NavelTickler75
4th Level Yellow Feather
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2006
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WORST DAY EVER?
You ever had bad days? I mean really, rotten down to the core bad days? Like whatever has happened couldn’t possibly get worse, because the worst has already happened? Yeah? Well, not like what I have, I can promise you that. In fact, every day is a worse day, when you’re one of the walking dead.
So how did the dead rise to terrorize the earth? Like I know or care. Probably the same reason I came back. Heaven didn’t want me. I knew I was a sinner, I’d done a lot of bad things, but imagine that you’ve died, still a believer to the center of your being, hoping for those three special words, “You are forgiven,” only to have the gates slammed shut. No excuse, no reason, other than having your life flash before your eyes, and seeing every nasty thing you’ve ever down, and seeing it as God, Himself saw it. I have to tell you, I wasn’t exactly the best looking guy in the world when I was alive, but hell… I was damned ugly with all those sins piling up!
But you know the funny part? Or perhaps, the pathetic, pick your choice. Going down the pit of Tartarus, down to Hades, where the smell of burning flesh, and the screams and shouts of pains and horror await. The chill in the air as you know your own personal torture is just minutes away from beginning, and having those gates slam in your face. This ugly freak of a demon glared down and shook his tentacled head.
“You’re not welcome here,” he grumbled. His eyes were a dark blue, his teeth green. His skin was covered in a slick, black hair, and he had the face of an infant! For the love of God, I’m not joking, a damned infant! And then my life again flashed before my eyes, and every decent thing I’d ever done, appeared, my appearance radiating with a pure light, one that would make a botoxed fueled superstar from Hollywood jealous!
“There’s too much grace in your being to come here,” he growled, and pressed the gates closed against my face.
Okay… I know what you’re thinking, not good enough to go to Heaven, nor evil enough for Hell. Most of you Fundamentalists would be scratching your head over this, but many Catholics would be jumping up and shouting at the top of their lungs, “Purgatory!”. Damn that’s what I thought too, but as I got to those gates, again they slammed shut. An angel shook her head.
“No Heaven, no Hell, and no Purgatory?” I blinked my eyes and began pacing. “What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Not my place to tell you,” she had said. Well, at least I hadn’t been given a bizarre slide show of my life. “I suppose there’s always, Limbo.”
“I thought the Catholic Church said there was no such place,” I grumbled.
“A place, no… they’re right about that. It’s… more of a state of being.”
There wasn’t any more conversation after that. The next thing I remembered was being in a pit of darkness. It was comfortable darkness, but dark all the same. I felt with my hands, pushing for my surroundings. Although I knew I could feel things, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was touching. The nerves in my fingers didn’t work. None of the nerves worked! I could tell it was dark, because my eyes seemed to work, but nothing… I couldn’t tell if it was hot, or cold. As for how I knew it was a comfortable darkness… well, I just felt as if I was supposed to be there… until the pains in my gut told me to get going.
Now you probably want me to relate how I got out of what I now know was my coffin. I couldn’t tell you, and I doubt any of the living dead could. It was the hunger that drove my body, not my mind. As if I had been hijacked by my own instincts. All I know was that when I managed to push forward out of the dirt, I could see rain falling. I could see it, smell it, but again, not feel it. Looking down at my body, I could tell why, and I knew I was dead.
My hands were decaying, patches of grey-green flesh, peeling off as the water ran down them. Two of my fingers were but bones at the tips, and my ‘fine’ clothes were caked with mud. The hunger urged me forward, lurching like a fish out of water, and I swear I laughed at myself. It seemed like I was a fish out of water. I didn’t even try to put my hands to my face, or look at myself in a reflection. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like what I saw. The order of business was food.
I moved out of the cemetery, and as I was moving, noticed that I wasn’t alone. On all sides of me, there were similar scenes. People pulling themselves from the muck into the rain. Men, woman, and children slipping and sliding in the mud as the struggled to move toward the gates of the cemetery, trampling flowers and pictures placed by their graves by loved ones. Instinctively I turned to see what had been put by my grave, not surprised to see but one single flower there. No surprise there, when I had died… you know I don’t even remember how it happened… I wasn’t at all in good keeping with my family, nor my friends. My main companions in life had been two cats and the warm glow of my laptop, from which I dominated the gambling circuits on-line. Never enough to make me wealthy, but just enough that anyone who was anyone in those sites knew better to take me lightly.
