The sun should have risen five hours ago but we scarcely noticed, too preoccupied with the gasping heap of flesh slowly rolling itself towards the town hall. Clusters of bloodied and bruised hands pushed, pulled and grappled against gravity to propel it while we stared in perfect silence.
I recognised the nail polish on one hand and said nothing. She was long past the point of saving, now the kindest thing I could do would be to shoot the flesh til it decompressed into all the mutilated bodies it had engulfed to become as large as it currently was. But I just stood there as helpless as everyone else.
The sun should have risen eight hours ago and now that the cluster of flesh is deep within the town hall we can begin to actually panic until someone figures out what to do. Lord knows I haven't a clue, I barely understand how the flesh lives for as long as it does, let alone knowing why or how it stopped the sun.
I went home and locked myself on the roof of the apartment block, hoping either an answer would come, the sun would rise again or if the flesh came for me it'd be delayed long enough or me to jump and save myself feeling the agony of becoming.
The sun rose eleven hours late then set for the evening.
The flesh consumed the mayor and dissolved down the closest drain, apparently heading out to the ocean.
I fell asleep on the roof and woke up to a swarm of seagulls pecking at my exposed arms.
Life goes on.
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