End (Gore)
There's no reason to stop, there's nobody left alive that she cares for. The world is nothing but a howling wound, bitter and shattered. Her ears flatten against her head as she peers out of the window, tilting so that she can see between the boards. Dust has settled on much of the neighborhood. Everything has gone quiet.The moufette picks up the knife, it feels heavy in hand. Familiarity floods her as she remembers how she used to use it as a food preparation utensil instead of a weapon. Her mouth twitches downwards again as she fights back the tears, holding her breath. The air in her lungs sits tight, she feels herself hunger for oxygen. Not a breath escapes her for nearly a minute. An abrupt gasp escapes her lungs, burning and tingling traveling up her nose. Her stomach sits like a cold rock in her belly. Dust rises from her tail's twitching, the tangled mess having become dreaded from lack of care. She lifts up her shirt and presses the hard edge of the knife against her gut. A few tears escape down her cheek, unwillingly. The precious liquid drips onto her wrist and she sobs softly.
It takes an iron will to press the point in further, it lingers so sharply on the blunt edge of pain. She hardly notices when it finally breaks through fur and skin. The blood bubbles from the torn vessels, dribbling against the knife and her belly sluggishly. There's still time for her to stop, she does not stop. Here is the point she can go back from, the thoughts jet across her brain as her body rejects her decision. The knife nips at the bits of sinew and muscles protecting her soft innards, the woman twists it slowly. She heaves, shuddering and writhing before she digs the knife in deep. The weapon splits into her intestines and she pulls it out. The smell is awful, the coppery scent of blood spikes her nose. The moufette has severed her intestinal tract and scratched so deeply she can feel her back ache. She rubs at her face and drool drips down in a reddish puddle. Lip gets caught in her teeth as she begins to chew on it. All she can think of is how she's finally managed to get here. This is not survivable, not in the current state of the world. No doctors, no hospitals, no person but herself. She pulls the knife out and a burst of slimy blood squirts out before the chunks of tissue plop out.Breathing hurts, she can feel the wound open as her diaphragm widens her abdominal wall. She sighs softly, and leans against he wall harder. Her wound has started gathering an unearthly amount of blood, the cut vessels slowly draining away her life source. After a minute or so she begins to feel her awareness dipping, every digit has become numb. The skunk lifts her hand and wiggles the fingers. Her head turns at the sight of them moving so slowly, but the aching whoosh in her brain is starting to dampen all thoughts.
Her consciousness fades. Eyes drooping, the woman sinks into a
sleep she will never wake from.