Shaking off the distraction, I turned back to the gates, and within reaching them, joined in the throes of the new mob in shaking at them. I can remember thinking to myself, “This looks a lot like a jailhouse scene, where the inmates are demanding better living conditions, and rations!” I stopped shaking the gates long enough at that thought, to burst into a gurgled laughter. A few of my “companions” copied my actions, as if they had either read my mind, or thought the same thing. I can only hope it was the latter, if we, zombies, are going to be psychic, and hive minded, I’m heading back to my grave. Rather dead, than a Stephen King, Cell, zombie!
Eventually we got the gates opened, and the “jaws of hell” as the living now call us, burst through and wobbled down to the city lights. Not one of us said anything, other than a grunt here, or a moan there. Some would stop, distracted by the sounds of distant motor vehicles, or the flash of something in the sky, others would chuckle about some inside joke, and then continue to follow the crowd.
Soon we reached the town, and began fanning out, as different smells attracted us. Some headed for the ‘burbs, others for the industrial areas. I just kept walking forward. You know, I don’t even understand how you living can fear us? We’re easily distracted, slow as the damn itch, and can be taken down without even half trying. I’d say the only thing we have going for us is our ability to keep calm. Attribute that to our experience and the hunger, if you want. I’d have to say we’re a lot smarter too. Take a massive number of humans compared to half that number of zombies. The rational thing to do, was laugh at our stumbling, grunting and groaning. The noises we make from our behinds, yes zombies tend to fart a lot, and the sense of our sense of humor, we also take things less seriously. Even a small group of humans, once they’d laughed themselves silly at our arrival, should have the common sense to take out a decent handgun, or a good sword, and go to town.
But instead, what happened, and for the most part, what continues to happen? People freaked and still freak. Our appearances perhaps are our best weapons against you. Humans pushed each other out of the way to get away from us, their voices echoing with disgust and horror. Oh, there were a few who bizarrely leapt for joy at seeing their loved ones, rushing up to hold them yet again, and a few zombies embraced their loved ones too, right before sinking their teeth into them.
My first meal happened, ironically at a fast food place. A trucker sat eating a triple cheese burger, covered in onions and steak sauce. People who saw me rushed by screaming for their lives. But my eyes were focused on the trucker, who for whatever reason was ignoring them. It was the scent that pulled me from my grave, and I was determined to obey my stomach. Inch by inch I limped toward the man, until less than half of three feet from him, he must have picked up my scent. He looked up, his eyes widening as if he was staring at a nightmare, and dropped the meal. I lunged at him, knowing that there might be a chance that he would get away… and missed. For a big man, he was very fast, and before I could pick myself up from the ground, he was already opening his truck door, and hitting the ignition. I cursed myself because of my stupidity, and forced myself to get to my feet. At first I felt the pains to follow the truck, to track it down until I found the man, and I could feast, but then I stopped. Why should I go about chasing someone who was faster than me, and who was probably already well on his way to getting some kind of ammo to finish me off, if I was running on empty?
I looked at his sandwich, with only a few bites taken out of it, and the side order of fries, dipped in salt. I remember blinking only once, and then took the man’s seat, forcing my hands to work until they wrapped around the sandwich, the fingers digging into the meat. I bit down, and the meat melted in my mouth. For the first time since I dragged my ass out of the ground, I felt something. My body felt warm, and again I had the sense of belonging. I took another bite, and a third. Soon I was downing the fries and although they didn’t hold the same pleasure, they still tasted pretty good. I finished it off with his soda, then went into the kitchen and found more meat, which I slurped down. An hour later, I walked out of the fast food place, and slipped into the shadows.
