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Subject Got A Zombie Story ...
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Original Message ...who wants to help me finish it, lol.

I write. And sometimes stories begin with a bang and then they fizzle out - so frustrating. So I'll post a bit of one of my zombie stories (zombies are about to go out of style like men's chest hair and pantaloons) and it seems I can't finish any of them in time to meet the craze, lol.

Anyway, this one is just labeled Rotten and if anyone has any ideas, finds it interesting or even wants to finish it .... lol.

This is the first bit 3 or 49 (I think)

“You’re all idiots!” He exclaimed and kicked an empty box into the corner. He straightened his LL Bean denim shirt, and tugged at the waistband of his Abercrombie jeans. “No one here knows what the fuck they are talking about and no one here can even speak in a simply constructed sentence! You’re all fucking idiots!”

We laughed. I mean really. I elbowed Rotten in the ribs and I swear, I snorted a bit as I giggled. So freaking unladylike, but damn! We saved his ass, his designer-clothed ass! Of course, we knew what we were saying, he just couldn’t hear us.

“Dude, have you not heard the recent news?” Rotten wiped the tears from his eyes and grew serious. “Remember the guy that cut himself open and threw his guts at the cops? I know you remember that, it was freakin’ everywhere, man. CNN, FOX, ABC, and on and on! What the fuck? Even that stupid morning show with all those chicks talked about it. Oh, and the other guy that took out six cops by bouncing over rooftops in Pinecrest Estates. He bounced, man! He didn’t climb or struggle. They tasered that bastard six fucking times and guess what?” Rotten took a breath and took four steps in Professor Sully Kingswood’s direction. “He bounced fucking away, man! He fucking bounced!!

“Listen, man!” Rotten stepped closer. “You ain’t been payin’ attention. You ain’t been reading.” He took another step, the space between them reduced to a good eighteen inches. “I freakin’ know you teach English and all that shit, but you ain’t been reading! You know, some freaking guy from 1846 ain’t gonna tell you what’s happening out your own fuckin’ window. He just ain’t, man, and you gotta get that shit in your head real quick.”

Rotten stepped away. I was impressed, not because I don’t know what a gentle guy Rotten is (despite the name), we were freaked! Scared shitless, would be a good term. Wanting to get in the fetal position and beg for your mom to come save you is actually a more descriptive truth.

Professor Kingswood is our professor and simply happenstance found him in our presence when it started going down. We were out celebrating Princess’s first art sale. Her painting went for three hundred bucks and spending a third of that on her friends celebrating her accomplishment was why she called us.

I was taking the day off from school, laying in bed and depressed. I’m usually depressed; it’s just my nature. My favorite character in Winnie the Pooh was Eeyore because I got him. I understood. So laying in bed and crying over the most recent heartbreak was not new to me. This time I was crying over Lionel. I know, stupid name, but cute boy.

Anyway, Princess called and asked if I’d meet her at Club 13. I didn’t want to, but I work hard to maintain relationships despite my depressive ways, so I agreed to go. Princess also called Rotten, Moonshine and Highland. Now, with these odd names, and before I introduce my own, I feel the need to explain. Rotten was born Reginald Owen Tannenbaum, you know, his initials spelled ROT, so Rotten he became somewhere between 7th and 8th grade. Moonshine earned his when we met him as the new kid in the school in 9th grade. His name is Michael Smith, sorta funny, huh? Just Michael Smith. But he came from backwoods Tennessee and the first time we all got together after 6th period gym, he had good ole’ Tennessee moonshine. Ever since that day in Highland’s basement, Michael Smith was called Moonshine.

And then there’s Highland. His name came because he insisted we not call him Wayne, but that we call him by his Internet identity. His last name is Williams and he won’t admit to having a middle. He’s an odd bird, useful with his computer prowess, but too quiet for my liking.

And Princess and I got the worst of it. Her name is actually Princess, I’ve seen her birth certificate, and my name is Dove. It really is. I wish I had a nickname, but you know, folks like Michael, Reginald and Wayne get nicknames, while girls like Princess and Dove have to suffer. I met Princess in the 4th grade, we were nerdy, chubby and read too much to be cool. By 8th grade we were thinner and Goth and by graduation we were too thin and cynical.

In those years, despites heartbreaks and disappointments, the five of us bonded. We’re all a bit artistic. Princess paints, I write, Rotten can play any instrument you put in his hand and Moonshine can wittle or carve or build anything you would ever need built. Highland is our resource guy – he can find anything on the web or hack into where you need info. If you need something, Highland can find it, find it quick, somehow pay for it and have it delivered to your door within a day or two. I don’t know how he does it and I don’t ask questions, something in his demeanor repels questions.

“You need to chill your ass out!” Princess stood up from where she’d been crouched and crying in the corner. “I just saw two of my fuckin’ friends get killed so you just shut the fuck up.” She stomped on four-inch platform shoes across the dusty warehouse floor and settled against the wall outside of the glow of the streetlights streaming in the windows.

“Did you see how fast those fuckers move? We’re doomed.” Moonshine paced and rubbed his face.

“We’re not doomed,” Highland spoke quietly from his position by the window. “We just need a plan to get out of the city.”

“How are we gonna get past those things?” Moonshine demanded. “We don’t have any weapons.”

“We’re going to sit here, watch them, and figure it out.”

“This ain’t one of your video games, Highland, this is real.”

Highland looked down at the bloodstains on his shirt. “I know it’s real, dude. I was there too, you know.”

“What are you thinking, Highland?” Rotten asked.

“We just need to lay low and watch for a while, find their weaknesses and figure out our strengths.”

“I sure as hell didn’t see any weaknesses when they disemboweled Heather,” Moonshine said and joined Highland at the windows.

I stepped over to the window and looked down at the street to see the chaos. People ran in every direction and the only way you could tell the normals from the infected was the lack of blood on their clothes and the speed in which they moved. As we watched we saw a girl in heels being taken down and attacked by a man in hospital scrubs.

“First rule,” Highland said, looking over his shoulder at Princess and focusing on her feet, “good shoes. You can’t run in those shoes, Princess.”

“Well, forgive me,” Princess snapped. “I didn’t know the zombie apocalypse was going to start tonight.”

“We should have known,” Rotten said. “We should have known. All the weird stories on the news, the new vaccine they’ve been pushing for the fatal flu sweeping the country, the newscasters suddenly losing it on TV and speaking in gibberish, as their eyes rolled back in their heads – for anyone who’s watched a zombie movie, all the clues were there.”

“You people are insane,” Professor Kingswood said. “There are no zombies.”

“Oh, really? What would you call them?” Rotten asked.

“Sick. It’s just some sort of mental illness or neurological disorder, zombies don’t exist.”

“Tell that to Heather, asshole!” Princess got to her feet, walked to the bank of windows, and looked down at the street. “Tell that to the woman down being eaten by a doctor.”

“How’s that vaccine working for you, doc?” Moonshine muttered, as he watched the man pull away from the bloodied woman and wander off down the street. The woman sat up on the sidewalk and jumped to her feet with the agility of a gymnast and followed behind him, leaving a trail of blood on the concrete. “That’s ain’t no mental illness, Professor. That’s a fucking zombie if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Seen a lot of zombies have you, Michael?” Professor Kingswood sat down on a wooden crate and rubbed his face.

“As of a couple hours ago, yes,” Moonshine said.
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