ZOMG! ZOMBIES!
Saturday, January 7th, 2006 08:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tsaikoHere is a good section of the zombie story. This is all the part I want to keep (with possibly a slight rewrite). I actually have two more pages of this, but I think I'm going to cut it out and start from just after where this part ends. It keeps trying to take on a life of it's own to turn into some grand epic. I keep reminding it that it's a story about zombies at Christmas. I have a feeling this story and I will come to a compromise (meaning, I'll win in the end).
There were zombies outside the house on Christmas Day.
Brian could hear them outside when he came down to see the presents. Their chanting was unmistakable: “Brains! Braaaains!” followed by some really creative cursing when one broke through the ice crust on the snow and struggled to get back up. Come spring, when the snows melted, there was going to be a lot of fertilizer for Ma’s flower beds from decayed body parts.
A few of the zombies were clustered around one of the downstairs windows, their faces thrown into sharp relief by the Christmas light in red and green, yellow and blue. Brian yawned and closed the curtains as he passed. It didn’t stop their moaning, but it at least gave the illusion that the walking undead weren’t hanging around outside.
The Christmas tree was huge if a little skimpy. His dad and his cousin Mike had gone out two weeks ago and cut it down from the woods behind the house. The trees weren’t as nice as those that came from a store, but they were free.
There was no indication of financial trouble under the Christmas tree. Presents lined the area, overflowing past tinsel strewn branches and out into the living room. The stocking hanging from the mantle were also stuffed. Candy canes, pixie sticks, and assorted other goodies stuck out of their tops. Even though he was eighteen and in college, there was some magical about Christmas.
It would be awhile before anyone else got up and Brian knew that he couldn’t even touch his stockings until the whole family was down. That meant the only thing to do was breakfast.
As soon as Brian stepped on the tile floor Grim and Reaper, the two house cats, were winding between his legs. “I’m not feeding you. No really, I’m not. Stop it.”
Luckily, someone had remembered to close and lock the pet door last night. There was nothing more disturbing that walking into the kitchen only to find a zombie had managed to get itself half-way through the pet door and gotten stuck. It was hard to want eggs in any way, shape, or form when there was a decomposing animated corpse moaning “Braaaaaaains” at you.
“Eggs it is then. Dammit cats, I am not going to feed you.” Brian poked the cats with his toes, but that only seemed to encourage them. Reaper in particular thought this meant he should attack Brian’s toes. “Ow, OW! Let go!”
The fridge yielded eggs. There was also a large platter of cooked ham. “Ham and eggs. Life is good.” Brian reached for the ham only to notice the bright yellow scrap of paper he’d somehow managed to miss the first time.
Brian, the ham is for when your Aunt Jeanne, Uncle Robert, and Max come over for lunch. Don’t touch it. Love, Mom.
It was amazing how just a few words could completely ruin a day. Max was coming over. Max, the guy that his Aunt and Uncle had half adopted like a stray, was going to be here. Soon. Within a few hours.
Wonderful.
Maybe he’d get lucky and the zombies would eat him.
Everyone was awake, the presents were all open, and Ma was in the kitchen putting pies in the oven when they heard the whine of an engine. “That must be your Aunt, Uncle and Max. Rhonda, go grab the shotgun and see that they get in okay.”
“Why do I always have to help them in? Why can’t Brian do it?” Rhonda protested. She was fourteen and had reached the “I’m a teenager and my entire family is an embarrassment” stage. Brian hoped that she outgrew it. Quickly. Before he was forced to strangle her.
“Do it because I said so,” their Dad said. There was a brief staring contest before Rhonda huffed and rolled her eyes.
“This is so not fair.” She got up, grabbed the shotgun from its place beside the door in the umbrella stand, and threw open the door. It slammed against the wall. Rhonda didn’t bother closing it as she stormed out of the house.
“I swear Brian, you weren’t half as much trouble as your sister. She’s going to give me another heart attack before I turn fifty,” their Dad said.
“Don’t say that,” Brian said. Then, “You know, I could have gone out.”
“No, you couldn’t have. We don’t talk about it. Ever.”
They never talked about how Brian had been bitten three times in his life by zombies, but had never become one himself. They didn’t talk about how for weeks afterwards the zombies would trail after him moaning “Master. Maaaaaaster.” They especially didn’t talk about the one winter when demon wolves came down from the mountains and played around his feet like puppies.
Brian was also not allowed to face the zombies when company came over. Too many risks.
Ma came in from the kitchen as soon as the shots from the shotgun rang out. “I heard the shotgun. Jeanne, Robert and Max here?” Another four shots rang out. Then Aunt Jeanne was in the doorway, snow covering her graying hair.
“Nancy!”
“Jeanne!”
The two woman ran across the living room to embrace, both chattering about how the other had lost weight, where did you get those shoes, and how you don’t look a day over thirty-five. Uncle Robert came in next, arms laden with gifts. He practically had to push his wife out of the way to get in. Next came Max also laden with presents, and finally Rhonda holding the shotgun.
Max’s eyes narrowed when he saw Brian. Brian decided that that would be the perfect time to get something to drink from the kitchen. “Anyone want something to drink?”
“Water would be nice, thank you,” Uncle Robert said. Brian nodded and ducked out of the room and into the safety of the kitchen. He got two glasses of water, steeled his nerves, and walked back into the living.
