tendrils of grey smoke climbed from the burning wound into the crisp air.

Killjoy wasn't spared even a single second further to process what had happened before the ghoul bellowed out a screech in his face, hoarse and loud, nearly rupturing his eardrums. Its head spasmed and twisted out of place. 

The monster dangled Killjoy in the air before suddenly swiping away the hunter, like an invasive mosquito, from where he held the harmonica. The force was so great, that Killjoy's rag-dolling body almost split the snowflakes that fell from the sky.

The hunter fell back onto the hard, compact snow. His harmonica and arm flew into the air—wait, his arm? 

A dazed Killjoy took a glimpse of where his instrument fell. Amidst the blurry snow, he saw a severed arm lying next to it. His arm. He glanced down at his shoulder, and where he expected an attached limb, he could only see the white snow and the pouring blood that stained it.

Yet he could not even feel it. Adrenaline had surged through his veins so much, geared toward survival, it reduced the life-threatening injury to a numb, throbbing sensation, like it was never even there. Save for the feeling of the blood leaking from it, and how his side became worn and weak with each passing moment. 

But the ghoul was also hurting; it withdrew itself. Killjoy gazed at the monster, and he saw it grip the burning wound on the temple of its head. It almost gasped for air, its moan like a dead man's last wheeze. 

It bought the hunter time, enough at least to figure out how he was alive and why the harmonica saved him. Somehow, Adeline's instrument kept him from being at dinner.

Killjoy rolled to his side and, summoning what little strength he had left, tried to push himself up on his brittle legs to retrieve the harmonica. 

When his legs wobbled and strayed, he limped. And when it got too tiring, too much to even do that, the hunter fell back onto the snow and crawled. The stress on his muscles burned. As he dragged himself across the dirt and debris, it scraped against his exposed skin. 

It hurt. It really, really hurt. But he had to make it before that ghoul behind him snapped out of its ache. 

The silver instrument was only a few inches away; if he could reach out his hand right now, he could get a sliver of a hold. 

But then, he heard a guttural growl groaning behind him. Slow, heavy steps lurked behind Killjoy, the snow crunching deeply with every tramp. It eased after the trailing hunter, before becoming faster, and impatient. 

It was there, and he was on the ground. 

He hastened, digging his fingers into the ground, his nails beginning to bleed with how hard he scraped the earth. As Killjoy tried to get there faster, he heard the monster's steps grow louder and rampant, turning into full-blown running. Running for him.

It was right there, he was close, yet so far. He couldn't die now, not after he had just survived with the skin of his teeth, and when the one shot of getting out alive was barely ahead. The hunter groaned, yelling as he prepared a last-ditch effort to close the gap.

Pummelling his right fist into the ground, Killjoy tried to pull himself, his limp body, into the air. He lurched forward with all his might for a split moment, grunting as he landed on the ground as hard as he went. 

His hand lands on the silver instrument, the finger brushing the metal. Killjoy gripped it like water in a barren desert; part of the shape was splintered off into a wedge from when he stabbed the beast with it. He then twisted around against the snow, turning to his back.

The ghoul was there, its skullish face leering for the hunter. Its wide mouth was agape, its teeth ready to shred and maul. And the torn-off hand that latched onto its eyesockets hung loosely, partly revealing the void of its gaze. 

It ran on its four, bony limbs before it hurdled into the air for its bleeding prey.

Killjoy was quick to the draw, thrusting the harmonica into the air before him, shutting his eyes and yelling as he did. He held it tight in his grip, almost crushing the silver.

If he died now, at least this time around, he'd have done it fighting.

A loud thud was heard as the beast's giant corpse of a body crashed into the human beneath it. It smothered the hunter below, the monster's mouth, ajar, wrapped around his head, swallowing even the shoulders. 

It crushed him, and then silence. Not a single moan from the monster or a sign of struggle from the human pierced the air. Nothing moved. Things were still. Too still. 

The grains of snow began to finally shift and turn, clumps of the snow sliding away as something began to shake and persist underneath the limp beast's weight. 

The monster slightly turned, its elongated left arm falling to its side, its other remaining complacent. And then, its head slid too, the gaunt skull rolling against the mound of dirt they were on. 

A slow grunt emanated from someone under its belly. That short exhale turned into tortured moans as he tried to push the rest of the beast's body away, his arm still stuck inside its throat. 

After another second of struggling, the man freed his hand from its jaw. He tried to use his remaining arm to slide out of the heavy monster lying atop him. And, after another moment of unrest, he finally mustered a bit of strength to lift the bony arm trapping his legs and rolled away. 

Killjoy stayed still on the ground, not enough to even limp and crawl. 

He breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath, but also to soothe the pain washing over him; the adrenaline had set aside, and all of that would-be lightness in his head, the fatigue in his legs, the grazing on his shoulder: it came crashing down. 

It hurt.