I still can't believe it happened, I thought 'It's happening in other places, so maybe it's all a hoax.' It was about 7 or 8 A.M. in State College when the reports are flooding in. London, Cairo, Moscow, Shanghai, São Paolo, Atlanta. Zombies, that's what the media was calling them. I don't know.
I remember the watch said 3:21. The power was off for a couple of hours. The radio said it was because they'd sprung up everywhere. DC was a mess, Philly was practically all on fire, New York wasn't even worth mentioning. I happened to contact my girlfriend before the phones went down. She was okay, given the circumstances, but Detroit was a mess and what she heard was that the ... well the infection was spreading her way, I told her to bunk down with her family and that I was coming to get her. I called my parents and demanded that they come up here and I make sure that they were safe for the time. They wouldn't hear of it, my brother was still missing at the time, he lived in Philly so you know. I decided to leave and not argue any more with my parents.
It was about 7:15 when I saw my first zomby. I was skirting the city of Pittsburgh trying to remember my way to my grandfather's to check in on him. I couldn't find it so I gave up around 6 because, sadly enough for him, I had more pressing priorities. Anyway, outskirts of Pittsburgh, I jumped back on the 76 highway which was completely deserted. I have a feeling the turnpike was going to be the same. I was driving back to the 76 highway and I slowed down to see a car crash, cause, like any good human being, I love carnage. I was just passing by when I saw a pair of legs being dragged into the bushes and I stopped. I mean dead stop right there on the highway. I peered closer, because legs just don't get drug by themselves. That's when he - or she, or maybe even it? - appeared out of the bush. It looked around and finally saw my car. At the time I remember thinking to myself, 'What the hell? How did it know to look around to make sure it wasn't alone?' I kept along that line of thinking when I heard a cry or a howl, I don't know how you describe it because I had never heard it before. That's when I saw my second... third... and fourth zombies of my life. They seemed to have coordinated with each other. Staring at me, seemingly pondering another food source, they looked down at their current catch, looked back at me, growled something amongst themselves and drug the poor soul off. I immediately sped off in horror at the discovery I made.
I got to the Ohio turnpike entrance about 45 minutes after that. I admit, I was speeding, probably doin' 85-90 the whole time. There was no one in the booths, so instead of stopping and getting a ticket, I burst through the sign. Let me tell you, it's kinda thrilling knowing you can break these laws now, cause the cops seemingly have nothing better to do.
25.6.07
25.4.07
Unnamed
Coming into our bedroom full of concern, she lies down beside me and snakes her hand into mine. "Well? Did you get signed up? Was it packed?"
"Sorta, and no." Sometimes I'm a man of few words.
"What do you mean 'Sorta'? The Army's not full or anything."
"Just 'cause there's a war on, dear, doesn't mean that they're drop all the red tape. Just have to wait until tomorrow for the test results. I'm just a bit upset. The guy there is a racist, and I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. Just plain rude."
"I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you, promise." And with that she rolled over to me with a devilish grin. The rest of the night was filled with --- well, it's none of your ruttin' business. No offense, you see, but I'm of a mind that what goes on in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Just like Vegas, but you don't know what that is.
Some sweaty, exhausting, enjoyable hours later, I was still awake. Staring up at the ceiling is an old past time of men, be it stone, brick, wood, or stucco. Was this really what I wanted? Would I really make the Special Forces? Why do people like Swiss cheese? I spent a good deal of time that night, pondering these questions, mainly the last one. I mean, it's really disgusting; no one can honestly like it. So I'm not a serious person, I'll admit it. Coming to the conclusions of: no one really likes Swiss, I shouldn't have had the pizza, and I was fully committed to the Army.
"Sorta, and no." Sometimes I'm a man of few words.
"What do you mean 'Sorta'? The Army's not full or anything."
