Writer: Timothy Dumont Jr.
Co-writer: Crystal Ferguson

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Flashback Entry 114: Oldest, Youngest -Vincent-

"We can't tell which of them is infected, Vincent! We can't wait for one of them to just get behind us and stab us in the back! No, I say we kill them now, before they wake up." Andrew was right, but I just couldn't. It was my family.

At the time I couldn't tell that he was infected. If only I had.

"No.", I emphasized my point with a glare, "We do it the usual way. We wait to see if they try anything."

Andrew looked upset but put the cleaver on the butcher table, "Fine, but don't come crying to me if this all turns out bad."

It took me 3 hours to fall asleep. I don't know how long I was like that.

"Wake up."

I heard crying and when I opened my eyes I saw Andrew’s grinning face.

"Nice of you to join us, silly. I was beginning to think we'd have to start with out your sorry mug." Andrew's own special brand of slang, a mixture of old and new; laced with hidden meaning.

A glance at myself revealed that I was tied down. A glance around the room revealed that everyone was awake and tied down, except for Andrew.

"Andrew, what are you doing?"

He had the cleaver in his hand.

"I'm doing what you couldn't. I'm ridding us of the trash in order to survive."

"Andrew, they're awake. They are infected."

"Vincent, Vincent. How do we know? They are sitting there crying and afraid, but how do we really know?"

Andrew's eyes had a tint of gold; he was infected. He was free to do what ever he wanted, which probably consisted of killing my family and then me. I fought against my captor; innocent looking duct tape was the only thing that kept me from helping my family.

"Who should go first? Oldest . . . or youngest?"

"Oldest!", my Mother yelled out looking at my dad.
"Youngest!", my Dad yelled out looking at my sister.

"Andrew, we can work this out. We'll test them."

"Too late for that. I'm already curious."

"Andrew, please."

"You didn't ask me why I was curious. That's no fun at all.", his voice was seething with barely controlled lust as he looked at my Mother.


"I wonder what their blood looks like."

He raised the cleaver above his head.

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