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... e through overripe fruit. A wet, sickening pop.
A splash of hot, gelatinous fluid streaked across his face—thick red and clear ooze, running in slow, glistening rivulets. He flinched. Eyes wide. Lips trembling. But he did not move. Not yet. Shock had paralyzed him. He could feel it—the warmth dripping down his cheek, soaking into his skin.
The rest of my eye sloughed down my face. Chunks of ruined flesh, tattered veins clinging to blackened powder and pulped tissue. It dripped in ...
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