"Just 'cause there's a war on, dear, doesn't mean that they're drop all the red tape. Just have to wait until tomorrow for the test results. I'm just a bit upset. The guy there is a racist, and I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. Just plain rude."
"I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you, promise." And with that she rolled over to me with a devilish grin. The rest of the night was filled with --- well, it's none of your ruttin' business. No offense, you see, but I'm of a mind that what goes on in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Just like Vegas, but you don't know what that is.
Some sweaty, exhausting, enjoyable hours later, I was still awake. Staring up at the ceiling is an old past time of men, be it stone, brick, wood, or stucco. Was this really what I wanted? Would I really make the Special Forces? Why do people like Swiss cheese? I spent a good deal of time that night, pondering these questions, mainly the last one. I mean, it's really disgusting; no one can honestly like it. So I'm not a serious person, I'll admit it. Coming to the conclusions of: no one really likes Swiss, I shouldn't have had the pizza, and I was fully committed to the Army.
Unnamed
Part two
But this is nowhere near when the actual problems started.
I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. First we present, then we analyze, no? I'll tell you how I got to be here, and then I'll tell you why we had to go through this. Okay, okay, it'll be my opinions and truths as I see them, because, in the end, it's our own opinions we ever have.
So, for me, it all started off right before the bombings. The war was escalating and there was significant speculative evidence that there was outside, state-sponsored involvement. I had been getting anxious over the upcoming graduate school tests and had already decided that I'd get in shape for the military for the god-forbidden chance that I don't get into graduate school. Either way, I didn't hear about it at first. I was out running the usual five-mile trek I've been doing for, what felt like, time immortal. I came home and got ready to take a shower and flipped on my TV. There on the screen were the horrifying pictures, horrific home videos of an apparent mushroom cloud. I knew in an instant that that was all the encouragement I needed. I talked it over with my girlfriend, and she persuaded me to wait until there was evidence that it was an actual attack on our country from another country. You see, I had always told her that if we were to be attacked again, I'd sign up and make sure I kill some bastards.
Eventually they proved that it was indeed an attack on our country and we went to war with the rude, sucker punching, love-hating, war-mongering country -- I got caught up with it all, at the time. Marching in to the recruitment center, I pronounced to the surprisingly empty room, "I'd like to sign up for the military."
"What branch, kid? Maybe the Coast Guard? Won't be too hard on a green like you. None of that harsh work or anything," responded a quite grizzly man whose looks alone would be enough to dissuade the weak-minded.
Puffing out my chest in an act of defiance I hit him with the most assurance I could muster. "The Army, of course, maybe even the Special Forces. Nothin' but the best for me." That'll show 'im. "I've been getting in shape for the Army anyway, this just --- accelerated the decision," I added, with a slight nod of my head.
"Well good, boy, need some tough, dedicated sons of bitches to get those sand niggers that back-stabbed us." I instantly lost my grin and self-pride at that. There's no call for rude manners, even to the most hideous of enemies. Shooting a man dead is all the payback I'd ever need.
"Back in the day, we wouldn't need anything more than your blood on the devil's contract to get you off to boot camp. Nowadays, with all these rules and regulations and sign-up bonuses and all this bullshit, you need to take tests, fill out forms, sign things in triplicate, and dig up your great-great grandfather's grave for his own approval. You know, the red tape." With that, he pushed me into a back room, taking my height and weight, testing my eyesight, and running a couple of other tests. After that it was time for the testing. A breezing hour later I was finished with my sign up process.
"We can't officially sign you up with this until I get your test results back. I know a guy in the grading center who'll rush yours through before all these other snots sign up. We'll let you know tomorrow," and he shoved me out the door with a warning to go sleep on my decision and come back tomorrow assured that I know what I'm wanting to do.
Back at my apartment I grunted hello to my girlfriend, grabbed some day old pizza, and headed to the bedroom to do some soul searching.
But this is nowhere near when the actual problems started.
