His elbow nudged a coffee cup gently, a glancing touch, never something someone would ever really notice. Just a simple nudge. But something popped, like a hot fuse, or those sweets that burn and sizzle in your mouth.
The woman, a olive-toned beauty, who looked like she had just finished her morning jog, was sitting down, enjoying her de-caffinated latte. Looking at her phone she hadn't realized that he was staring. Just standing there, blankly staring at the coffee cup she had at the corner of the table. She waits, thinking maybe he's daydreaming, or was thinking about what he was about to do, but after several moments, she reconsidered her initial judgement. His eyes seemed to be wrong, like how it looks when your looking down a pair of binoculars that aren't adjusted right, or seeing underwater. Not right at all, she thought.
She says, being polite as she was raised to be, " Is there something I can do for you sir?"
He continued to just stare at her coffee. A little disconcerted, she begins to look around the cafe, seeing a few people that have noticed this silent ordeal unfolding, but none of them with real concern, just a dull curiosity.
She observes the man, an average looking fellow, black hair, a square jaw and no real prominent features. He was wearing a dark grey trenchcoat, with a brown suade briefcase in one hand, and a coffee cup in the other. Then she saw how his skin seemed tight, his tendons and veins elevated like they were being strained against.
With a little more of a caring tone, the woman asks," Are you okay?"
He looks from the latte to her now, with those strange eyes and his un-natural skin. His fists are clenched, the styrofoam coffee cup, which was full of hot black coffee, is now nothing but a stained, crumpled mess in his hand. More people are looking now, stopping there conversations, and the ones who had noticed before have a air of unease on them. The woman is frightened now, thinking to herself, Maybe he's one of those loonies you read about in books, like 'Here's Johnny!' type wackos. She, unaware of the fact, has positioned her body in a tensed, ready-to-move stance, as if she knew of what was about to happen.
Then the man looks at the cup one more time, then looks back up to her, with a slightly quizzical look on his face, like he had just wondered about something trivial, then he swung his briefcase at her, making a loud thwack with contact to the side of her head. She reacts with instinctual reflexes that man has had since the time of hunting mammoths and sabber-toothed cats, missing the full brunt of the blow, but still gettting a disorientating hit to her temple. The force of the stike forcefully smashes her head against the granite tabletop, breaking the ridge of the womans nose. All this happens in the blink of an eye, no one has even gotten out of there booths or off there stools at this point, a few flinch, others just miss the event. Then the man, letting go of his accessories, jumps on her, taking her by the nap of the neck and starts to bash the womans head against the tabletop.
People are shouting and screaming, one yelling," Get that fuck off her!", another," He's going to kill her!" but many of them are unintellegent shrieks and bellows. Plates and silverware and glasses and mugs crash and tumble, with people jumping and stumbling up off their seats. Some people, after seeing the initial assualt, get up and race out of the cafe without a second glance back, running for fear of their own lives. Two rather burly and well-built men, tip over their table in the process of getting to the scene, to get this crazed man off the woman. But many people just quickly raise out of there seats, and just stand there, either too dumbstruck or unsure to do anything else but stand, slack-jawed, and watch the spectacle.
The woman is now limp, the cranial jarring has rendered her unconscious, and she has many lacerations on her forehead and scalp from the constant attack against the tabletops edge. Her sporty white tank-top is a bloody mess, and her spandex shorts are soiled.
The two men make it to the assailant, one man grabbing his left arm, the other man grabs the right, and wrench the man off the unconscious woman. The crazed man, with the same blank, slightly quizzical look, nonchalantly, looks over to the man on his left, and bites his arm, never changing facial expressions. The man on the left cries out in pain, instantly letting go of the man who had just bite him, and doubles over in pain. The man on the right quickly, seeing this unfold, deftly puts the man in a vice-grip hold, making so the man cannot turn his head, nor move use his arms.
The assailent stops fighting against his restrainer, and becomes still, his eyes keel over and roll into the back of his skull. He starts to spasm, violently jerking and trying to flail, but not in a offensive way, more like an epiliptic fit. The burly man keeps a steady hold, despite the thrashing, and calls for some one to 'get a hold of the cops'. The man who had just severly beaten a woman, goes limp, foam at his lips, his breath smelling like paint fumes and backing bread. His restrainer looks down surprised and confused. Then his body started to change.
The mans tight skin started to split, leaving long, nasty gashes, dark and puffy muscle starts swelling out. The same smell from his breath comes reaking from these open wounds, a sickly sweet aroma. His hair starts curling back, like thousands of dying spider legs, and the flesh of the man starts to sag away from his bones. Holes start appearing over his body, holes like when you set a lighter underneath plastic, how the plastic just pulls away from the licking flame.
Seeing this happen in his arms, the rescuer lets go of his grip, and staggers back a few feet, his back bumping up against a counter. The man falls to the ground like a bag of bones would, large tears develop in his arms, and his facial bones poke through the necrotic skin.
A large crowd develops outside the cafe, the general feeling of unease and curiosity fills them. People pushing up against the cafe's large, bay windows, all of them trying to get a better view of the scene then the next. People talking loudly, some yelling to be heard over the hubbub, " What's going on?", or " Are the police are coming?!'
The cafe's occupants are quiet, unlike the people fortunate enough to be untainted by the day's originally day-to-day feel to this, macbre and surreal ordeal. The man now exudes a visible vapour, and his flesh begins to bubble, like a pancake just starting to cooking. The majority of the mans flesh is now a bubbling ooze on the ground, surrounding bones that seemed to be smoking. A few people can't handle the sight's grotesque manner, and vomit their, just recently, ingested meal and coffee. Other people just sit back down, some begin to sob, others close there eyes, as if it was all just a very elaborate and realistic dream.
The bones catch on fire, billowing smoke into the cafe, while what was the rest of the man is now a crispy film on the ground. The restrainer, , sways, and faints, just inches from the smoldering corpse.
The woman wakes up, she has a pounding headache, and realizes that she can't see. She feels clean linen sheets, crisp and fresh smelling. Footsteps sound toward her at an eager pace, sounding like tile, maybe linoleum. A quick intake of air is heard, and then a silky voice arises," How are you Lilith?"