Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Zombie shorts

One of my great joy's is collabrative work. Recently my good freind Patrick Ray, an aspiring writer who does some great zombie shorts was inspired (as I hoped he would be) by a sketch I made up. Below is his writings inspired from the image also attached. I hope you enjoy it.

Since I started on the Google Plus thing, I've been blessed to know a bunch of groovy people. People that support the artistic spirit in the spirit of cooperation and collaboration as opposed to competition. Community people. People who engage with the intent to further communication.

Scotty is one of those folks. I enjoy writing but haven't been. Feeling guilty at the same time asking myself why the hell I didn't just sit down and write. It's quite ridiculous.

Scotty whipped up some art and said he hoped it turned into a story. It did. Thanks for the inspiration, Scotty.

+Xix Feng . The last sentence is for you, man. As a shout-out to those about to rock.

The title of this story is "A Day In The Park", inspired by Slack Scotty's digital painting, "Patrick's Last Day".

*

I remember when I lost my life. When they pulled me from the closet, huddled way back into the corner because I was so freaked out by what reality had become. I heard them moaning, shuffling, and staggering down the hallway towards my room. The smell like rotting meat in a garbage can, seeping through the air.

Drops of sweat dripped from my nose. They were closer. I was pretty sure I was about to die screaming.

I was right.

The closet door opened. Their cold, powerful hands grabbed my ankles and started pulling. They moaned louder. Somebody started screaming. I realized it was me. That was when it really sunk in.

It's worse than you think. Your brain can't even begin to fathom what it's like to hear the sound of teeth scraping on your skull. To feel those teeth gnawing at your scalp, chewing the bloody pieces of ragged skin. The pain of teeth biting into your head, trying to get to the juicy bits inside.

Meanwhile, the others were biting mouthfuls of my arms, legs and torso. Wet chewing with lots of slurping and gnashing of teeth, all set to a soundtrack of exquisite pain. I looked down in time to see them finally scrape their way into my stomach, my steaming intestines pulled out and passed around like a tray of hors devours.

The human experience started sliding away. Slow at first but gaining speed. It looked like the rest of the experience but darker, faster. A roller coaster in the sky, plunging into a blanket of night. No stopping. No way to get off the ride. Thrilling in a way. Scary.

*

"Fucked up, eh?" Patrick smiled as he took one last toke. Grinned.

"Well, Ratboy, as realistic as that dream was, I don't want that. I'm not going to die today. You?" Scotty lifted the joint to his lips, inhaled. Eyes on his friend. Assessing.

"Hell no, man. Screw that. I'm not about to get punked by a bunch of undead cannibals. Let's get medieval on their asses."

The two friends finished their warm beers. Scotty flicked the last bit of joint to the ground.

Patrick picked up a stout machete, black goo encrusting the blade. He gave it a couple practice swings. Scotty spun two stout knives in his hands.

"You ready for this?" Scotty asked.

"Hell no. But I'm going to do my damnedest to get off this roller coaster intact. This story isn't over."

They poured over the hillside, moaning and shambling toward the two pals. One last look at one another, a quick nod, and the two rushed forward, weapons held high.

*

Somewhere in the distance, a cannon fired.



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