there’s red on the walls, the dead are at the door.

where are you jimmy? where are you? where did you go?

a creak to my left.

is that you jimmy?

is that you?

hello! fuck! answer me!

son of a bitch jimmy! son of a bitch! why don’t you just…oh.

that’ll be the last thing i ever said to him while he was alive, if he was, who knows? he could have been dead for hours by that point.

he would have yelled the same damn thing at me though, he’d be yelling “jen! don’t do this to me now! not fucking now woman!”

he only said woman when he was really riled up.

i haven’t moved since, it was  6 hours ago, they’ve been trying to knock down that door since i pulled in his half-eaten corpse, i could probably toss it out and take that moment of distraction to get away, but i’m not leaving jimmy.

“i’d rather join you than give those bastards the satisfaction,” he’d say.

oh jimmy…you proud bastard, you glorious 140 pounds of macho fury, it’s like you’d never seen a mirror.

yeah, i don’t know if they’ll die without eating, banging down that door, or just lose interest, either way i’ve lost some blood too, i am probably going to pass out soon and wake up to some sickly green creature that used to be a neighbor…or a friend…biting the flesh off my shoulder…or leg…or…

…well atleast i’ll fall asleep that last time next to him, so funny that just a day ago we were fighting over getting rid of that dirty old brown couch, if there are any golden gates up there…you can have the dirty old brown couch, the pool table and that disgusting old stack of hustler magazines.

one hinge doesn’t have much left.

i love you jimmy.

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