Of course, even the fruit had to screw him over.
It looked strange—glossy, bright purple outer layer, with a darken blue inner meat, something that should have been a massive red flag. But hunger didn't give him the luxury of caution. So he ate it anyway.
He regretted it almost immediately.
The sickness hit fast and hard. He barely made it two steps before everything in his stomach came up in waves. He collapsed there, heaving, his body wracked and empty, the taste of bile sharp in his throat.
There wasn't even enough strength left in him to be angry. No curse, no cry, no fight. Just the slow crawl back to his meager scraps. Leftovers. Whatever wouldn't poison him next.
That was his life now.
But at least he had his shelter.
It wasn't much, just a small dug-out at the side of a hill, lined with stones and covered in branches. It wouldn't hold against anything big, but it kept the cold wind out and gave him enough cover to rest without something snatching him up in his sleep. It was the best he could do with what he had, and for once, it wasn't awful.
He glanced back at it and, despite himself, felt a flicker of pride, even a hint of a smile forming in his lips. His father would've scoffed, muttered something about shoddy craftsmanship, maybe even smacked him upside the head for not securing it better. The old man always said, "If you're gonna do something, do it right, or don't do it at all."
He snorted. "Guess I did it right enough," he muttered, the words tasting like defiance. It was petty, sure, but it felt good to think he'd managed something on his own.
But the smile faded as quickly as it came. Because he wasn't here. No sharp words. No heavy hands. No lectures about doing things properly. Just silence.
And it brought him back to the realization that he might never hear that voice again. Never see his old man's scowl or shit eating grin. He'll never feel the sting of another rough lesson he more than likely deserved, or a pat on the back when he did something praiseworthy. The forest pressed in, the trees towering over him, seemingly not caring if he lived or died. He was just rotten mulch for the animals and plants to feed on. He was on his own, never seeing them again.
He shoved the thought down, hands clenching as he tried to remain composed. There wasn't time for weakness. Not here.
Night crept in, the last threads of light bleeding beneath the thick canopy.
The forest became still. No chattering. No shrieks. Not even the rustle of leaves. No creatures in sight. Maybe they all slumber. Maybe they all have to follow their own biological clocks.
Maybe.
The thought gave him hope. Pointless maybe, but it was there, and it was enough to get him to step out of his shelter. If they were gone, then the night was his. He'll be able to grab a few apples, fill his gut, and sleep without his stomach eating itself alive.
He wasn't going to starve tonight.
Taking one last glance into his little shelter, he slipped from his hole, steps light but driven into the forest trees. Just grab something edible, quick and simple.
But then came the growl.
Low, gurgling growls emitting from the deep throat of something unnatural.
His slowly turned towards the darken bushes he once thought were empty. Slowly from the shadows arose several humanoid figures.
They were not like monsters. Not like the mindless roars that echoed through the trees during the day. This was familiar, more purposeful, smarter.
He froze, breath caught in his throat, Eyes straining to see the figures slowly limping towards him.
A shuffle. The crack of dead wood.
He turned his head.
And more were there.
A horde. Sickly green-skinned things, bodies half-rotted, skin peeling in long, wet strips. They reeked of death and damp earth, Their skin sagging skin carved deep into their bones that shouldn't have been moving. Intestines and moldy blood leaking from those sacks of skin far too old to hold them.
And hundreds were all limping towards him from all sides.
He ran. Heart hammering, lungs burning as he slipped through the sickly men. Branches clawed at him, roots snatched at his ankles, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Old thoughts ran through his mind as he ran blindly through the deep darkness. The inky blackness suffocating his vision until he could only stumble through the damn forest.
"Just keep moving. Don't stop. Don't think."
His mind wouldn't shut up. Wouldn't let him forget the past.
And now his current predicament.
Three things came to him as he continued his flailing through the inky black darkness within the foliage. As the screams and groans of the deathly symphony battered his eardrums.
He'd lost his shelter.
He's surrounded.
And the night? The night was alive and well.
The darkness pulsed with sound, moaning, low and hollow coming from the gaping mouths of the undead men stalking through the forest. The sharp clatter of bones from those that lacked flesh yet still were able to walk the earth. The slick, wet slither of something huge, its eyes glowing like dying embers up above the trees, awaiting its newest prey. And from deeper in the woods, a pop. A sound like air suddenly moving. Like something just appeared. Right in front of him.
He looked up, instinct more than thought.
And there they were. Two Blood-red eyes. Its eyes widening as soon as they made contact.
A scream tore through its massive mouth, opening up unnaturally wide within the trees.
His stomach twisted as he made a fist, reeling back, and just like last time, started swinging.
His fist connected to its abdomen, or at least what he assumed was its abdomen, its eyes widen, becoming two large saucers as it stared at him in disbelief.
He wanted to gloat for making the stupid humanoid thing actually change expressions, if his fist wasn't in so much pain. It felt like punching solid iron, and he could tell his knuckles were bleeding.
But he knew he could not afford to let the thing retaliate, so he thew his other fist.
Only for it to hit air and for him to nearly fall forward.
He froze as he tried to turn around, already knowing where the thing went.
A twig snapped behind him.
He spun too late as two hands, Huge, Cold like iron wrapped around his neck. He clenched his teeth as he felt the air and blood no longer flowing to his head. Desperately punching the stupid creature in hopes that something would happen. But no, nothing came, so with his last breath, he did the only thing appropriate.
"Son of a BI—"
The snap was sharp. Clean. Final.
And then nothing. His body dropped, limp, legs crumpling beneath him.
But the night?
It had only just begun.