“I see your undead friends are still around,” Jeanne joked.
“Undead friends? No, Jeanne those are the vampires in town. The zombies are just a nuisance.” His Ma made a face. “Enough about that. How is life?”
There were zombies outside the house on Christmas Day.
Brian could hear them outside when he came down to see the presents. Their chanting was unmistakable: “Brains! Braaaains!” followed by some really creative cursing when one broke through the ice crust on the snow and struggled to get back up. Come spring, when the snows melted, there was going to be a lot of fertilizer for Ma’s flower beds from decayed body parts.
A few of the zombies were clustered around one of the downstairs windows, their faces thrown into sharp relief by the Christmas light in red and green, yellow and blue. Brian yawned and closed the curtains as he passed. It didn’t stop their moaning, but it at least gave the illusion that the walking undead weren’t hanging around outside.
The Christmas tree was huge if a little skimpy. His dad and his cousin Mike had gone out two weeks ago and cut it down from the woods behind the house. The trees weren’t as nice as those that came from a store, but they were free.
There was no indication of financial trouble under the Christmas tree. Presents lined the area, overflowing past tinsel strewn branches and out into the living room. The stocking hanging from the mantle were also stuffed. Candy canes, pixie sticks, and assorted other goodies stuck out of their tops. Even though he was eighteen and in college, there was some magical about Christmas.
It would be awhile before anyone else got up and Brian knew that he couldn’t even touch his stockings until the whole family was down. That meant the only thing to do was breakfast.
As soon as Brian stepped on the tile floor Grim and Reaper, the two house cats, were winding between his legs. “I’m not feeding you. No really, I’m not. Stop it.”
Luckily, someone had remembered to close and lock the pet door last night. There was nothing more disturbing that walking into the kitchen only to find a zombie had managed to get itself half-way through the pet door and gotten stuck. It was hard to want eggs in any way, shape, or form when there was a decomposing animated corpse moaning “Braaaaaaains” at you.
“Eggs it is then. Dammit cats, I am not going to feed you.” Brian poked the cats with his toes, but that only seemed to encourage them. Reaper in particular thought this meant he should attack Brian’s toes. “Ow, OW! Let go!”
The fridge yielded eggs. There was also a large platter of cooked ham. “Ham and eggs. Life is good.” Brian reached for the ham only to notice the bright yellow scrap of paper he’d somehow managed to miss the first time.
Brian, the ham is for when your Aunt Jeanne, Uncle Robert, and Max come over for lunch. Don’t touch it. Love, Mom.
It was amazing how just a few words could completely ruin a day. Max was coming over. Max, the guy that his Aunt and Uncle had half adopted like a stray, was going to be here. Soon. Within a few hours.
Wonderful.
Maybe he’d get lucky and the zombies would eat him.
Everyone was awake, the presents were all open, and Ma was in the kitchen putting pies in the oven when they heard the whine of an engine. “That must be your Aunt, Uncle and Max. Rhonda, go grab the shotgun and see that they get in okay.”
“Why do I always have to help them in? Why can’t Brian do it?” Rhonda protested. She was fourteen and had reached the “I’m a teenager and my entire family is an embarrassment” stage. Brian hoped that she outgrew it. Quickly. Before he was forced to strangle her.
“Do it because I said so,” their Dad said. There was a brief staring contest before Rhonda huffed and rolled her eyes.
“This is so not fair.” She got up, grabbed the shotgun from its place beside the door in the umbrella stand, and threw open the door. It slammed against the wall. Rhonda didn’t bother closing it as she stormed out of the house.
“I swear Brian, you weren’t half as much trouble as your sister. She’s going to give me another heart attack before I turn fifty,” their Dad said.
“Don’t say that,” Brian said. Then, “You know, I could have gone out.”
“No, you couldn’t have. We don’t talk about it. Ever.”
They never talked about how Brian had been bitten three times in his life by zombies, but had never become one himself. They didn’t talk about how for weeks afterwards the zombies would trail after him moaning “Master. Maaaaaaster.” They especially didn’t talk about the one winter when demon wolves came down from the mountains and played around his feet like puppies.
Brian was also not allowed to face the zombies when company came over. Too many risks.
Ma came in from the kitchen as soon as the shots from the shotgun rang out. “I heard the shotgun. Jeanne, Robert and Max here?” Another four shots rang out. Then Aunt Jeanne was in the doorway, snow covering her graying hair.
“Nancy!”
“Jeanne!”
The two woman ran across the living room to embrace, both chattering about how the other had lost weight, where did you get those shoes, and how you don’t look a day over thirty-five. Uncle Robert came in next, arms laden with gifts. He practically had to push his wife out of the way to get in. Next came Max also laden with presents, and finally Rhonda holding the shotgun.
Max’s eyes narrowed when he saw Brian. Brian decided that that would be the perfect time to get something to drink from the kitchen. “Anyone want something to drink?”
“Water would be nice, thank you,” Uncle Robert said. Brian nodded and ducked out of the room and into the safety of the kitchen. He got two glasses of water, steeled his nerves, and walked back into the living.
“I see your undead friends are still around,” Jeanne joked.
“Undead friends? No, Jeanne those are the vampires in town. The zombies are just a nuisance.” His Ma made a face. “Enough about that. How is life?”
(no subject)
Date: 1/17/06 05:34 am (UTC)“More. Mooooooorrre.”