#5 - Mr. Hudson

“All right, Mr. Hudson, I'm sure you will be very comfortable here.”
A voice.  No, two voices.  Was it two voices?  I watched them contently.  A person was standing in front of me.  His name was Joe.  I liked Joe.
“Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Hudson?”
I looked at his eyes.  They were brown with a hint of green.  Joe had interesting eyes. 
“What happened?” I said while hugging myself loosely.
I repeated the phrase over and over.  It makes me feel good to repeat things.  I really liked Joe.
“There was a murder in your-” he replied, but stopped himself.
I looked at my hands.  Did these hands murder?  Did I kill someone?  I rocked on my chair, my head falling into my knees. 
“I didn't kill anyone!” I shouted as loudly as I could.
My head snapped upward, back at Joe's pretty face.
“I'm sorry Joe,” I said quickly, “I'm sorry.”
He smiled weakly while putting his hand on my shoulder.  Joe's hand was soft.

“Please Mr. Hudson,” he said while watching me with his green-chocolate eyeballs, “I need you to really think.  Did you see anyone recently?”
“See-”
I looked about the room with jerky eyes.  No one else in the room.  The room was soft; soft like Joe's hand.  Was I sitting in Joe's hand?
“I don't see anyone, Joe,” I replied.
I looked around the room again to make sure.  No one but Joe. 
“I mean did you see anyone at the house of the murder?”
“What?” I screamed while looking back at my hands.
Someone was murdered!  I've never seen a dead body before.  Were they warm and soft like the hand room?
“No.”
I repeated the word over and over.  I shook my head.  My brain hurt.  Too much talking.  Joe wasn't being nice anymore.
“Mr. Hudson, please!” I heard Joe try to stop me.
I felt his hands shake me.  I stopped and looked into his eyes again.  I really wanted some chocolate now.
“You need to tell me if you had done anything to anyone today,” he said with narrowed eyeballs, “Try to remember.  Please, take your time Mr. Hudson.”
My eyes started flashing back and forth.  He thought I was a murderer!  I've never seen dead people.  I never knew if they were warm or soft! 

“I don't murder!” I shouted while making a lunge for Joe.
The table collapsed to the ground.  Joe's neck was as soft as his hand.
“I didn't murder, I didn't murder!”
I repeated it again and again.  My hands tightened around Joe; those chocolatey eyes now wider then I had ever seen before.  They were beautiful.
“Mr. - Hudson -”
I felt his hands on my chest.  It made me smile; was Joe trying to be friends?
Joe didn't talk anymore.  I took my hands away from his soft neck and looked at them.  They were red and purple. 
“Joe?”
Joe was silent.  I bent down and put my hands on his chest.  He was still so warm and soft. 
I still miss Joe.

#4 - Zombies!

“Roy,  left!” came a panicked, feminine voice, causing my adrenaline to surge.
My head turned quickly to the writhing, bloody mass of an attacker that was currently gnashing it's rotted teeth in my direction.  With a heavily booted foot and muster of strength I stomped down, causing the threat to grow lax and plummet to the ground.  I wheeled around to see my two comrades.  Nikky (whom insisted on being called Nichole) was standing to my right, a bloody golfing wood clutched in her trembling hands.  Another one of them managed to pull himself to our position, causing her to pelt the thing with a multitude of clumsy swings. 
“We can't stay here, guys!” another, equally fear-struck voice called out before me.
Zack was his name.  He was our hastily appointed leader, ever since the invasion began. 


“Over there!” he shouted.
I watched him wave to something.  I followed his gaze to see another group of survivors; five at least.  They were waving back, the nearest taking aim at the area below him and firing with a weapon of some sort.
“They have guns!” Nikky called out through the chaos, “Food, too, I bet!”
With that, we were on the ground.  I was the last to hoist myself down from the house rooftop as Nikki and Zack started for the street.  More of the mangled, torn monstrosities quickly advanced at taking notice of our bold move.  I swung my weapon, an aluminum baseball bat, at the attackers.  The end connected with an oily, blood-soaked head, causing a man of mid thirties to fall over with a labored groan.
“Goddamn Ragers everywhere!” Zack shouted while madly flailing a frying pan around him.
I watched him take two steps before a group of three suddenly tackled him at once, bringing him to the ground.  I wordlessly charged for him, weapon in hand, clasping both hands around the handle of my bat.  I brought the weapon down upon the back of the nearest man, causing a sickening snap.
“Get up!” I commanded him while swinging at another. 
Zack scrambled to his feet, tripping another Rager in the process.  I shot a brief look of conviction to Nikky before all three of us broke into a desperate sprint for the other rooftop.


