written

“An Hour in the Life…”:

It’s 12 AM and I’m standing inside an overcrowded pub near Downtown with a couple of friends. The night is fairly young and so is my appetite for a good time. The bartenders hustle and fumble the bottles of Corona’s and rum, running from computer to mini bar and back again, peeling dollar bills from the wet counter as the person beside me leans in to order their drink. The music pumps through the hidden speakers in the ugly wooden walls inside the ugly wooden room. I’m shoulder to shoulder with suit and ties speaking of you-know-what’s and remember-when’s in a place where words are lost in the atmosphere, never making it to ones ears. Every step sends you flying into elbow and backs with polite excuses filling every other word. Finally, a place to rest our aching bones and worn-out muscles, delighting us with a bird’s eye view of the city that burns below, swallowed in neon lights and waiting lines.

The couple at the table ahead of us yawn a stale yawn in fingers entwined and secret whispers breathing smoky air. I catch their eyes and nod in salute before focusing my attention on the dwindling bottle sweating in my hands. It’s almost 1 and another text comes through my phone, dancing pleasantly on the table, I pick it up and read the blinking smiley face looking up from the screen until replying with an equally cheerful greeting as to say: I miss you, too. Soon it’s time to go.

The smell of urine exudes strongly off the concrete from where the ghosts call their home and poisons the air. It’s last call at the transit stop and I’m feeling the heat. I’m nearly there. I can see the lights leading the way home then I feel it again: A familiar impression stirring the right of my ass followed by nothing. Another text; I miss you, too. I’ve made it out of the smoldering city in one piece and can’t wait to see it burn again from the window of the train taking me home. As I’m carried out I can’t help but wonder what next. What would’ve happened if I stayed? Would I have met my better half? Would I have been reunited with the person who was torn away from me so long before? Maybe. All I know is the present and the present is the way he’s watching from across the aisle etched in sacred graffiti and RIP’s.

It’s 1 AM and I’m standing inside an overcrowded trolley near my home with a stranger. The night is fairly young and so is my appetite for a good time…

Writing Excercise #1: Letter to a loved one/old friend.

Joel, where ever you are, the canyon behind the house you grew up in is no longer as we left it. Its not how it was those ten years ago when we would climb down to its core and find shelter underneath that withering tree, sneaking dirty magazines and climbing on the bark of the old oak. The white stones protruding from the hills face, blemishing the soft red soil, are now buried underneath the land we love(d), so much. Your mothers colorful garden is bare and diseased with weeds and insects chewing at the surviving white roses. Time has ravished our playground and turned it into someone else’s bastard child; Leaving it naked and unattended. I think back to when we’d roll stones down the jagged embankment and dance to the music the wind whispered in our ears. The times we’d stealthily cross the border into the neighboring yard to fish out bush lizards from the ditches meant for vegetation, keeping them in a shoebox layered in grass and twigs. You’d always find the big ones. Its sad to see the life our youth gave that canyon drain empty each day. The sound of laughter has died and the boulders no longer echo upon command. The wind’s song is silent and eerily calm, lost in the tresses of weeds and stray cats defecating on our memories. Although this is the cruel reality of today, I know that beneath the years of rummage, we are still there, picking lizards and skipping stones.

Writing Excercise #2: Zombie Haiku

“To My Dear…”
Hands stained in dry blood.
Mouth salivating, lips curled.
Teeth clenched on torn flesh.

“Am I Dead?”
Fresh dirt under nails
Clothes draped over frozen flesh.
An empty feeling.

“Twisted”
Torn from its mother,
Twisted fingers to the sky.
Oh the life he’s seen.

Writing Excercise #3: Free Write.

Act I:

I have a secret and its a terrible one.
If you knew what it was you’d probobly run.
I have a secret and its not what you’d expect.
If I told you what it is I’d lose your respect.
I have a secret and its mine and mine alone.
“He who is with out sin may cast the first stone.”
I have a secret and they’ve just began to create their own
as I laugh to myself because I’m the original, I stand alone.
Look to your right and see who you find.
Do they have a secret that’s as bad as mine?
I have a secret and it will never be found.
I keep it boxed up, deep, deep, six feet under ground.

Act II:

What’s your secret pretty boy?
I have many, my little toy
Come with me into my house of lies
Where underneath you’ll find what’s inside
The truth, and my past that haunts me is forever kept
Just walk down my basement, only a few more steps
I’ll let you look, but you dare can’t touch
You can have your cake, but eating it is too much
Once you know, we’ll run away
Because left behind is all our pain
You’ll be my toy, I your master
Come with me now, We must run faster.

