A severely emaciated boy waded through the ruin, pushing himself with what little energy he had left. His throat was dry and raspy, his lips pale and parched, and the lustre of life dwindled in his eyes.
Corpses. Many of them were scattered about—all of them dried up and decomposing. Some had grotesque, open wounds—like a dude whose brain had melted and constantly slipped off the rim of his bashed-open skull. Others appeared severely malnourished, with figures so lean and pitiful that they made him look better in comparison.
Although they were dead, they twitched—constantly. Some wiggled and thrashed about, spinning on the ground in a frenzy like they had a convulsion. Others—with paler white skin made low grunts and salivated, their forms too disfigured to allow movement.
"Eep!" The boy recoiled slightly in fright as his eyes fell on a much-familiar body.
Mitchell—who was once his friend. An older friend. He sat slumped over a large piece of rubble, his neck twisted at an impossible angle, and his eyesockets empty.
The sight brought him down in sorrow, but only for a moment. In the situation he was in, he simply couldn't care about the dead.
Not when he was on the verge of joining them.
There was a collapsed building ahead of him that had scattered debris all around on the hardened, barren soil. He headed there, betting his all on finding even just a single cup of water to quench his thirst. Perhaps he might be lucky enough to stumble across foodstuffs. After all, it looked like it had once been a residential area.
Nothing.
He pushed through, searched relentlessly as he huffed and puffed each second. But nothing edible could be found.
And then he looked back at the breathless people. Shortly afterwards, he realised that they must have tried scavenging this building as well—only to find nothing.
It was also possible that all the consumables had been ingested by these people before they died.
Underneath the crimson sky, the 15-year-old stood, gazing ahead with a dull gaze.
He had given up. He had no other choice.
There was a flamethrower by the window in a bedroom. Cracks were littered all around the walls like spiderwebs. The tank was lodged into a crack in the wall, making it appear as though someone had broken into the room with it, while the lance hung loosely, curling up on the ground.
The boy's eyes—now heavy with weariness as Death loomed closer, grabbed onto the flame thrower and, with a little effort, managed to obtain it. It was quite heavy, considering how weak he was, but he dragged it behind him as he went.
The gas tank made a horrendous sound as it scraped the ground. But the boy paid no mind to it and only kept walking, aiming to return where he had begun. There was a new energy brimming within him, and he knew it to be a sign of the Curse.
If he starved till death, he would be reborn as an Undead. The thought of it sent shivers down his spine, but the fact that he could sense Cursed energy forming slowly within him signified that a part of him was either dying or already dead.
He really didn't have a choice.
The sun's heat was very intense, and due to weeks without a bath, it made him itch. It was a terrible pain, especially because he couldn't stop sweating, but the agony of his starvation was far worse. And it intensified each second.
As his bare feet kissed the rocky ground, sharp rocks piercing his skin, the boy let out a slight whimper of pain. It could have been louder, but he couldn't spare the strength. He left a bloody trail as he went, his tattered clothes hugging his skeletal structure. His pace began to drop, but he couldn't give in now.
Not yet. He was almost there.
"Big brother! You're back!" A feminine, slightly distorted voice sounded.
He couldn't respond as he always did. Not while he was pulling the metallic tank behind him.
Then he stopped.
"Yes…*huff*...I am.."
"You should rest brother," she urged.
The boy fell to the ground with one silent plop, his weight too light to make a sound. However, he wasn't dead—only tired.
He was now locking eyes with his sister—a large, round blob of flesh, clothed with sagging skin, that stared back at him.
Her mouth was positioned on one side while her nose was on the other. However, her two eyes and mouth were at the centre—top centre, and her irises rolled over to the side to lock eyes with her dearest brother.
She had been affected by the Curse. Dehumanised by it. But she wasn't an Undead—just another variant of its victims.
The Great Division was a nasty event.
The sister saw that he hadn't brought anything this time. But rather than complain, she cheered him up, assuming that he was only feeling down.
"It's okay, brother," She encouraged in a voice as tranquil as it was disturbing. It sounded very quiet—almost like a low hum that could bring a sense of calm to anyone's heart.
"You gave me this not long ago," She remarked, glancing at an object next to her. "That makes you the best brother ever."
But the boy turned his face and buried it in the ground, paying no heed to her words.
Next to the girl was a photo—a slightly damaged but observable photo. It had burn marks on the sides, due to the struggle the boy had passed through while trying to fetch them.
