The Spirit Of A Civilian

An aged man, who had long forsaken the idea of retirement, pressed his brittle back against the store's stockroom door. He crossed his arms and sat them on top his bulging belly that bobbed as he spoke. “He’s here again isn’t he.” the man said, flaring his oval shaped nose.

“What's that, Mr. Lambert?" A young co-worker responded.

Mr. Lambert lifted a swollen wort covered finger in the direction of the store's entrance, and grunted. Countless times already he’d seen him, that one teenager who wore the same tattered black hoodie with sleeves ripped at the cuffs and blue jeans so soiled the word “blue” no longer fit. Mr. Lambert, aware of his age, could easily have thrown it to the side as some weird fashion trend. Though he was certain youngin’s weren't brazen enough to wear such garbage.

However, what made his tongue snap, was that blatant royal blue hair stuffed underneath the hoodie. Not dyed–natural, Mr. Lambert knew that as a fact.

“Oh I see,” the young worker said, taking notice of the customer. “He comes here from time to time doesn’t he? That blue haired kid.”

“And I’d rather his kind come at all.” Mr. Lambert grumbled. “Has this whole mall to choose from and he picks the store that can barely pay a living wage.” He released a pig-like snort. “I’ve already told that good for nothin’ manager that we should follow the other departments lead and ban them. Only misfortune follows those freaks and I want nothing to do with it.”

“They aren't that bad are they?”

“I’m guessing you've never seen one.”

The young worker gave an awkward laugh. “Not really, I’ve only heard stories. We live in the upper parts of the silver district after all.”

“You’re lucky then. I can’t even consider them human anymore.”

The co worker’s head perked up. “Mr. Lambert you’ve seen one before?”

The seasoned man never looked his way, eyes instead fixed somewhere distant. The blue haired kid stuffed a variety of sealed foods inside his hoodie’s pocket, and turned his head on a swivel to check his surroundings. Unfortunately for him, he’d locked eyes with Mr. Lambert. With a stern face Mr. Lambert gave the kid a choice. He kept his back pressed on the wall, arms still crossed and raised his chin. As if to tell the boy trouble wouldn’t come his way, long as the items were put back onto the shelf.

The kid showed his hands, empty, fingers half bent like claws. He gestured a smile while raising them into sight. Then slipped them into his pocket and out came a bag of jerky. Steadily, the kid worked his way up shelf by shelf until reaching the proper location. Mr. Lambert nodded, showing off his influential elderly wisdom. He felt satisfaction knowing he’d set someone straight. Might as well say he’d reduced the number of future prisoners.

The kid sat the bag in front of its kind, hand still attached, eyes still locked. Then snatched off two more and turned tail.

“You brat!” Mr. Lambert yelled. He yanked the young co-worker up by his collar. “We’re going after that brat!” He stumbled around the counter and shoved through the store’s crowd. The shouting and impulsive movements already forcing a deep breath. As he exited the store and reached the life-line of the mall, he slapped his hands to his knees. Panted. Mumbled gibberish under his breath, then stood up straight to find the boy. An impossible task normally, given the mass that floods the mall on saturdays. However Luck was on his side, no matter how quick the brat was nor how concealed the crowd kept him, that blue hair couldn’t help but stand out.

“Out of my way!” Mr. Lambert shouted, squeezing between the mass. “He’s a shoplifter! The brat with the blue hair!”

The kid perked up, tucked back into the crowd, made way to an escalator and hopped down three steps at a time. Mr. Lambert followed, though slower though his evader, he only had to catch himself once from falling down before reaching the bottom floor. A jolt rushed through both knees. Too fast, too old. He went to spot that blue hair again. Just as before it only took an instant to find him. Though it wasn’t the hair that gave him away this time, it was how he moved.
The brat placed a tremendous amount of distance between them, weaving through the crowds like water. He treated the packed concourse no differently than a playground. A swift vault being all he needed to conquer the retail kiosks and a slick slide under the advertisement signs kept him far from his pursuers reach. There was no catching someone like him. Mr. Lambert's knees knew that more than anyone. Buckling under his own weight and in his ankles, feeling a sharp splitting sensation. Although Mr. Lambert's grumpy spirit wasn’t born out of nothing. He staggered to his feet, pressed what he could of his fingers to his lips and released a piercing whistle.

“Stop that k-”

He cut the sentence short.

The attention he wished to gather in the mall all shifted towards the ground. The violently shaking ground. Cracks divided the mall floor into secluded islands and people above a certain age dropped to their butts by the tremors. Those like Mr. Lambert.

In a moment's hesitation, before the idea of running even emerged in someone's mind, a void, one that engulfed the mall floor in an instant, broke forth. If by the looks of it one had to guess, a hole that stretched five meters long and six wide.

Panic shot through the mall. A baby wailed. A grandmother struggled to stand. A father’s throat sunk to his gut. A mother’s lips faded beyond white. And a meaty, flesh rotting arm crawled its way out of the void. The width of the arm, as wide as if not more, than the whole of Mr. Lambert.

It crushed the ground as it pulled the main body up. Eyes so empty that even light failed to fill. Just a muddied gray that caught Mr. Lambert in a trance, seeing only the darkest reflection of himself in them. The monster’s gaping mouth, too heavy to keep closed followed. Inside lay unorganized sets of teeth that couldn’t be called rows, small razor blades just scattered throughout the mouth. Finally, its decaying, macabre body escaped the void, showing more of its hideous chucks of meat all stitched together by pulsing black veins.