I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. First we present, then we analyze, no? I'll tell you how I got to be here, and then I'll tell you why we had to go through this. Okay, okay, it'll be my opinions and truths as I see them, because, in the end, it's our own opinions we ever have.
So, for me, it all started off right before the bombings. The war was escalating and there was significant speculative evidence that there was outside, state-sponsored involvement. I had been getting anxious over the upcoming graduate school tests and had already decided that I'd get in shape for the military for the god-forbidden chance that I don't get into graduate school. Either way, I didn't hear about it at first. I was out running the usual five-mile trek I've been doing for, what felt like, time immortal. I came home and got ready to take a shower and flipped on my TV. There on the screen were the horrifying pictures, horrific home videos of an apparent mushroom cloud. I knew in an instant that that was all the encouragement I needed. I talked it over with my girlfriend, and she persuaded me to wait until there was evidence that it was an actual attack on our country from another country. You see, I had always told her that if we were to be attacked again, I'd sign up and make sure I kill some bastards.
Eventually they proved that it was indeed an attack on our country and we went to war with the rude, sucker punching, love-hating, war-mongering country -- I got caught up with it all, at the time. Marching in to the recruitment center, I pronounced to the surprisingly empty room, "I'd like to sign up for the military."
"What branch, kid? Maybe the Coast Guard? Won't be too hard on a green like you. None of that harsh work or anything," responded a quite grizzly man whose looks alone would be enough to dissuade the weak-minded.
Puffing out my chest in an act of defiance I hit him with the most assurance I could muster. "The Army, of course, maybe even the Special Forces. Nothin' but the best for me." That'll show 'im. "I've been getting in shape for the Army anyway, this just --- accelerated the decision," I added, with a slight nod of my head.
"Well good, boy, need some tough, dedicated sons of bitches to get those sand niggers that back-stabbed us." I instantly lost my grin and self-pride at that. There's no call for rude manners, even to the most hideous of enemies. Shooting a man dead is all the payback I'd ever need.
"Back in the day, we wouldn't need anything more than your blood on the devil's contract to get you off to boot camp. Nowadays, with all these rules and regulations and sign-up bonuses and all this bullshit, you need to take tests, fill out forms, sign things in triplicate, and dig up your great-great grandfather's grave for his own approval. You know, the red tape." With that, he pushed me into a back room, taking my height and weight, testing my eyesight, and running a couple of other tests. After that it was time for the testing. A breezing hour later I was finished with my sign up process.
"We can't officially sign you up with this until I get your test results back. I know a guy in the grading center who'll rush yours through before all these other snots sign up. We'll let you know tomorrow," and he shoved me out the door with a warning to go sleep on my decision and come back tomorrow assured that I know what I'm wanting to do.
Back at my apartment I grunted hello to my girlfriend, grabbed some day old pizza, and headed to the bedroom to do some soul searching.
21.4.07
A new story
I've started a new story. It's also got no title for it either. I guess I'll come up with a title later. I'm gonna bust it up into parts. When I'm finished with it all, as far as I can tell, then I'll put it all together, and publish a full story.
Unnamed
Part one
I guess if one were to go back and try to guess where it all started, they'd say right after they bombed us. Wiping it off the map, they'd say, is what caused this stupid messed up state we're in now. Erasing criticism for the ongoing wars, unifying the country in a march against the perpetrators. What's this? You don't remember what happened? I keep forgetting I've lived so long that the entire war, slaughter more like it, is now just a history books in what went wrong with humanity.
The Enemy, the spooky, nebulous description was what we called them, from there after. The extremists that decided to take their religious fanaticism to an extreme and detonate a nuclear bomb off in the city. It was that simple. It was that complex. Anyway, for the short version: They weren't some simple backwater terrorist organization, these were state sponsored, the worst of them all. We were leafleted right after, in all the major cities, telling us that this was our own fault. Should never have provoked them, they said. Weep not for those who were sacrificed to their ridiculous god, they declared; it was only to show us the true path!