“Little help down here?” I shouted to the people above as we approached.
They were upon us now; attempting to grab at our clothing and hair with clammy hands, biting at our arms and legs with chipped and broken teeth.  The others upon the roof took fresh notice of us.  Gunfire rang out, several of the attacking mass falling to the floor in a bloody pile.  I kicked at the nearest threat, then cast a gaze upward once again.
“Climb!” a young girl called out from above.
I watched her heave a long coil of twisted, splintered rope from the top, it cascading downward to the ground.  Zack was the first to grab a hold.  This seemed to instill fresh energy into the stampeding horde, for I saw dozens of them appear behind other houses and shattered cars to our position.  Nikky was the next to go.  I watched her furiously clamor upward, her arms and neck slick with sweat. 
“Roy, get up here, now!”
I didn't know whom had shouted the message, nor did I care to find out.  I reached for the coil, quickly bracing my tired muscles, and climbed.  I watched three more Ragers below grab for me.  I gave them a quick shove of my legs before climbing up and reaching the rooftop.


Nikky let out a squeal of delight.  I merely remained collapsed upon the roof, my chest heaving with exhaustion. 
“We did it!” she breathed with joy, “I thought we were dead for sure!”
“We might as well be,” I shot back with intensity.
I could feel eyes upon me; from my comrades as well as the nameless people that had saved our lives.
“We just keep on living though,” one of the new survivors replied with commitment, “Nothing can seem to kill people like us.”   

#3 - March 27th, 1997 1:35 AM

**This was found on an anonymous, burned corpse that was reported to be in the streets of Chicago, Illinois - approx. 3:12 in the morning. Although the body was unrecognizable by authorities, the paper was left completely intact.**




I remember that cold, storm-stricken night. I was seated near the door, cursing to myself about the cold and wetness that trickled into the room, yet not having the energy or drive to move myself. People of all expressions and appearances crowded about randomly dispersed tables. Laughing people, people wearing looks of loneliness, others staring off at a distant wall or fixated upon a massive television hovering over the liquor cabinet.


It was at that moment when she walked in. At first, no one payed any heed; the only indication of her arrival marked by a blisteringly chilly wind that whipped past her from the unforgiving outside world. For reasons unknown, my eyes fixated upon her drenched figure. I took in the details of the grime-coated clothing she wore, her blotchy, reddish skin and faded, brown eyes. A tossed, uneven mop of hair spilled from her head and toppled to her sinewy shoulders.
She walked past me with a light limp. I followed her movements to the front of the long table that spanned the center of the room.
“Double Scotch,” her raspy voice called out.
The tall, lank man standing before her nodded silently and turned away to prepare her order. A pool of muddy water began collecting at her feet.
“Never seen you 'round these parts, Missy,” came the voice of Chud, an older, balding man.
He smiled at her with uneven, rotting teeth. I could almost smell his hot, sour breath as I am certain she had.
“Don't come around,” she replied, “And I don't intend on staying.”
At this, I witnessed something in Chud's face morph. Intrigue was filling his black eyes.
“I get it,” he said with volume that made him hard to hear from my seat, “Miss Bad-ass. Don't wanna be disturbed by no one. You look good enough to eat.”
He let out a loud, cackling laugh. Although her back was to me, I could feel her emotion.
“You don't want to be talking to me like that, sir,” she announced with heated tone.
A small glass was placed before her; filled. She took it in her lithe fingers, twirling the liquid slowly in her hand.


