Wednesday, March 28

my zombie tragedy........

so I know I've been kind of ...not around lately.... I blame Mr. Puddles... (my depression) .. don't ask my why I needed to give it a name... and don't even bother to ask why it's a man. I'm just weird that way, OK?

I also blame my teachers... did you know they actually want you to do work for your grades?.. it's CRAZY.. I know.... In keeping with that ... I wrote my latest story for my writing class... and thought I'd post it here for your delight!


Outside the window, the city was quiet; like sleeping fairy dust had put everyone in a slumber until it was all over. Just like in the fairy tales; only this wasn’t a story, it was real life. The red, pus-filled wound on my arm was the only sign that I’d been bitten; three days ago, now. This morning, however, I started to notice some disturbing effects after my husband, Gerald, brought me breakfast. He laid my tray of food down on the side table, and I felt a longing to bite into the soft flesh of his neck. It was only an instant, but recalling it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand like needles against my skin.  
                Looking out the window watching old Mrs. Bingham lumber down the middle of the road it was obvious she was farther into the transition than I was. I could tell by the gray, pallid skin that hung off her body like elephant skin, she was no longer a healthy senior just taking a stroll down the block. Should tell my husband about my new cravings?
                It’s amazing how quickly the world turned to chaos after some scientist in the US decided to have a lazy day, and not follow containment procedures while working with deadly viruses. Although I’m guessing even he didn’t know that this particular virus, when mixed with human DNA, would turn the people of the world into raging cannibals.  It started to spread a few months ago, in the big cities. It was a slow progression, not making it to all the far reaches of the world yet; there was still hope.
            Unfortunately for Gerald and me, we were smack dab in the midst of it. We wanted the bustling city life, to be close enough for a date night. That was when we were still thinking about trying for children, before our next door neighbor Dianne, my former best friend, decided that my arm looked like a delicious hors d'oeuvre. Ever since, I’ve been locked in our master bedroom with a radio on in the hopes that the US will find a cure.

            There was a commotion outside and the noise woke me up from a slumber where I dreamed that Gerald and I were on our honeymoon; the warm Hawaiian sun shone on my body, and I lay on the beach reading a book, while Gerald played on his iPad. Those were good times, unlike now. I got out of bed to look out the window and the scene below made the blood in my veins turn to ice.
                A horde of zombies from the neighborhood was running down the little girl from the end of the block. What was her name? Victoria? Veronica? It doesn’t matter. As I watched, my throat felt like it was full of glass; they chased her like a pack of rabid dogs, the blood and saliva visibly drooling from their hungry mouths. The little girl ran like she was chasing the ice cream truck; it was only a matter of time before she was consumed like a piece of beef.
                Looking away, I felt ashamed of my lack of action. These days, acts of valour were few and far between. No one wanted to risk their own safety for that of someone else. I pushed out the image I just saw that was trying to burn itself into my memory, and picked up a book. The make-believe world was my only distraction from the horror of my situation. I turned the soft pages that brought comfort in the form of another world, where things weren’t falling apart.
            A knock at the door brought me out of my fictional daydream.
            “Honey? Are you awake?” Gerald called from the other side of the door.
            “Yes, dear, I am,” I answered.
            He opened the door, holding a tray of toast and eggs. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my appetite as of late was for something of a more meaty variety.
                “How are you feeling today?” His eyes, with their flecks of gold that I first fell in love with, held mine.
“Not bad, more tired. Did you hear the racket down in the street?”
            “Yes. I peered through the front curtains for a moment, but once I realized what was going on, I looked away.”
            “It’s sad about the neighbor girl. Thankfully though, they were focused on her and didn’t come into our place”
            “Yes, sad about Victoria. I think her parents converted near the beginning so I’m actually surprised she lasted this long” Gerald looked at the ground as he said this, maybe he was thinking how ironically lucky it is that we were having problems conceiving. I myself have been oddly grateful that we don’t have children to worry about in this madness. It’s bad enough what’s happened to me.
            I looked up at Gerald and felt a hunger in my stomach I hadn’t felt before. I wanted to leap at him and savour the sweet meat of his bicep, which was straining against the tight under armour he wore most days lately. A little drop of sweat trickled down my temple, tickling my skin and betraying my inner desires. Turning away, I tried to hide my face from him; thinking he would sense my motives as easily as he had all the days since we fell in love. I noticed Gerald give me a forlorn look out of the corner of my eye, and then left. No more words needed to be said. We both knew the consequences of what might happen if a cure wasn’t found soon.
            In the aftermath of his visit, I remembered our most recent failed trial with conception. Sitting at the doctor’s office, having heard the news that the latest inception hadn’t worked and I was wetting his starched shirt with my salty tears. Gerald held me so strongly, not letting a tear fall; he gave all his sadness and hopelessness to me in the form of support.