Act III:

If I your toy and you my master,
God save the world from our disaster.
Faster, faster and even further more,
to leave them behind and settle our score.
With you and I racing side by side,
they’ll have no time to run and hide.
Destruction and chaos left in our wake,
tomorrow will come and our bond soon will break.
Until next century when we meet for part two,
my secret, your lies will spawn and break through.

(Thanks to Karen for contributing Act II)

“Lost Zombies” entry into fan generated scrapbook and film – Assigned topic: Imagine yourself as a survivor. What do you see?:

It’s been about three months since the Campian virus first spread. Ever since the first oubreak was announced its been progresivly getting worst and worst. What started out as a “super flu” has mutated into a plague washing over the world. The Bush administration’s trying to play it down but when a sterilization camp named Camp Saint Teresa emerged; we knew this was more than a simple cold. Now, as we let the outbreak sink into our minds as a real threat, we’re left with more questions than answers.

Its being reported in the media that a new vaccine once thought to be the cure is aiding the virus instead of keeping it at bay. The vaccine induses the infected into a momentary death but rejuvinates them into a second exhistance or, simply put, a zombie. There’s no one we can turn to anymore as the government has deserted us and left us to make our own way. Even the hospitals were closing their doors but not by choice. Sam, a nurse at the hospital in San Diego, text me through out the wretched days leading up to this point. She spoke of horrors seen in the emergency rooms during peak hours, when injured bistandards poured in through their doors. Sam described the sights and sounds behind the sterile walls: Intense cries, blood covering the floors, patients jumping down from tables after deemed dead. Every patient seen had some sort of lazaration to the face, neck, or arms and even some broken bones. Soon it was uncovered that even with out the vaccine these people could transform into the undead. All it took was a virus transfusion through and open wound. The most devestating news came when Sam mentioned a change in the people she worked with. Some of the doctors were bitten and attacking anyone who was clean. There was no way to stay alive and Sam’s messages soon started to die out until they stopped completely. Shortly after it was announced that they would be shutting down the hospital after some zombies managed to escape. Her last text warned of the overpowering presence of more and more zombies and how they were starting to escape through room windows and sealed off exits.

Today’s the first day these things started showing up around our streets. The first wave hit Downtown just as the local news station set out to cover the story. They broadcast live from the Gaslamp Quarter just outside the Convention Center. The reporter stood at a safe distance from the chaos behind her. The entire thing was surreal. The fear stamped on her face said everything. My parents and I watched from our living room in anticipation and confusion. Sam was right. They’d made it into the streets of Paradise Hills, flooding the roads, taking on anyone stupid enough to get too close. The neighborhoods and business areas became dessilated and seldom as the wave of disfigured and bloodied bodies walked, and ran, into stores and homes in hopes of finding someone. These things aren’t the stupid, slow, incoherent creatures you’re used to seeing in those old black and white films. These are quicker and have the ability to communicate through intuition. Although unable to problem solve but it doesn’t matter because they’re still deadly.

Soon enough, after we were forced south by the strong military hand, my parents and I head for my aunts house in the ghettos of Tijuana, Mexico. We didn’t have time to pack any of our belongings except for my dad’s old handguns and a long machete I found in the storage shed. Fortunately, we made it to the border just as the creeper started to slowly leak into our once quaint neighborhood and with the zombies came the armoured military forces helping the remainding home owners move out, packing into wide RV’s plowing down the streets towards the lost zombies.

