Week Of The Undead 2014 Presents: Eli Constants Flash Fiction: Inviting Oblivion

So I have something a little different in store for you. Today's post is some flash fiction. I asked three of my favorite authors, ones that don't predominantly write zombie fiction, to write me some flash fiction. 

They were all so good that I decided to post them as three separate posts throughout the day for you, and for them, because each story deserves its own spotlight. Seriously, you all need these authors in your lives!

Don't forget to scroll all the way down to the bottom and use the awesome COFFIN HOP link to hop on over to some other blogs, and also enter the EPIC GIVEAWAY I have running this week!

Introducing, Eli Constant...

Eli Constant is a genre-jumping detail junkie obsessed with the nature of humanity. She believes that there is beauty at the core of most everything, but that truly unredeemable characters create the best stories. She is the author of Dead Trees, Dead Trees 2, Mastic, DRAG.N, and is a contributor to four current and one upcoming anthology. Her works in progress include CON-troll & Dead Trees 3. 

While completing coursework at USC-L, Columbia College, TAMU-CC, and George Mason University, Eli enjoyed a varied course load, but finally settled on Biology and focused on a career in lab research. She spent time in Texas at Flour Bluff Shrimp Mariculture Lab and also spent time at NIH participating in an Animal Research Program in the Infectious Disease Dept. It took two years working in Histology/Pathology for her to realize she wanted to be a writer.

Eli lives in Virginia with her husband Damion, their two children (with their third on the way), and her rescue hound. Find out more at www.eliconstant.com and keep posted on upcoming publications.  

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Inviting Oblivion
By
Eli Constant

His heart was beating slowly.

So slowly.

An inconsistent thump beneath his skin that weakened with every passing second.

I felt the ragged rise and fall of his chest, my body pressed firmly against his, savoring the last moments of his humanity. He promised me it wouldn’t end this way, whispered to me night-after-desperate-night that we’d be safe, unchanged, imperfectly mortal. I’d even started to believe him.

I’d pictured us sitting together, growing old, rocking on our front porch and gazing at our grandkids playing hopscotch on the sidewalk of our little slice of serene suburbia. Maybe we’d even buy my parents’ old house – the split level on Dove Street near the mountains. Maybe my childhood crib would house our first sleeping child, all cherub cheeks and strawberry-blonde curls. Like me, like my hair used to be, long and wavy and almost iridescent in the sunlight.

Now my hair was dull, ratty, lifeless. Lifeless.

Like he was about to be.

And there was nothing I could do. Nothing to do.

But wait.

And rest against his body as his breathing became more ragged.

“Laura?”

I lifted my head away from the soft brown hair covering his upper torso. “Yeah, baby. Can I get you something?”

“You…” the cough interrupted his speech, convulsing his entire body, “need to leave me now. I can… feel…” another cough, more violent. It was so hard for him to speak, “It’s happening.”

“We have a little more time.” I spoke softly, my right palm resting against his sweat-slick face. He tried to interrupt me, but I didn’t let him. “Hush. Rest. We have a little more time.”

Not that I knew that for sure, but it was something for him to hold on to, a little ray of light in the darkness that was death. He took a deep, shuddering breath and then sighed heavily, knowing that arguing wouldn’t convince me. “I love you, Laura.” His voice was almost inaudible. Before I could respond and tell him confidently that I loved him also, his body began to move erratically beneath mine. His eyes closed; his mouth pulled into a harsh line of pain. I tried to hold him still, but he was too big, too strong. And I was so petite. I rolled away from him, watching and worrying.

“It’s okay; it’s okay. You’re okay.” I said the words mechanically, uselessly. He’d been right though. It was happening. I should have left when I’d had the chance. Not that a few minutes head start would be enough distance to save me…

We’d been warned of what he’d want most when the change was over, when death had its way and he was reborn a dead, unfeeling thing with a singular desire. Flesh. Blood. Hunger.

His body was perfectly still now. My fingers roved across the floor until they found his left palm. I rubbed the marks there, the deep teeth marks that were now crusted with dried blood, gritty with the filth of our travels. As I touched the wound, I felt the coolness there, the loss of heat and life. Beneath my touch, his hand moved slightly, waking in the aftermath of death and transformation.

I scooted back quickly, self-preservation urging me away from the thing that once was my husband. Yet, my eyes would not leave his face, so ashen and corpse-like. His beautiful, walnut-brown hair – which had always retained its luster even without proper nutrition or showers (unlike my own sad locks) – was noticeably dull now. His defined facial bones became even more prominent, hollows forming beneath the apples of his cheeks.

I should have run, at least made an effort to save myself.

But save myself for what?

He was all I had; all I used to have.

Even this shell of him was better than nothing at all.

“Ethan?” The silence that followed was louder than anything I could have said.

Maybe his body had rejected the change. We’d been told that could happen. It would be a mercy of sorts.

But then I wouldn’t even have the shell of him.

“Ethan?”

I didn’t stand, but inched myself closer to his body in a half-crawl of hesitation.

I reached for his left hand, the bite mark as ugly as ever.

As soon as my fingers grazed his palm, his eyelashes fluttered like hummingbird wings. Then his eyelids snapped open, revealing the absence of the deep storm-gray I’d loved. Now his eyes were glazed over in an opaque, sickly mucous.

Was it wrong to see peace in those eyes? To see the end as an oblivion that I could meet happily?

His fingers were a vice grip around my wrist now, but I didn’t care.

“Ethan, I love you too.”

He looked at me. And I knew it wasn’t him, wasn’t Ethan- the boy that had taken me to prom in his uncle’s too-large suit with the ruffled collar, the law student that had taught me how to fish, the grown man who’d placed a tiny diamond on my finger and called it a ‘placeholder’ for what I deserved. He’d proposed after winning his first big case, everyone that mattered to us had been there, at the celebration dinner. The night had been perfect and special. I’d had the lobster bisque and gotten terribly sick, but I hadn’t cared. He’d been there, holding my hair and placing a damp washcloth on my neck.

No, I knew it wasn’t Ethan.

But tell that to my heart.

His other hand moved to my neck. Another unbreakable grip. “I love you, Ethan.” I squeaked, air fighting its way in and out of my body.

A flash of something in his face. Recognition maybe?

No, I knew it wasn’t Ethan.

But tell that to my heart.

As his mouth closed around my neck, I smiled. Even as his teeth savagely tore at my tender skin, I smiled. I floated into that inviting oblivion, glad to join him as an undead thing.

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Finally...

COFFIN HOP is the ultimate horror author/artist/creator online event running annually from October 24-31 at COFFIN HOP

Come visit us October 24 - 31 to join hundreds of authors for seven full days of terror, mayhem, madness and unseemly shenanigans. Prizes and contests at every stop. Fiction, Fury and Fun!

Happy reading book whores,
from your 
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