[NOTE: I HAD SENT THE PREVIOUS TWO STORIES AND A NUMBER OF OTHERS TO A FLASH FICTION ZOMBIE ANTHOLOGY WHICH SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS. THE EDITOR KEPT SAYING THAT I WAS SHOWING AND NOT TELLING WITH THESE STORIES. THIS IS A VALID ARGUMENT FOR "BITE ME," BUT IT WAS A STYLISTIC CHOICE I MADE. THE REST OF THE STORIES WERE DEFINITE EXERCISES IN SHOWING. I ONLY SHOWED YOU GUYS "THE LADY AND THE TRAMP" BECAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY GOOD ONE OF THE BUNCH. THERE WERE PLENTY OF REASONS WHY THE OTHERS SHOULD HAVE BEEN REJECTED, BUT TELLING-NOT-SHOWING IS NOT ONE OF THEM. THIS PISSED ME OFF, SO I WROTE THE FOLLOWING STORY, WHICH IS NOTHING BUT SHOWING. THE EDITOR REJECTED ME AGAIN, PROBABLY BECAUSE THIS STORY PISSED HIM OFF. IT IS BY NO MEANS GOOD, BUT I THINK IT'S FUCKIN' HILARIOUS. HOPEFULLY, SO WILL YOU. JUST THINK OF THIS AS ZOMBIE FICTION IF WILLIAM FAULKNER HAD TRIED HIS HAND AT IT.]
flow swarm step reach air green-world move-see meat-in-nose where?
step reach nothing swarm One-Brain ahead there!
step reach nothing step step step tickle swarm buzz uuuuugghhhh wave small-meat nothing-meat skin-crawl step step step reach grasp!
meat-hand pull slip grab pull swarm flow food mouth-squirt ahhhhh clamp!
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
chew chew chew gulp smack-flash!
guh
swarm bite bite bite red chew chew meat-mouth deep down belly-gnaw still nothing-meat skin-crawl bite shiny-rope glisten-meat deep down aahhhhh BOOM!
oh hell oh no it's George they got George oh hell!
BOOM!
red-world new-meat un-fresh no belly-gnaw good-meat glisten-scream bite chew chew chew chick-BOOM!
guh
more new-meat un-fresh no eat can't-reach skin-crawl no nothing-meat
gimmie that you can't shoot for shit aim for the head not the arm stupid let me what about George he's gone there's nothing we can do chick-BOOM!
guh
red-world un-reach nothing-chew belly-gnaw move food chew-green-world spit uuuuuuugggghhhh
it's still moving do it again before the others catch on hurry do it chick-BOOM!
guuuuuuhhhhhhhh
Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
THE LADY AND THE TRAMP
The things who had once been known as Scott Knowles and Brenda Jones stooped over the weak, flailing body of their neighbor with their hands jammed into his bulbous gut, rummaging around in the ragged, stinking hole as if it were a box of toys discovered at a garage sale. Several lumpen, slippery masses shifted between their scrabbling fingers until they each found a rope of glistening intestine. Twin spaghetti loops unraveled from old Mr. Orr's gaping belly, and they stabbed their chipped, yellowing teeth into the slick, soft meat with ease. They chewed their way down a conveyor belt of Mr. Orr's failing digestive tract, ignoring the bitter burn of his bile in favor of the scrumptious, melt-in-your-mouth texture of guts.
Drool frothed out at the corners of their mouths as their chompers rat-a-tat-tatted along what seemed like a never-ending noodle until their faces dipped down into the empty cavity of what was now a corpse. With the cloying mess pressed against their heads, they consumed the last of Mr. Orr's intestines only to discover themselves face to face with each other, the final purplish-pink nub an inch between their lips.
They paused, gazing at one another with clouded, jaundiced eyes, and their mouths grazed one another around Mr. Orr's meat. In life, both Scott and Brenda had been quite attractive, but even if they could have felt the soft, feathery sensation of their flesh meeting, it wouldn't have meant much to them now that they were undead.
Brenda moved first, biting through the skin around Scott's mouth, her teeth meeting his and scraping like fingernails on a chalkboard. Scott watched blankly as Brenda arduously chewed her prize before swallowing it. Strings of sundered flesh swayed around the gleaming bone where his mouth had been, and he reached for her face with long, knobby tree-branch fingers, eager for a taste.
Instead, she pushed him away and returned to Mr. Orr's body in search of a new morsel. Scott got the idea and watched, waiting for his turn, which he suspected would never come.
Drool frothed out at the corners of their mouths as their chompers rat-a-tat-tatted along what seemed like a never-ending noodle until their faces dipped down into the empty cavity of what was now a corpse. With the cloying mess pressed against their heads, they consumed the last of Mr. Orr's intestines only to discover themselves face to face with each other, the final purplish-pink nub an inch between their lips.
They paused, gazing at one another with clouded, jaundiced eyes, and their mouths grazed one another around Mr. Orr's meat. In life, both Scott and Brenda had been quite attractive, but even if they could have felt the soft, feathery sensation of their flesh meeting, it wouldn't have meant much to them now that they were undead.
Brenda moved first, biting through the skin around Scott's mouth, her teeth meeting his and scraping like fingernails on a chalkboard. Scott watched blankly as Brenda arduously chewed her prize before swallowing it. Strings of sundered flesh swayed around the gleaming bone where his mouth had been, and he reached for her face with long, knobby tree-branch fingers, eager for a taste.
