Zombie Flyball...

Keeping my head down and my breathing shallow I waited for the last of the zombies to shuffle past. I watched it sniff the air in my direction like a hunting dog or a wolf. My hands were shaking as I readied myself to plunge the long, heavy crowbar through its misshapen skull. It walked a little further before it stopped and turned back. It seemed to be staring right at me but I could not tell for sure as it didn't appear to have any eyes. It sniffed again and started walking towards me. The way it bumped around its surroundings implied that it was indeed blind. In the narrow alcove of the corner of the building where I stood, just off from the main alley it would not matter if that son-of-a-bitch could see or not. It would feel me.

I looked around in a quick scan to see if I could shift my position and get out of its path before it got any closer but there was no time or room. I lifted the sturdy crowbar above my head swiveling it slowly like a batter readying himself for the next pitch... wait for it... wait for... SWING!

"And it's a high fly ball going back... back... yes! It's a home run!" I cheered, my voice barely above a whisper as I watched the bulk of the zombie's head soar up and over an adjoining fence, its scalp flopping as the head spun under an overhead light like I had knocked the cover off of the ball before splattering against the building's west wall. It sounded like a wet mop slapping the pavement followed by the mushy splat of spilled oatmeal dumped by a baby when it landed in the parking lot. I sidestepped the falling body hip bumping it against the wall hoping it would slide down instead of crashing into the debris strewn behind me.

Zombies seem to be sensitive to sound so I try hard to be as quiet as possible, especially since I forage at night. If lighting matters little when dealing with zombies you are probably wondering why I don't forage during daylight hours. It is because of other survivors.  Many are so paranoid, whacked out, or just plain selfish that they attack other survivors, wounding them to be used as distractions or bait; killing them to protect their stuff or take their victim's stuff. Either way, it's a shitty situation and not worth the risk.

 It's a shame, I genuinely like people and loneliness is the toughest part of surviving... cause you're surviving for what?... to walk alone?... where's the future in that?

Tommy's Hot Mom

"It's not to late to change your mind." a husky voice accompanied by an electric hum hissed through hidden speakers.

"Well..." Tommy's mother grew impatient.

'So many choices' Tommy thought as he scanned the drive-thru menu. He could see his mom's face turning a slow red. "Okay already... I'll take the double cheese with extra pickles, no onions or lettuce or mayo on a toasted bun with curly fries and a medium Squirt with little ice."

"Good call, little dude." said the voice, "And, what can I get for you pretty lady."

Tommy saw his mom's face turn a different shade of red and watched her fuss with her hair, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror before she replied, "Well, Eddie... what do you recommend... any specials?" she finished with a flirty chuckle.

'Oh good grief' Tommy groaned within himself cupping his eyes and shaking his head side-to-side, 'having a hot momma is so embarrassing'.

Amity - The Shack

The low setting sun's dappled rays seeping through the loose fitting clap boards of the old hunter's shack gave off a warm, soft glow that reminded Amity of happier less complicated times; of days spent in innocence with schoolmates giggling as girls do unconcerned about missing teeth, braces, or the awkward features that would later become a source of joy or anxiety in the secondary school dating game.

It made Amity slip back and remember her best friend and true sister, Tiffany. Her smiles turned to tears as she came back to the present.

While attending a seance, Tiffany was brutally murdered by a mutual friend possessed by a demon that the foolish teens released. Amity was supposed to attend but she was busy with her boyfriend, it was her 19th birthday. Less than an hour after its release the demon who had killed Tiffany and several other of Amity's friends found her and temporarily possessed Amity, the demon forcing her to attack her boyfriend with the kitchen knife she had used to cut the cake. It's assault upon her was thwarted by Joshua who coaxed the demon out of her and into himself before killing himself to save her.

It seemed like so long ago but was in fact only 3 years prior when the town she grew up in and the world around her changed before her eyes compelling Amity to become the person she was now... a battle-hardened warrior, an outcast, an exorcist/demonologist, and worst of all... a loner. Everyone she gets close to either dies, gets possessed, or damaged along the way.

It was rare when she allowed herself a pity party but today seemed like a good day for it, she was alone, so very tired in every way a person can be tired, and... it was her birthday.

Snippet 01-09-2014

It reminds me of the time I went to visit an elderly relative in an old folks home. There was this guy who I was told suffered from dementia who the first time I met him walked up and sprayed in the face with a cold water misting bottle, the kind used for tending houseplants. When I asked him what in the hell he was doing he simply replied, "My job. I work for the Misting Peoples Bureau." And, then I swore he winked and pranced of singing to himself some offbeat ditty.

When I complained to one of the attendants, I was told that he was harmless enough and was here because he was a nuts. My gut told me the old geezer was a scammer and must've had no family to take care of him so he was living off the state's nickel, much like being in the pen but with lesser restrictions and better food.

I made a note to myself to watch the old guy and when he headed for the can I was going to follow him planning on pissing on his leg while he was filling up his water bottle. When he asks what in the hell I'm doing I'm gonna tell him that I work for the Humane Society and was sent to test out a theory on how well old dementia patients like him would respond to elderly dogs treating them like trees or fireplugs.