Graphic Dream

It was at night when a blonde girl resembling Sofia Coppola meets a young guy, in a neighbourhood recreation park with more concrete than green. Only distant streetlights revealed their profiles. They were walking calmly and casually discussing which of the humans standing motionless with their backs to them and facing the park management building, now rotting corpses with the characteristic monochromatic tone, will “change”. When a corpse changes, it becomes a fanged zombie with vicious temper and rages to bite.
They didn’t have a term to label these beings. They weren’t called vampires nor were they zombies, but they have become a common sighting. Oddly this girl and guy only step out at night.

I watch them chat idly and smiling at these corpses like children pointing at pigeons in the park. Then, the field of vision draws to a closeup of her fine blonde hair, shoulder length wisps carried by the breeze, translucent with fluorescent light against the concrete wall. She turns her head. And she is gray. She has the monochromatic tone and hollow face, feral eyes, rotting skin, and gaping, fanged mouth.
I still do not know how the boy looks like, but I know he is taken back. He is taken back not with horror and shock, but with remorse. He grinds his teeth as he prepares to do what needs to be done.
Then I see a giant armoured living weapon appear. I will describe it as Alphonse Elric with ten pointed pipes radiating from his back like Shiva, the six armed Hindu death deity. Tassels of religious amulets hang on these pipes close to his armour body, intertwined with black strands unidentified fibre. The broad armour is streaked with filth but streetlights still reflected off the claws. Each hand had long Wolverine like claws extending from between each finger and are at least 2 feet long. The armour knocks back its left fist in one motion and slices one of the corpses to bits. She collapses into a puddle of blood, flesh, and fabric.
The boy did not wince.
From the streetlights, a man waddles heavily towards him. A greasy, large bellied man in a filthed wifebeater with frown lines on his balding head. Sweat and oil dot his hairline as he spoke, claiming possession and fondness for the girl. So fond he owns the same brand of shaving razors she uses, which he waves in the air.
Th boy corrected him and waved a smaller razor, which the girl had recently used. The greasy man grabbed it and began shaving his face with it.
At this point the boy resembles Bruno Mars and his pained expressions. The boy sensed some evil transformation is about to happen and leaps off malls to escape the scene. He leaps higher and higher onto rooftops and we see the greasy man becoming a dark blob.
As I follow the boy leaping off awnings ahead of me, along the main street with busy night time traffic under yellow streetlights, I see a blonde girl leaping just as gracefully behind him.
And he knows.


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