Instead, she pushed him away and returned to Mr. Orr's body in search of a new morsel. Scott got the idea and watched, waiting for his turn, which he suspected would never come.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
BITE ME
[NOTE: THE NEXT FEW WRITING EXERCISES WERE ACTUALLY SUBMITTED TO AN ANTHOLOGY THAT WILL REMAIN NAMELESS (FOR REASONS THAT WILL BECOME OBVIOUS WHEN I POST THE LAST STORY IN THIS BRIEF SERIES). THE CHALLENGE WAS TO WRITE ZOMBIE STORIES NO LONGER THAN 500 WORDS. I HOPE I CAME UP WITH SOMETHING NEW AND INTERESTING FOR THOSE WHO ARE TIRED OF THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.]
Heathcliff took the girl because she looked weak. He thought she might have been fourteen, but his hopes were dashed when he later checked her ID and found out she was twenty-three.
Still, he could pretend.
Amy Standish didn't look as bad as the others. Heathcliff didn't think she'd been dead for very long, no more than a day or two. He'd been on a food run when he came upon her milling about in a 7-11 parking lot. Upon seeing how well she'd held together, he knew he had to have her.
There was no struggle; all he had to do was stuff her in the trunk and drive away. When he got home, he forced a wooden spoon into her mouth and tied it into place. He then bound the rest of her and dragged her inside. Just in time, he thought. The others had begun showing up, and by the time he'd locked and braced the door, they were like a crowd at a concert.
He envied them. All they did was eat flesh, and they were nearly invincible. Only a shot to the head put them down.
Heathcliff waded through the bones at his feet, meals of the past. Before the zombies had come, he'd never been able to indulge his desire to eat people, but since the rules of civilization had been canceled, finding a victim was never a problem.
He'd never eaten the undead before, and he was curious.
Soon, the creature that had been Amy Standish was restrained on the kitchen counter, her dead gray gaze locked on his movements, waiting for him to slip up.
He was hungry, so he chopped her foot off with a cleaver. After examining the meat, he seasoned it, basted it, and popped it in the oven. A pleasant aroma spiked his senses, and his mouth was suddenly wet.
A half-hour later, he discovered that spoiled meat did not taste very good, no matter how well one cooked it, but it was enough.
Days--and half of Amy--later, Heathcliff started doubting anyone living would come along, and his hunger for real food had grown so much that his undead captor was no longer doing it for him.
At noon, a middle-aged man with a rifle tried to make it to Heathcliff's front door, but the zombies got him before he reached the porch. The rifle had to be empty, since the man was using it as a club, and when he was torn apart and consumed, Heathcliff couldn't help but notice how happy the zombies were.
He wished he could be that satisfied with a meal.
Then, looking at Amy's slimy, yellowed teeth, he realized he could be.
Heathcliff removed the spoon from her mouth and held his hand in front of her necrotic, malodorous face.
"Bite me," he whispered.
Heathcliff took the girl because she looked weak. He thought she might have been fourteen, but his hopes were dashed when he later checked her ID and found out she was twenty-three.
Still, he could pretend.
Amy Standish didn't look as bad as the others. Heathcliff didn't think she'd been dead for very long, no more than a day or two. He'd been on a food run when he came upon her milling about in a 7-11 parking lot. Upon seeing how well she'd held together, he knew he had to have her.
There was no struggle; all he had to do was stuff her in the trunk and drive away. When he got home, he forced a wooden spoon into her mouth and tied it into place. He then bound the rest of her and dragged her inside. Just in time, he thought. The others had begun showing up, and by the time he'd locked and braced the door, they were like a crowd at a concert.
He envied them. All they did was eat flesh, and they were nearly invincible. Only a shot to the head put them down.
Heathcliff waded through the bones at his feet, meals of the past. Before the zombies had come, he'd never been able to indulge his desire to eat people, but since the rules of civilization had been canceled, finding a victim was never a problem.
He'd never eaten the undead before, and he was curious.
Soon, the creature that had been Amy Standish was restrained on the kitchen counter, her dead gray gaze locked on his movements, waiting for him to slip up.
He was hungry, so he chopped her foot off with a cleaver. After examining the meat, he seasoned it, basted it, and popped it in the oven. A pleasant aroma spiked his senses, and his mouth was suddenly wet.
A half-hour later, he discovered that spoiled meat did not taste very good, no matter how well one cooked it, but it was enough.
Days--and half of Amy--later, Heathcliff started doubting anyone living would come along, and his hunger for real food had grown so much that his undead captor was no longer doing it for him.
At noon, a middle-aged man with a rifle tried to make it to Heathcliff's front door, but the zombies got him before he reached the porch. The rifle had to be empty, since the man was using it as a club, and when he was torn apart and consumed, Heathcliff couldn't help but notice how happy the zombies were.
He wished he could be that satisfied with a meal.
Then, looking at Amy's slimy, yellowed teeth, he realized he could be.
Heathcliff removed the spoon from her mouth and held his hand in front of her necrotic, malodorous face.
"Bite me," he whispered.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
COOL SHIT 9-30-10
CROSSED: FAMILY VALUES #4: Yeah, I miss Garth Ennis on this series. The new writer, David Lapham, is really good with most things (crime, obviously), but pseudo-zombie apocalypses? Not so much. Ennis can take humanity and make it real, but Lapham sometimes makes it sound too hokey. Still, they share the ability to be extreme. As per usual, the kinda-sorta zombies are ultra-violent, and their words are really ugly, but Lapham falls into the trap so many writers these days are familiar with: the real monsters of this book are the people. Yes, the villains here are ordinary people with guns who want to steal horses from our heroes. Things get nasty, and the main bad guy (a fella’ who looks a bit too much like Alan Moore) sounds exactly like one of the Crossed, especially when he says things like, “I’ll fuck that little girl’s brains through her teeth while the rest of ‘em [pregnant women] bleed out!” It’s a good read (not great), and the art, while sometimes silly, is good enough (I miss Jacen Burrows, too), but ultimately worth the price of admission.
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