There’s a lesson for you humans, zombies do not just eat human meat and brains. We’re omnivores, we’ll eat anything that comes our way. I can remember eating the tires off of an abandoned car once. Tasted terrible, but it filled the hole, and gave me the strength to go on and find something better. I honestly didn’t taste human flesh until the ninth month of the “plague”. I bit down on the trucker who I’d come across at the fast food place, as he laid bleeding to death, from a gunshot wound to his lungs. He tasted every bit as good as my senses had lead me to believe.
But for those of you who think I’ve got it good, think again. I’m always hunted, I always have to hide from the very ones I hunt. And although good food was plentiful in the beginning, with more and more of us haunting the earth, unearthly illustrations of the results of original sin, there is less and less to find to eat. And without food, our flesh, our bones and our muscles turn to ash, slowly. But never our minds. Our minds stay as sharp as ever. Sharp enough for any of us, myself included, who have seen our reflections to know what we are. We’re your shadows, the polar opposites of what you see in the mirror. Sure, we still have our sense of humor. When you’re a corpse who thinks, it’s the only thing you’ve got left!
So go ahead and tell me about that bad day you’ve had, or the worst week ever. When you are a walking, thinking, decomposing corpse with the need to eat without stopping, then and only then will you know how lucky you had it.
End notes: I got the inspiration for this story about a week ago, as I lay awake in bed one night. Originally the first story of this anthology was going to be very different, but there were too many plot holes, for it to continue to grow, and so I replaced it with this tale. I wondered what it must be like to be a zombie, to have no place in the afterworld, and to have a gnawing hunger. I wondered if you might be able to control that hunger, or at least eat something other than humans, after all, the first Romero zombies also ate bugs, if you’ve ever watched the original Night of the Living Dead, you’ve seen what I mean. I also didn’t like the common idea of stupid zombies, though they have their place. I figured if I was a rotten corpse, and the dude I wanted was faster than I was, but left his meat filled breakfast for me, I’d probably eat it before going after him, to gain strength first. I mean, meat is still meat. Also if there ever was a zombie epidemic; probable no, possible yes, the infected would probably eat anything that at the very least moved, not just the humans. This was much more fun to write, and you can bet I’ll be having a blast writing the others as well.
a zombie fic i have on another site though id show ya all
You ever had bad days? I mean really, rotten down to the core bad days? Like whatever has happened couldn’t possibly get worse, because the worst has already happened? Yeah? Well, not like what I have, I can promise you that. In fact, every day is a worse day, when you’re one of the walking dead.
So how did the dead rise to terrorize the earth? Like I know or care. Probably the same reason I came back. Heaven didn’t want me. I knew I was a sinner, I’d done a lot of bad things, but imagine that you’ve died, still a believer to the center of your being, hoping for those three special words, “You are forgiven,” only to have the gates slammed shut. No excuse, no reason, other than having your life flash before your eyes, and seeing every nasty thing you’ve ever down, and seeing it as God, Himself saw it. I have to tell you, I wasn’t exactly the best looking guy in the world when I was alive, but hell… I was damned ugly with all those sins piling up!
But you know the funny part? Or perhaps, the pathetic, pick your choice. Going down the pit of Tartarus, down to Hades, where the smell of burning flesh, and the screams and shouts of pains and horror await. The chill in the air as you know your own personal torture is just minutes away from beginning, and having those gates slam in your face. This ugly freak of a demon glared down and shook his tentacled head.
“You’re not welcome here,” he grumbled. His eyes were a dark blue, his teeth green. His skin was covered in a slick, black hair, and he had the face of an infant! For the love of God, I’m not joking, a damned infant! And then my life again flashed before my eyes, and every decent thing I’d ever done, appeared, my appearance radiating with a pure light, one that would make a botoxed fueled superstar from Hollywood jealous!
“There’s too much grace in your being to come here,” he growled, and pressed the gates closed against my face.
Okay… I know what you’re thinking, not good enough to go to Heaven, nor evil enough for Hell. Most of you Fundamentalists would be scratching your head over this, but many Catholics would be jumping up and shouting at the top of their lungs, “Purgatory!”. Damn that’s what I thought too, but as I got to those gates, again they slammed shut. An angel shook her head.