The line at the border was understandibly long due to the overwhelming amount of people trying to cross over. Some had even left their cars and were now jumping over stationed automobiles to get to Mexico. The irony of a tall, middle-aged man in a green ‘minuteman’ windbreaker cutting through a chainlink fence to make it through was comical and enraging all at once. The very men trying to keep Mexicans out once before were the ones pushing people away in order to jump the fence. It wasn’t long when a hungry zombie was seen leaping through the bushes from across the road.
Drivers locked their doors and those outside cried in fear as the undead ran through the isle of cars, throwing himself on doors and windows, trying to find a way in. When the zombie came to our isle, he stood between two cars on our right; across the way from the passenger door I hid behind, peering around until I caught his eyes. My mother demanded I lock the door and duck down but I frozen in fear. The zombie looked my way, left corner of his lips and entire cheek missing and blood staining the white shirt from the collar down. He stood hunched over and swaying side-to-side, trying to keep balance on one good leg, letting out a deep groan like a dog snarling at a stranger, taking a step forward as I slowly reached between my feet to open the gun case. One step was all he could take as the car to his left reved its engine and slammed into the one up front, pinning the infected man at the waist. My heart pound harder than ever, the tips of my fingers on the gun between my legs. The zombie twist and curled as he lay pinned. He tried desperately to free himself by forcing the cars apart but was unsuccessful. He yelled loud again and thrashed on the hood of the white BMW until a man from another car got out and shot the infected zombie in the head. Then, like a hive to its queen, more and more zombies shot out from behind the wall of shrubs. Some sprinting as if competing in a triathlon while others staggered out of the gate. Lowering my window, I could hear the muffled sound of people screaming from inside their cars as everyone started pushing forward, forcing the lines to press on. I don’t know what came over me but instead of staying inside I got out of the car and insert a full clip into the hand pistol. Luckily for me, my dad and I had spent many times at the shooting range with these very guns. I’d familiarized myself with them as if they were a natural extension to my very own hand. My mom yelled at me from inside and my dad cursed until he was blue but all I could do was regrip the handle and swallow deep. There were a few others holding steel bats and even a few others with firearms. It wasn’t long when we were joined by army forces and police from over the border, yelling out orders in spanish at us and one another. No one moved. I stared off at the emerging zombies and at everyone around me and knew this was it. The special forces began shooting and so did we. My dad got out with the second of his two pistols and machete and stood to my right, waiting.
The police were good at keeping the undead at a distance but some slid past the wall of whistling bullets. The first attack aimed at a station wagon where two female zombies broke through the side windows and mauled the couple inside. A pair of teenage kids managed to get out and flee until one of them was caught by a female creeper dressed as a mail carrier. I’ve never shot at anything that moved. Only at stationary cardboard cut outs of men dressed as robbers but there was no better time to practice my aim. My dad was the first to fire out of the two of us. He clipped the right leg of a straggling man, causing him to slow down, then finished him off with a shot to the head. We managed to fire at more zombies before my parents and I fled into the border crossing offices where we’re still held up now. I’m standing behind the main counter seperated from the rest of the room by floor length fiber glass doors. This is what we’re forced to do. Hide and wait for help. If I look around I can see the peremeters of the building held down by men and women in black uniforms, holding long rifles in their arms, pointing at the hoard of zombies punching and throwing themselfs against the double-layered inch thick glass windows. The doors are bolted shut with security locks but still shaking at the hands of those trying to get in. My mom and dad are huddled together in the back room with a few other families. The ammunition is running low and so is our tolerance. People are crying, praying and singing, trying to ease the tension in the room. Infants are whinning and the anger levels are rising but there’s nothing we can do but wait this out. I can see the ‘policia’ whispering to one another nervously while the zombies stain the glass in their blood. I can’t help but get really worried at the sight of the police running in and out of the room, whimpering silently to one another in broken spanish. I can hear a commotion coming from the back room where my parents are hiding but nothing seems to be wrong. At least not from where I’m standing. The officers faces are losing the brashness they once displayed as more run in and out. There’s a man standing at the doorway waving everyone in the back out and yelling something I cant make out. People are rushing out, running with panicked eyes, trampling over a fallen mans legs. He’s trying to crawl away from the stampede but the weight over his limbs is too strong. Everyone’s out now except for the security all darting back inside the room with guns drawn. I hope its not what I think it is. I hope they’re going in to strategize in private. I hope they’re holding a meeting about what their next move is going to be. I prey its something minor and not what I think it is. But, incase this is the end, I hope I’ve shed some light on the situation. Be safe.

“Lost Zombies” entry #2 into fan generated scrapbook and film:

Case Number: VT 05/10/07/3462

Incident: Other

Reporting Officer: ********* Ivann

Date of Report: 05 October 2007

At about 1040 hours on 5th October 2007, I met with Mr. Alex Price at **** South ******* Drive regarding a burglary in progress. When Mr. Price called the San Diego Police Department he told the operator, Ms. Shirley Kingston, of two men trying to break into his home while he was still inside. Ms. Kingston said that when she received the call, Mr. Price was frantic and obviously shaken.

After several minutes of staying on the line with the operator, Mr. Price dropped the phone and was then heard in a struggle until the line went dead.

I conducted a survey of the crime scene and found a door with broken hinges and dirt inside the living area leading into the kitchen. On the stoop leading into the house there were noticeable drops of blood. I saw no broken glass in the area, and there was no sign of any trauma to Mr. Price although he was slightly covered in fresh blood. Upon closer inspection by the nurse, I have come to the conclusion that the blood found on the scene was not his.

