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Like a thousand maggots dancing on the corpse of the rotting dead, their hands twisted and their fingers squirmed, and the lust of the dying flesh ran from their contorted lips. Under the weight of the nameless and the damned, he found himself trapped, unable to move, unable to fight back; unable to escape the tragic fate. As the shadows of death came over, blocking out the crying face of the moon, the teeth of the rabid, the vile infected ripped into the flesh of his leg, biting down into the core of the bone; the suffering of unending torment coursed into his brain; his body shook violently. From the socket, his arm was jerked, coming loose as the nightmare ensued. As he tried forcing his way out of the chaos, the weight grew; the blood ran from his body in panic, as it coursed through the cracks in the pavement; as it fled in fear of the savage faceless. Into the night, he yelled; into the great beyond, as he felt the cold fingers of the hungry dead piercing into him. Into the air, they held his intestines high, as though to offer them up for sacrifice. The blood ran still.