But this is nowhere near when the actual problems started.
I guess if one were to go back and try to guess where it all started, they'd say right after they bombed us. Wiping it off the map, they'd say, is what caused this stupid messed up state we're in now. Erasing criticism for the ongoing wars, unifying the country in a march against the perpetrators. What's this? You don't remember what happened? I keep forgetting I've lived so long that the entire war, slaughter more like it, is now just a history books in what went wrong with humanity.
The Enemy, the spooky, nebulous description was what we called them, from there after. The extremists that decided to take their religious fanaticism to an extreme and detonate a nuclear bomb off in the city. It was that simple. It was that complex. Anyway, for the short version: They weren't some simple backwater terrorist organization, these were state sponsored, the worst of them all. We were leafleted right after, in all the major cities, telling us that this was our own fault. Should never have provoked them, they said. Weep not for those who were sacrificed to their ridiculous god, they declared; it was only to show us the true path!
But this is nowhere near when the actual problems started.
20.4.07
Tuesday's Daydreams
I'll tell you now that these are dealing with current events.
And before some random person reads this and thinks too much, I would NEVER EVER do anything of this sort. You are warned, those who would judge me.
Handing my plate to the folks at the bar, I ask for a fajita and a chicken Cosmo, the norm. After adding on the fixings that go along with such food. Sitting down with the papers, like every other lunch, I start watching TV. Suddenly a bunch of yelling erupts. Turning to see what's up, the gunfire starts. Some guy's yelling, "You're all to blame," "You made me do this," and all manner of other rude things. I mean, here I am having a nice lunch, albeit the same lunch I usually have, and in comes this unruly troglodyte ruining everything. Anyway, he's facing the dessert bar making a mess of the cakes and, honestly a pile of people that were just trying to eat pizza. I look at some other random, nondescript jock of a college student and we nod at each other and very quietly stand up and get near him. "NOW!" I yell and we charge, tackle and restrain him, before he can waste any more of our time.
"And Alex Rodriguez hit another amazing bomb to left field, sealing the deal for the Yankees."
I look up from my fajita to notice that no one's rudely ruining lunch for me. Man, I really need to get my head checked. Chomp, chomp I go on my Cosmo, just to hear the same sort of rant from the same sort of man in my weird twisted fantasy. This is getting ridiculous. I stuff some more food in my mouth to stop myself from laughing, look up, then notice that this time it's not that dude from before. It's some crazy, and kinda cute, chick yelling about how if she can't have some dude, no one's gonna have him. And she looks like she's aiming for making sure no one has any food either. I tell you, people are really rude in my daydreams. I look around for that big dumb jock and I can't find him. Thinking nothing of it I try recruiting others. No luck there. I guess being a hero really is a solitary job. Quietly stalking up near enough to dash at her, she turns, and with those devil horns and blazing eyes, stares me down and I try looking like I wasn't there. Nothing doing, I see her squeeze the trigger and things start to go slowly. I almost see the bullet leave the chamber of the rifle and BAM --
Someone's dropped a chair. "Tigers aren't doing that bad this year, Chuck," and I look up again. Jeesh, it's getting no better.
And to top it off, I finished my fajitas and sandwiches while I was getting slowly murdered by the devil equivalent of Carla from Scrubs --- I did just have a sex dream about her, I really should stop watching so much Scrubs. Screwing my lunch and whatever it is, I get ready to go, only to notice now I'm wearing a cliché trench coat and for some reason, an AK-47 is under my coat. Now that just isn't right, I wasn't even wearing a coat when I came in, it was like 60 out. Blinking now I'm the one who's ruining the dessert bar and aerating the pour folks just trying to enjoy their day. Huh, that's odd. Only this time, I remember quasi-me sitting in the corner, and mow them down too. This is easier than I made those simpletons make it look. Wait a second, they're not falling down, they're just cursing me and running for cover. Looking down, I notice that the AK isn't an AK anymore and now is a paint-ball gun. I back up and bump over the glass stand.
