She opened her eyes.

Where was she? How did she get there? Who and what was she?

These and many more questions filled her head, but were quickly pushed to the back of her mind was one overpowering urge came over her.

Hungry.

She sat up, never noticing the room she was in. Not taking one glance at the mattress on the floor that served as her mattress, at the soft padded walls, the white long since faded to yellow, or the small barred but cracked window high above her head on the ceiling. Her eyes, blurred with the intensity of her need to eat, failed to notice the paled brown stains on the white carpeted floor and the sheets, never mistaken for anything besides what they were, despite their constant denial that it was blood.

She walked out the door, which she found unlocked, and into the hallway in search of something, anything to eat. Later on she’d wonder why her door was unlocked, why any of the doors were unlocked, but for the moment it was only food that was on her mind. Walking down the halls, she must have looked like little more than a zombie. Is that what I am? The thought entered her mind with little warning, shocking her through the hunger pains she was feeling. She had no reaction to it, however, still on the search for something to eat. She saw another person walking down the hall; saw a white lab-coat, and glasses, a clipboard in one hand. She stopped, waiting for the man to come closer. He did, speaking in worried tones to her. She couldn’t understand the man, couldn’t make out the words he was saying. All she could hear was his blood pumping through his body, his heartbeat pounding in her ears. This is what she was hungry for. At least as far as she could tell.

He came a few steps closer, finally close enough, and she struck with lightning speed. Her arm wrapped around his head and drew him closer. It seemed almost natural that the closest exposed vein that one has is on their neck, so she opened her mouth and bit down on the tender flesh, tearing away at his skin. He fell to the floor, and she landed on top of him, still tearing away at his flesh like an animal.

Or a zombie.

She looked up, not knowing if someone had spoken to her if she had thought it. Looking around, she saw no one who could have spoken it. It was nothing to her at the moment, anyway, just a thought that entered her mind, then left before it had made itself clear. That was all.

When she had finished the feast of flesh under her, she stood, not knowing where she was going yet, but knowing that she was leaving the building. Later, when she was able to think, if she became able to think, she would figure out what happened to her, why she was like this.

She was outside now, and an empty street lay in front of her. No families walking dogs through the park, no businessmen on their way back to the office from their lunch break. Only poles that held street lamps, a dirty sidewalk on both sides, and an empty street.

She walked for a while, not really knowing where she was headed. Something told her that this was the direction she should be walking in. She stopped when she saw something move next to her, her eyes immediately darting to the side as her body shifted slightly toward it. A glass window, dark on the inside of the unknown building, so dark she could see her reflection in the glass.

Pale white skin against dark, almost black hair that fell long past her shoulders. A blue hospital gown covered her, leaving her white arms exposed. Her eyes were the least human feature about her;

She’s not quite alive, but she’s not dead yet.

She doesn’t know where she fits, but nothing much fills her head but the basic instincts.

She has brief moments of clear thought, longer or shorter depending on how much she has consumed.

As for what she consumes…just about anything. Most her instincts tell her to eat or screw, so we can only imagine how that combination works itself out.

When she can think clearly, she wonders how she was made, how she came to be, and whether or not she is some sort of evolution, or de-evolution.

Human instincts

Fight or Flight

Eating

Sleeping

Screwing