I obtained a sworn statement from Mr. Price and provided him with the case number and Information Leaflet 99/07 (“What to do in case of a break in”). I entered the damage and statement into the station database as ‘other’ as we do not have a department for Mr. Pines following statement. I also searched the area with Mr. Pine inside the patrol car and found numerous homes in a similar manner. The streets were covered by unidentified men and women randomly attacking others for no apparent reason. The threat was too great and decided that heading back to the station to keep Mr. Pine safe was the best decision thus far.

The following statement was made by Mr. Pine shortly after arriving in the hands of the S.D.P.D., at exactly 1115 hours and submitted for the department’s confidential registry.

Report as follows:

It was probably around ten in the morning and I was getting ready to begin my English class over at the Community College. I was just out of the shower when I flipped on the television screen in my room to Channel 9 news, getting my daily dose of local headlines circulating the city. I wasn’t paying attention to what they were talking about but looking back I wish I had. My mind was preoccupied with the midterm we’d be having later that day and preparing for a way to take it as I hadn’t studied much beforehand. I pulled on a pair of briefs and sat down on the foot of the bed, one ear on the TV and the other on my iPod still humming quietly from the night before. The room was still dark as I hadn’t yet opened the blinds, making it difficult to see my hands lace up my boots. Just as I was heading back into the restroom I heard a tremendous wailing coming from outside: A high pitched car alarm was going off just outside my window and echoed down the length of the street. I thought it might’ve been a small car crash as I didn’t hear tires screeching. Once again, ignoring the commotion, I resumed with my morning instead. Switching off the TV and pulling the iPod from its dock, I moved onto the kitchen to prepare a quick meal as I only had several minutes until class was to resume.

I sat down to eat but became sidetracked when a loud crash was heard at my door. I didn’t think much of it as I figured it was some more Jehovah’s witnesses coming to spread their ‘philosophies’. I ignored the frequent tapping until it became too overpowering to further ignore. From inside looking out, I could see a shadowy figure through the wooden and glass door standing on my porch. I wasn’t able to see who or what it was and went to answer before actually witnessing it thrust itself on the screen. Surprised and slightly confused, I stood in place and waited to see if it would do it again. They, or it, proceed to do it again. I’m about to get burglarized, I thought to myself and slowly rewound back into the kitchen to grab a knife from the drawer. When I went back out to the front door the figure was gone but the glass was now stained with dirt and grime. What the hell, I whispered to myself. Then, out of nowhere, the figured appeared again and slammed itself onto my door for a third time. I shout out a warning that I had a gun and threatened to call the cops but that had no advert affect on them. My living room window looked out at the front yard and some of the porch and upon looking out I could see two men on my stoop. Their faces were hidden from my view but they looked to be extremely dirt from behind. One of them was bleeding from the hand and was still leaking blood onto the floor while the other looked to be unharmed from behind. I knocked on the window and the one with a bloody hand turned to me and like a cat startled. His mangled face and arm caused my heart to skip a beat. The left side of his face was covered in dried blood and a wound from the side of his head to the nap of his neck still glistened fresh. The skin around his left eye was loosely hanging off from his head exposing the raw muscle and socket usually hidden underneath. His top lip was busted open and blood stains ran down his mouth, chin, and Adams apple, finally disappearing behind the collar of his shirt. His right arm was broken just below the inner elbow and something that appeared to be a sharp shard of bone ripped through the skin. The sight of his bloody appearance sent chills down my entire body and caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I ran to the phone and instantly dialed 9-1-1 to report an injury and get this guy some help. The operator picked up instantly but my urgency level rose at the sound of the door giving in. My heart pound fast inside my chest as I fought to explain what I’d just seen to the operator on the line. I was told to stay in the house and keep away from any windows and doors as they were sending a patrol car. I found it slightly odd that she would ask me to stay on the line with her until the police got there but obliged nonetheless. She could hear the pounding on my door and asked if I was home alone. I assured her I was between yelling out at the guys outside. The bottom corner of the door was buckling inward and I had to drop the phone to try and keep it from opening any further. I tried to keep it shut but the force of the two bodies trying to barge in was too much and the door and I gave in. Stumbling backwards, I was able to see the first guy up close. His entire bottom jaw was missing and fresh blood ran down the gaping hole and all over the front of his sweater and jeans. His hands were covered in red and his left foot was twisted backwards, causing a limp and a nauseating popping noise. He eyes were still intact and glued to me as I tried to study him further. Forgetting I still had the knife in my hand I warned him that the police were on their way but he continued forward anyway. The two leap further into the house, leaving the door aside, and rushed into the kitchen. The only place I could think to distance myself from them was around the kitchen table but they soon followed suit. I was trapped between the two and had only one way out. I climbed on the table and jumped onto the small island nearby, making my escape through the front door.