            It was the afternoon of day five of my self-imposed solitude and I could feel the changes in my body starting to really take effect. My skin was cool to the touch, and at the same time I was feverish. The wound on my arm had red rings around it indicating that it was infected and my body was attempting to fight off the onslaught of the virus. It felt like a losing battle. My eyes were swollen in their sockets and red rimmed, even though I hadn’t been crying. I had no tears left. I recalled the mornings’ interaction with Gerald. While he steeped my tea, I couldn’t help salivating at the sight of his tanned skin. I wondered what human flesh tasted like; would it be sweet and savory like a rare cooked steak? I licked my lips at the memory; at the same time, I tried to force the disgust I knew I should have felt. Throwing myself on the bed and pulling open a book, I tried to lose myself in the crisp black ink.
            Instead, I ended up trying to focus on the love I felt for Gerald; hoping to push aside my new feelings for him. I remembered how we had gotten through my indiscretion with another man, as a result of our fighting and stress over not being able to conceive. How easily it would have been for him to leave me behind; to walk away and find someone else, but he didn’t. He stayed with me then, and he’s staying with me now. I needed to work my hardest to overcome my sickness; for Gerald.

            On day six, I wondered if I should stop Gerald from bringing me food; the last few meals I barely touched as the food was no longer appealing to me. His body was what my stomach ached for, and my brain was having trouble resisting the urge. It’s not that I didn’t care, but rather that the hunger was stronger. It’s the deepest hunger I’ve felt in my life; like I could eat forever and never be satisfied.
            That evening when he entered the room, all I could see was red. The world was tainted with a haze of lust for something that no longer felt forbidden. My heart, though filled with love for a man that I had shared intimate moments with, was now telling me to express that love by turning him too. It was the only way. We could be together. I had to bite him.

            The next morning I lay in bed and formulated my plan for converting my husband. It had to be a light bite; something that wouldn’t permanently harm him, but would start the change that would bring us together. I was still thinking of all the details when I got the knock at the bedroom door, indicating that Gerald was just on the other side of the strong wood.
            “Honey, are you awake?” He inquired.
            “Come in Gerald”
            He opened the door and as he walked into the room I started to feel my stomach grumble.
Before I knew it, I was lunging forward at him without any thought or consideration of my plans. I caught him off guard, tumbling on top of him and we clashed down to the floor taking the bedside table and tray of food with us. Amidst the runny eggs and oily toast, Gerald lay on the floor stunned and motionless. I didn’t hesitate to pull myself towards his neck and sink my teeth into his meaty flesh. He tasted of salt and shaving cream as my teeth tore into his skin. I pierced his neck, and the sweet iron blood leaked out of the wounds; I licked it up with my tongue as if it were the nectar of the gods. I continued to bite and chew as if his neck were a tough steak cooked too long on the grill. Part of my brain knew that I was going too far; he wouldn’t be able to come back, but I couldn’t stop. I ripped a chunk free and sat back to hold it in my hands while I macerated the flesh with my teeth; Dark red blood dribbled down my cheek.
            Licking my fingers, I looked down at Gerald and realized what I’d done. He was dead; the artery in his neck having drained too much blood to sustain his body with life. The radio started to play music for the first time since the incident; it was a song about love.


hope you liked it! 

I swear I won't be a stranger.

5 comments:

  1. LOVE IT

    Maybe I'll do a creative writing zombie story for saturday's post

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  2. Excellent writing but remind me to never ask you for dinner.

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  3. Whoa! Zombies are scary! Nice job.

    Depression is an asshole. Mine made a reappearance this morning but I overpowered it/him/her. This time.

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  4. Love it! So very cute ... in a meaty way!

    BTW, can you call Mr Puddles off? He's been at my place for well over a week and he's eating all the chocolate and drinking all the booze, and also, he's sort of a slob.

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  5. thanks for the great comments... I appreciate it!

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