He obtained those photos to strengthen the hope of his sister. Of course, that was only during the times that he hoped for himself.
It was of a young girl with beaming azure eyes, a bright smile and brownish hair that was made into a ponytail.
"I really love the gift, big brother," She said, not giving up despite the depth of his internal despair. "Now I can look at it every day and try not to forget my form."
"So when the Good Fairy comes," said the 12-year-old, "I'll show him the photo and he'll change me back into a human."
But then her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Ah yes, as you always say, I'm still human since I have a heart.".
She tried smiling cheerfully, but realising how bothersome she would appear, was mindful not to.
The boy still didn't look up at her.
However, he spoke.
"I lied."
The girl was at first happy that he had finally spoken. Unfortunately, her mood changed quite quickly upon registering his words.
"Brother?" Her voice weighed with concern, her incomplete understanding evident through her tone.
"I lied about everything." He confessed, his voice muffled by the ground. "The Good Fairy doesn't exist."
In that moment, the girl felt as if her heart was shattered into a million pieces. Hearing that the Good Fairy that her brother had repeatedly spoken about didn't exist was….a lot.
"Does that mean…" her voice broke. "That I'll never-?!"
"You're a monster!" The boy interjected, shifting his face to gaze at her teary eyes. "The Curse got you." He said coldly, "And you'll never be human again."
"...."
The girl burst into tears. An unnatural stream flowed from her two azure eyes, creating a puddle around her.
Despite seeing this, the boy's face held no emotion. His skin was growing paler by the minute and he currently only cared about himself.
"Forget it," He urged in a weak but deliberate tone. "Just like Mom and Dad, you'll turn into one of those man-sized centipedes."
"NOO!" She screamed, bawling even more. "Anything but that!"
"Or maybe those things with slithering guts," he added, worsening her fears. Although, he was lying as no further changes would happen to victims of her variant.
But he had a goal.
The brotherly love had vanished into nothingness as the constant churning and turning of his insides reminded him of the Grim Reaper's beckoning.
There was no choice. He really didn't have a choice.
"You know, you're actually pretty lucky," he said. "Your kind can live longer than us without food so you should be fine for months."
"B-but!" She wept. "But I'm human..the heart..t-that's what you said."
"Didn't you hear?" The boy retorted. "I lied."
"Brother, you're hurting me!"
"You're annoying." He silenced. "Shut up and die already."
The Cursed energy in him was growing stronger and stronger, and it started impairing his cognitive abilities.
He was salivating like a ravaged beast, when he pushed himself to his feet, and grabbed the jet pipe. For a moment he started chewing on it, only to realise his actions and stop.
His hands moved in a frantic manner as they ran over the metallic tank. He twisted valves repeatedly without really knowing what he was doing.
After all, his hunger was already starting to consume him.
He pointed the nozzle at his sister, who lay helplessly on the ground.
"Brother..?"
"Just…die.."
And so, he pushed the knob on the lance.
What came after was a baptism of fire that came down on the girl. The first few moments were rather slow, and the immobile girl saw every frame of it.
The selfish brother that had no emotion in his eyes, the betraying lance that hovered over her, and the terrible orange that spat from the nozzle.
It was hell.
"AAAHHHHH!!!" She screamed at the top of her voice, her tears increasing but drying up quickly under the heat. The boy simply stood, watching as he held the jet pipe over her. She begged, screamed and pleaded—but her words didn't reach him.
It burnt. She was in pain. Her skin broke asunder and the absurd fat composition worsened the flames.
Mini-explosions rocketed throughout her skin as they would suddenly bloat and burst in small areas. The crackle of the flame and the oil that splashed from each pop was a disgusting sight to behold. More so because a brother was doing that to his own sister.
She cried until she no longer could. Her mouth moved one last time, saying one final word; "Big brother…"
Eyes shut in defeat as the pain overwhelmed her senses and with one last breath, she gave up the ghost.
It was only then that the boy turned off the downpour. His body had reached its limit and his stomach hurt so much that he felt like they would implode.
He fell on his knees, next to the gross mess that was once his sister. But he was neither disgusted, nor remorseful.
No. He was only an animal seeking to satisfy his craving.
And so, he did.
Lowering himself, he plunged his jaw into his sister's flesh, not minding the heat.
Crunch!