"Looks like the Pistons are golden for the playoffs," and someone's dropped a glass. Wow, I'm loosing it. Chuckling to myself and ignoring the glares of the others, I walk out, putting my tray on the conveyor belt and enjoy the creepy qualities of my mind.
And before some random person reads this and thinks too much, I would NEVER EVER do anything of this sort. You are warned, those who would judge me.
Handing my plate to the folks at the bar, I ask for a fajita and a chicken Cosmo, the norm. After adding on the fixings that go along with such food. Sitting down with the papers, like every other lunch, I start watching TV. Suddenly a bunch of yelling erupts. Turning to see what's up, the gunfire starts. Some guy's yelling, "You're all to blame," "You made me do this," and all manner of other rude things. I mean, here I am having a nice lunch, albeit the same lunch I usually have, and in comes this unruly troglodyte ruining everything. Anyway, he's facing the dessert bar making a mess of the cakes and, honestly a pile of people that were just trying to eat pizza. I look at some other random, nondescript jock of a college student and we nod at each other and very quietly stand up and get near him. "NOW!" I yell and we charge, tackle and restrain him, before he can waste any more of our time.
"And Alex Rodriguez hit another amazing bomb to left field, sealing the deal for the Yankees."
I look up from my fajita to notice that no one's rudely ruining lunch for me. Man, I really need to get my head checked. Chomp, chomp I go on my Cosmo, just to hear the same sort of rant from the same sort of man in my weird twisted fantasy. This is getting ridiculous. I stuff some more food in my mouth to stop myself from laughing, look up, then notice that this time it's not that dude from before. It's some crazy, and kinda cute, chick yelling about how if she can't have some dude, no one's gonna have him. And she looks like she's aiming for making sure no one has any food either. I tell you, people are really rude in my daydreams. I look around for that big dumb jock and I can't find him. Thinking nothing of it I try recruiting others. No luck there. I guess being a hero really is a solitary job. Quietly stalking up near enough to dash at her, she turns, and with those devil horns and blazing eyes, stares me down and I try looking like I wasn't there. Nothing doing, I see her squeeze the trigger and things start to go slowly. I almost see the bullet leave the chamber of the rifle and BAM --
Someone's dropped a chair. "Tigers aren't doing that bad this year, Chuck," and I look up again. Jeesh, it's getting no better.
And to top it off, I finished my fajitas and sandwiches while I was getting slowly murdered by the devil equivalent of Carla from Scrubs --- I did just have a sex dream about her, I really should stop watching so much Scrubs. Screwing my lunch and whatever it is, I get ready to go, only to notice now I'm wearing a cliché trench coat and for some reason, an AK-47 is under my coat. Now that just isn't right, I wasn't even wearing a coat when I came in, it was like 60 out. Blinking now I'm the one who's ruining the dessert bar and aerating the pour folks just trying to enjoy their day. Huh, that's odd. Only this time, I remember quasi-me sitting in the corner, and mow them down too. This is easier than I made those simpletons make it look. Wait a second, they're not falling down, they're just cursing me and running for cover. Looking down, I notice that the AK isn't an AK anymore and now is a paint-ball gun. I back up and bump over the glass stand.
"Looks like the Pistons are golden for the playoffs," and someone's dropped a glass. Wow, I'm loosing it. Chuckling to myself and ignoring the glares of the others, I walk out, putting my tray on the conveyor belt and enjoy the creepy qualities of my mind.
19.4.07
I'm lazy
Okay, okay, okay. So I didn't really post it when I said I would. I lost inspiration on Sunday and then got distracted and almost forgot about this all. I'm currently reworking on my first story and I'll see if I can't get it finished soon, in the mean time, I'm gonna write some daydreams I had yesterday.
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