What scared me today is that, when I have freetime, I find the deeper contents of my mind to be this:
A city, with skyscrapers. The windows, broken. Some tilt slightly, intending to collapse. A woman jumping off. Follow her to ground level. Graffiti, calls for help, directions to shelter, all covering a layer of fliers, which in turn cover further graffiti. The cars, rusted wrecks they are, have been procedurally stipped of anything worth anything. The woman strikes the ground. They come out and feed.
A sort of slumtown, constructed out of corrugated metal, plywood, and plastic. Crowded and crudely immaculate. People running to and fro, dealing with basic needs. A roar in the air. A military plane flies in, dropping bombs on the city, flattening everything. Corpses in it's wake.
A grocery store, shelves barren. A woman wielding a handgun, tears in her eyes, aiming it at a man, one of them. His right arm is shedding flesh, revealing a blade capaple of skewering somebody as if nothing but cut steak. He staggers towards her, seemingly indecisive. He steps forward once, and unsteadily steps back. He breaks into a run, his forearm ready. He moves with a lack of grace and a visible distaste of what he's doing, yet at the same time, enjoying every bit. She mouths the words, "I love you," and fires the gun into his head, bringing him clumsily to the ground. She collapses onto her knees, crying. More of them come out behind the shelves.
First-person vision of someone. Red tint. Pain. Bulges coming out of your neck. A hissing sound as you walk. Machete, caste aside. Fighting with self. You grab the machete. Your head flies off, landing 5 feet away. Your corpse falls twitching to the ground. The boils in your neck ooze a clear liquid, an acid.