“No Heaven, no Hell, and no Purgatory?” I blinked my eyes and began pacing. “What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Not my place to tell you,” she had said. Well, at least I hadn’t been given a bizarre slide show of my life. “I suppose there’s always, Limbo.”
“I thought the Catholic Church said there was no such place,” I grumbled.
“A place, no… they’re right about that. It’s… more of a state of being.”
There wasn’t any more conversation after that. The next thing I remembered was being in a pit of darkness. It was comfortable darkness, but dark all the same. I felt with my hands, pushing for my surroundings. Although I knew I could feel things, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was touching. The nerves in my fingers didn’t work. None of the nerves worked! I could tell it was dark, because my eyes seemed to work, but nothing… I couldn’t tell if it was hot, or cold. As for how I knew it was a comfortable darkness… well, I just felt as if I was supposed to be there… until the pains in my gut told me to get going.
Now you probably want me to relate how I got out of what I now know was my coffin. I couldn’t tell you, and I doubt any of the living dead could. It was the hunger that drove my body, not my mind. As if I had been hijacked by my own instincts. All I know was that when I managed to push forward out of the dirt, I could see rain falling. I could see it, smell it, but again, not feel it. Looking down at my body, I could tell why, and I knew I was dead.
My hands were decaying, patches of grey-green flesh, peeling off as the water ran down them. Two of my fingers were but bones at the tips, and my ‘fine’ clothes were caked with mud. The hunger urged me forward, lurching like a fish out of water, and I swear I laughed at myself. It seemed like I was a fish out of water. I didn’t even try to put my hands to my face, or look at myself in a reflection. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like what I saw. The order of business was food.
I moved out of the cemetery, and as I was moving, noticed that I wasn’t alone. On all sides of me, there were similar scenes. People pulling themselves from the muck into the rain. Men, woman, and children slipping and sliding in the mud as the struggled to move toward the gates of the cemetery, trampling flowers and pictures placed by their graves by loved ones. Instinctively I turned to see what had been put by my grave, not surprised to see but one single flower there. No surprise there, when I had died… you know I don’t even remember how it happened… I wasn’t at all in good keeping with my family, nor my friends. My main companions in life had been two cats and the warm glow of my laptop, from which I dominated the gambling circuits on-line. Never enough to make me wealthy, but just enough that anyone who was anyone in those sites knew better to take me lightly.
Shaking off the distraction, I turned back to the gates, and within reaching them, joined in the throes of the new mob in shaking at them. I can remember thinking to myself, “This looks a lot like a jailhouse scene, where the inmates are demanding better living conditions, and rations!” I stopped shaking the gates long enough at that thought, to burst into a gurgled laughter. A few of my “companions” copied my actions, as if they had either read my mind, or thought the same thing. I can only hope it was the latter, if we, zombies, are going to be psychic, and hive minded, I’m heading back to my grave. Rather dead, than a Stephen King, Cell, zombie!
Eventually we got the gates opened, and the “jaws of hell” as the living now call us, burst through and wobbled down to the city lights. Not one of us said anything, other than a grunt here, or a moan there. Some would stop, distracted by the sounds of distant motor vehicles, or the flash of something in the sky, others would chuckle about some inside joke, and then continue to follow the crowd.
Soon we reached the town, and began fanning out, as different smells attracted us. Some headed for the ‘burbs, others for the industrial areas. I just kept walking forward. You know, I don’t even understand how you living can fear us? We’re easily distracted, slow as the damn itch, and can be taken down without even half trying. I’d say the only thing we have going for us is our ability to keep calm. Attribute that to our experience and the hunger, if you want. I’d have to say we’re a lot smarter too. Take a massive number of humans compared to half that number of zombies. The rational thing to do, was laugh at our stumbling, grunting and groaning. The noises we make from our behinds, yes zombies tend to fart a lot, and the sense of our sense of humor, we also take things less seriously. Even a small group of humans, once they’d laughed themselves silly at our arrival, should have the common sense to take out a decent handgun, or a good sword, and go to town.
