Number one hero

The smell of the freshly cut grass and summer evening air filled his senses as he sat on an old wooden bench, looking out over the abandoned baseball diamond. He could see weeds pushing their way through the cracked dirt of the field. He'd never played on the field growing up, but he'd heard stories of dad and his dad's buddies always playing on it, that is until the war started. After the war had come, the field had remained empty, never to be played on again.

It seemed that life might all be over now, since they came. The riders were merciless yes, but they were far from the worst thing that now stalked the night.

War never ends, and it really never begins. Somewhere along the way one person kills another, and it's just a death match.

He was alone now, or nearly enough to feel isolated. Some places didn't even know that anything had happened in his small town, but something had. Something really big. Something like demons, but not from hell. They came through so fast, the militia barely held resistance, and anyone else who fought died in those first days. Then the true horror came. He knew he saw them murdered. He knew the riders killed them, but then he saw them, walking around. He knew it was the bugs.

When a person dies they lay down. When a bug finds a dead person, it's supposed to eat them. Not these. Big centipedes, they'd crawl into someone's shirt, and in a little bit, they'd be walking again. It wasn't right.

When reenforcements arrived for the militia, they saw no signs of fighting. All the men were back on their feet, and they told them it was an overblown gang war. Then, they killed the newcomers.

He knew this would happen to him, he knew they were coming for him.

So he went somewhere that would let him die honorably. As his father had, his real one. Not the one waiting at home right now, pretending to drink a beer, with a knife in his boot.

Slowly, they got up. The riders that came back were easy enough to kill, but with a centipede in them, it would be difficult. He gripped the bat firmly.

The first one came close, it underestimated the young man. He was not big, but he was definately strong. The bat connected with the rider's side. It vomitted, and a section of the centipede stuck out of its mouth. The bug wriggled madly, and he hit the rider in the face.

Yellow goo oozed out of the smashed mouth, and the body dropped. More lumbered at him. He swung at them, making fierce contact with each strike.

Yellow was everywhere. On the ground, the bat, even the boy himself was covered. More centipedes came. Bodies that had fallen, stood once more.

The young man was getting tired. He had to make a statement. He might be the only one to ever reveal this little conspiracy.

But sadly, muscles have their limits, and a human can only endure so much before fatigue takes its toll.

They struck him dizzily, not having had time to adjust to their hosts' bodies. With little further effort, they had made a new comrade.

He felt the bug inside him, and wanted to please his master. He finally decided that maybe a world of bugs was the way that things should be.

Soon the rest of humanity would accept this point of view. (by Mr Majenta)