The sun was just peeking out from the morning haze when another hoard came out from around the corner. I could see a few roaming the middle of the street heading in no particular direction. The homes lining the sidewalk leading up and down the street were beginning to look inconsolable and most of the cars out on the pavement were broken into and crushed. I couldn’t yet grasp what was happening but knew I had to leave. Where to? I didn’t know but my feet had to move. The owner of the house to my left was always on his computer sitting in his garage and I knew he would be there now. I ran over and found the garage door pulled open and my elderly friend slumped in his seat with blood running down his chest and legs from his open mouth. My hope for protection was gone but I figured I could still use his phone to contact the fire department as I had already phoned the police. I noticed the door leading into the house from the garage was wide open and stepped inside to search for their phone. When I stepped into the kitchen I found his wife thrown down on the floor with wounds all over her face and legs. She looked like a Thanksgiving turkey freshly carved into by a family of hungry zombies. The smell was faint but strong enough to nauseate the strongest of men. Their cat jumped down from the kitchen table and began to lick his dead owner’s finger tips smothered in blood. It looked up at me and meowed before screeching and running off. There was no phone in sight but I could see the dock hanging on the wall with the cord dangling to the floor. I looked around some more until a sweeping sound behind me captured my attention. The familiar eerie feeling covered my body as I heard a muffled grunt. I stood frozen and gulped hard but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t turn around. I knew what that sound was but most importantly I knew WHO it was. Slowly looking over my right shoulder, preparing myself for what I was about to see, I spun around and saw a shadowy outline standing at the kitchen archway. Taking a step back, I bumped into the counter top in front of the sink but never took my eyes off of the figure. To my right I could see a cleaver that my neighbors wife was using to cut up some cabbage and I thought I’d try and take it as I lost the blade I had before on the my kitchen table. Slowly I inched to it, step-by-step, then without warning, I leaped for it but so did he. I grabbed the cleaver first but he threw himself on top of me. He huffed into my neck as my elbow tried to hold him away from my face. I could feel his hands claw at my chest the more he tried to force himself onto me. With the cleaver securely in my grip, I swung at his head and stuck him on the right side. The blow didn’t have much effect on him as he continued to thrash about in my hands. Once again, except much harder, I swung the cleaver at his head and got the blade in deeper. This time his grip loosened and I was able to push him away so that I could make a run for it. The man fell to floor with the knife still in his head and, after giving him another whack on the head, I took the cleaver for my own protection.
Back outside, I heard a squad car pull up as I bolt out the door to meet the cop halfway. The squad car was parked in front of my house but the police man was still sitting inside. I ran out to the driver’s side and banged on the door but he didn’t move. He urged me to put the knife down and I complied with his orders. He got out of the car and drew his gun, taking off the safety, and pointing it out in front of him. Officer Ivan got out of his car and asked if I had been ‘infected’ but I wasn’t sure what he meant by it. Then he asked if I had been attacked by those things and I assured him I had. There was no hiding it as my sweater and whole left arm was stained in red after defending myself against the monster in my neighbors house. Understandably, Officer Ivan backed away and points his gun at me as he wasn’t sure if the blood was mine or someone else’s. After assuring him that I was totally unharmed, we walked up the steps to my house and cautiously walked into the front door. There was no noise coming from inside and the kitchen was clear.
“Police, come out with your hands up,” he yelled.
We walked deeper into the house with the cop leading the way. We made it into my bedroom but found nothing out of the ordinary and moved onto the bathroom then back into the living room. It felt as if the world had shut down beneath our feet as we stood around inside the living room with nothing left to do. My hardwood floors were covered in dirty boot prints and flakes of dried mud leading into the kitchen, around and on the table, and through the hallway but no signs of those things. At least not from the inside. We walked into the backyard and moved to the side of the house where a waist high fence looked out at the neighborhood below. We witnessed the deconstruction and havoc raining down in the once quiet streets of San Diego. Anyone caught outside while the zombies walked around ran in the opposite direction while others decided to simply lock themselves in their homes. If it weren’t for the wide windows and glass doors they probably would’ve had a chance at surviving. People were dragged out from shattered windows, over broken glass frames, pulled and yanked on like rag dolls by hungry dogs. I stared out at hell unfolding before my eyes and felt a strange lump in my chest, slightly moving towards my throat, until it spilled into my mouth and all over the grass under my shoes. The winds soothing song was cut short by the interruption of the cops radio over his shoulder, the operator calling for backup in the neighborhood to our left. More officers needed on Tres Lomas near Alto, the robotic voice echoed in my ear, critical injuries reported on sight.