Chud suddenly slammed his fist down upon the table, causing glass to rattle. The area quieted quickly.
“I don't care for women who don't know how to behave,” he seethed while watching her intently, “You will not disrespect your elder, understand little girl?”
She titled the glass to her lips, taking the entire contents in one swallow.
“I have seen things that you couldn't begin to comprehend,” she stated, her voice low, “I would recommend that you walk away from me, now.”
Chud's response was immediate. He grabbed at her slimy shirt, tearing it in the process. He picked her from the chair and threw her to the floor with a loud growl.
“Don't you dare take that tone with me, bitch!” he replied, “You will treat a man in a way that-”
The room suddenly rocked back and forth as if it were placed upon a ship. I first thought it was my drink playing tricks upon my brain, but the looks from others within the bar confirmed the strange feeling was not my own. A kind of waviness filled the room, the air growing hot and humid. I first watched Chud, then gazed down to the girl upon the floor. With impossibly fast movement, she rose to her feet. An explosion was suddenly heard to my right, followed by several screams and shouts. I watched the girl reach out, tightening her grip upon Chud's shoulder. With one, fluid movement, she plunged her own arm - now twisted into a mass of sharpened bone – into his large belly. I saw him twitch for a few intense moments, then slacken as she let him drop to the floor. She then stepped past him, causing a trail of bloody footprints as she approached a large hole in the wall that had been created from the noise moments before. She disappeared then, masked by the silvery rain and blowing winds behind the smoldering opening, the rest of the room quickly returning to a normal temperature. I ran from the bar, accompanied by many others. I remember the panic of people, stepping on Chud's bloody, lifeless mass while exiting.
I don't sleep very well anymore.

#2 - A Pirate's Betrayal

“Fire away, me hearties!” called out the voice of Captain Severand.


He watched the scene before him unfold with a toothy grin and puffed chest.  Cannon fire rang out upon the once serene ocean that stretched to the distant skies.  Their enemy, the French ship Lionshead, had made a grave mistake by turning it's stern toward Severand's many cannons that lined the hull.  He witnessed as several holes splintered the end of Lionshead. 


“This is what being a man really feels like, meboy!” he called out to his left while simultaneously planting a heavy hand upon the ward's shoulder. 


In that fleeting moment, he couldn't be more proud of his son.  He turned to face him, his boy's rugged features and sharpened eyes coming to bear before him.  He saw his son smile at him, his brow knitting together in concentration.  Severand watched the boy's calloused, cracked hands run over the hilt of his Scimitar coolly.


“They will be upon us soon, father,” he spoke with a broad smile.


The older pirate gave a single nod, turning his attention back to the battle to come.  The captain of the Lionshead likely knew his fate, for he was circling toward them in desperation.  More explosions rung out beneath their feet as numerous craters lined the enemy ship's sides and mast.  Severand drew his weapon – a long, professionally crafted Cutlass – at witnessing the first sign of ropes being tossed onto their ship's floor.  His crew, a gangly bunch of drunken brawlers, approached the future battle with blades gleaming in the bright sunlight.  Pistol fire rang out as golden-coated French privateers started the journey toward the fray.


“To battle, meboy!” Severand called out while stepping toward the fray, “An finger lost today is a healthy brag tomorrow!”


At that, Severand descended quickly from the wheel.  His own crew had begun furiously clamoring across the ropes, leaving his own ship relatively empty.  With expert, agile movement, he dug beneath his long coat and procured his pistol.  He fired once at the nearest Frenchman, quickly pulling back the hammer and firing again.  He grinned widely at seeing the terrified opposition.  Each wore a look of supreme fear, each of them fighting off his large, muscled pirates with desperation.  He took a large step toward the ropes, to join his comrades in glorious combat. 


Something held him back.  A crippling pain filled him, causing him to grunt loudly.  His weapon slid from his hands and fell noiselessly to the floor.  Time seemed to slow and sharpen as he felt the warmth of blood flowing out of him.  His knees struck the harsh wood of the hull while strength was rapidly leaving him.  A great shock racked his chest at seeing whom had dealt a fatal blow upon his back.  His son was standing over him, those piercing eyes alight with glee.


“My son, why-”
“You never cared about me,” he began, his eyes narrowing, “My desires meant nothing to you.  I never wanted to be this way; my whole life has been what you wanted!”


He ripped the weapon from Severand's body, causing him to grunt again.  He fell face first into the floor.  Sounds were wavy and uneven within his head.  He felt a presence over him.


“Goodbye, father,” his son said with darkened tone, “I will see to it this ship is torn and burned in your name.”