Something

{{This is still being worked on, but I don't think It'll ever really be finished. It may be lengthened to novel size or it may be changed to a script for a graphic novel. I dunno.}}

Chapter One- This Is Not The Matrix (Really) or WTF!
My eyes blazed with the bright neon lights that reflected off of the puddles of stagnant water that littered the alleyway. My eyes burned, partly because of the lights and partly because of the cigarette smoke that slowly crawled towards the ceiling of the ramshackle van. I took the cigarette from my lips so the stinging in my eyes would stop, then snubbed it out. My hands shook. The cigarette had helped, but my nerves still rattled like a loose muffler.
The ringing in my ears had subsided and I could feel that the barrel of my Smith & Wesson had cooled. I knew I had to of hit at least three vital organs. None of this made sense.
I had been doing this for six years, maybe the stress was getting to me. Yeah, that's what it was. I needed a break, maybe Jamaica. Stacy, my on-again/off-again girlfriend, had gone last summer and said that it was nice.
Just as I was thinking of sipping rum in the shade of palm trees, a clawed and bloody hand pierced the roof of the van. Shit! I had been palming the Smith & Wesson the whole time out of habit and I was glad I had. I kicked open the back door of the van and leaped out backwards, pulling back the hammer of the revolver and firing at the. . . something. As I landed hard on the asphalt I could see that the, thing, had stopped moving.
I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my feet. I checked and reloaded the S&W as I lit another cigarette. Gunfights always made me jumpy, even if I was the only one shooting.

Chapter Two- A Bloody Beheading or Pricks
The body had landed, legs splayed open, on the windshield. Cracks littered the glass, making the corpse look like a fly stuck in a giant spiders web.
I recoiled, which I hadn't done since I was a rookie, after seeing the ten or so bullet wounds scattered across the somethings body. The large caliber revolver had blown gaping holes all over its torso. Rotted organs hung out of the holes like a rancid pinata. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.
It seemed that the only body part that didn't get a bullet in it was the things head. That doesn't mean that its head wasn't disturbing. I ticked off the list of creepy things about its head.
Pure black eyeballs with no irises, check.
Two-inch canines, check.
Some kind of funky writing all over its skull, check.
As I tried to read more of the writing I felt two sharp stabs on my hand. I flinched and dropped its head, tearing away some skin.
It was awake. I took one step back, drawing the Smith & Wesson, and straightening my arm. The thing sat up and tried to rake my face with its blood encrusted claws. It didn't even make it off the hood. The shell casings made a tinkling sound as they hit the cement.
I hacked off the things head with a long piece of jagged, rusty sheet metal I found in a nearby dumpster. The thing didn't bleed.

Chapter Three- Strange Looking Bowling Ball or I Don't Think That's Normal
I didn't want to leave the body behind, but I didn't want it in my car either. So I just took the head. I held it by the hair, an arm's length away from me. I had just bought the coat I was wearing and I didn't want to get any rotting brains on me, which is what the thing was leaking.
Luckily I had parked my Impala into the alleyway, if someone saw what I had I wouldn't be surprised if they had a heart attack.
I opened the trunk and saw what I was looking for. My trusty bowling-ball, nestled snugly in its bag. I set the head down on the concrete and took the bowling-ball out from it's bag, carefully, and set it on the passengers side seat.
I picked the head back up again and stuffed it into the bowling-ball bag. I set it down into the trunk and slammed the it shut. I walked over and opened the driver side door, getting in and starting the car. I buckled the ball in.

Chapter Four- Talkin' To Balls or WTF is Bob
The streetlights provided a steady trickle of illumination, each small pool only lighting the inside of the beat-up Impala for a few seconds. I lit a cigarette and looked over at Bob, “ So what hell do you think that thing is, Bob?”
Bob looked straight ahead, staring out at the dirty streets, “ I dunno, Jack. I've seen some pretty messed up shit in my life but, god damn. . . This takes the fuckin' cake.”
I accelerated and shifted into third, the Impala tearing down the empty midnight streets. “ You're right on that one Bob, it was some definate heavy shit. . .”
My heart still hadn't stopped beating, bump-bump-bump-bump, even after I pulled over, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and took a couple of swigs of the emergency Jack I kept under the drivers seat. I felt hungry.
I started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. I drove absentmindedly not really paying attention were I was going, or even if I was running red lights. All I could seem to focus on was my hunger. I needed food.
Bob whistled sharply, “ Hey, hey Jack. You with me?”
I ignored him and pulled into the drive thru of a fast food place. A line. A fucking line. I slammed the accelerator, crushing the back end of the Subaru hatchback in front of me. The screams coming from the car in front of me brought me back to reality. The reality of what I had just done, and the reality of the sirens squealing behind me.

Chapter Five- Gunning it or Gonna Need New Tires
I yanked the stick back and jerked the Impala into reverse. With my foot squarely on the gas, I spun the wheel in a tight circle. I put the Impala back into first.