Retch

He remembers what's like to be dead. To be nothing more then bones and dirt, picked over by vultures. To be nothing and to be aware of it is a fate worse than death itself. Death at least has the consolation of oblivion, but oblivion is a pipe dream without a memory. A pipe dream without a memory and without hope. The worms crawled inside his guts, and his bones are ground fine by crows. He'll rot in his grave, in the forrest, with no one to visit him. He'll be remembered by no one, his name will be long forgotten.

He wakes up to the smell of his own puke. He's lying on the ground. His body hurts. He doesn't know his name. Flowers grow from his eyes. He smells the air and catches a hint of smoke. He stands up and wobbles, his knees don't bend. He looks around, the forest seems to stretch endlessly in all directions. The voice echos in his head
"Run in my footsteps, boy. They are the only ones that will match yours."
He knew where that voice came from.
It was a Carrionix.
The one who made him what he is. He looks around. The Carrionix are everywhere. In the air and in the floors, in the water and in his blood, in his bones He begins to panic and hyperventilates. He notices a deep cut on his thought. He presses his hand against it. Cold. Dried blood. He remembers. He remembers what's like to be dead.