But instead, what happened, and for the most part, what continues to happen? People freaked and still freak. Our appearances perhaps are our best weapons against you. Humans pushed each other out of the way to get away from us, their voices echoing with disgust and horror. Oh, there were a few who bizarrely leapt for joy at seeing their loved ones, rushing up to hold them yet again, and a few zombies embraced their loved ones too, right before sinking their teeth into them.
My first meal happened, ironically at a fast food place. A trucker sat eating a triple cheese burger, covered in onions and steak sauce. People who saw me rushed by screaming for their lives. But my eyes were focused on the trucker, who for whatever reason was ignoring them. It was the scent that pulled me from my grave, and I was determined to obey my stomach. Inch by inch I limped toward the man, until less than half of three feet from him, he must have picked up my scent. He looked up, his eyes widening as if he was staring at a nightmare, and dropped the meal. I lunged at him, knowing that there might be a chance that he would get away… and missed. For a big man, he was very fast, and before I could pick myself up from the ground, he was already opening his truck door, and hitting the ignition. I cursed myself because of my stupidity, and forced myself to get to my feet. At first I felt the pains to follow the truck, to track it down until I found the man, and I could feast, but then I stopped. Why should I go about chasing someone who was faster than me, and who was probably already well on his way to getting some kind of ammo to finish me off, if I was running on empty?
I looked at his sandwich, with only a few bites taken out of it, and the side order of fries, dipped in salt. I remember blinking only once, and then took the man’s seat, forcing my hands to work until they wrapped around the sandwich, the fingers digging into the meat. I bit down, and the meat melted in my mouth. For the first time since I dragged my ass out of the ground, I felt something. My body felt warm, and again I had the sense of belonging. I took another bite, and a third. Soon I was downing the fries and although they didn’t hold the same pleasure, they still tasted pretty good. I finished it off with his soda, then went into the kitchen and found more meat, which I slurped down. An hour later, I walked out of the fast food place, and slipped into the shadows.
There’s a lesson for you humans, zombies do not just eat human meat and brains. We’re omnivores, we’ll eat anything that comes our way. I can remember eating the tires off of an abandoned car once. Tasted terrible, but it filled the hole, and gave me the strength to go on and find something better. I honestly didn’t taste human flesh until the ninth month of the “plague”. I bit down on the trucker who I’d come across at the fast food place, as he laid bleeding to death, from a gunshot wound to his lungs. He tasted every bit as good as my senses had lead me to believe.
But for those of you who think I’ve got it good, think again. I’m always hunted, I always have to hide from the very ones I hunt. And although good food was plentiful in the beginning, with more and more of us haunting the earth, unearthly illustrations of the results of original sin, there is less and less to find to eat. And without food, our flesh, our bones and our muscles turn to ash, slowly. But never our minds. Our minds stay as sharp as ever. Sharp enough for any of us, myself included, who have seen our reflections to know what we are. We’re your shadows, the polar opposites of what you see in the mirror. Sure, we still have our sense of humor. When you’re a corpse who thinks, it’s the only thing you’ve got left!
So go ahead and tell me about that bad day you’ve had, or the worst week ever. When you are a walking, thinking, decomposing corpse with the need to eat without stopping, then and only then will you know how lucky you had it.
End notes: I got the inspiration for this story about a week ago, as I lay awake in bed one night. Originally the first story of this anthology was going to be very different, but there were too many plot holes, for it to continue to grow, and so I replaced it with this tale. I wondered what it must be like to be a zombie, to have no place in the afterworld, and to have a gnawing hunger. I wondered if you might be able to control that hunger, or at least eat something other than humans, after all, the first Romero zombies also ate bugs, if you’ve ever watched the original Night of the Living Dead, you’ve seen what I mean. I also didn’t like the common idea of stupid zombies, though they have their place. I figured if I was a rotten corpse, and the dude I wanted was faster than I was, but left his meat filled breakfast for me, I’d probably eat it before going after him, to gain strength first. I mean, meat is still meat. Also if there ever was a zombie epidemic; probable no, possible yes, the infected would probably eat anything that at the very least moved, not just the humans. This was much more fun to write, and you can bet I’ll be having a blast writing the others as well.
a zombie fic i have on another site though id show ya all
