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sickle_storiesI've been thinking more about the zombie-idea here posted. It's a pretty useful Conscious!Zombie concept, despite it currently being a Mary Sue on the battlefield of 300. *Sigh* There’s quite a lot of corpses there, ‘s only natural for my imagination to go in that direction.
The result of all this wierdness is these two bits of writing, which I suppose are the beginning and the end. The longer, middle bit may take a while.
Title Etcetera
Proposed Header Quotes:
The dead travel fast. - Dracula by BStroker
Even Death can be excused just one weakness. - Jane Yolen, Sister Death
Few things start when you die. By definition, it’s usually all about endings, things stopping forever: breaths, heartbeats, hope.
With death, “experiences” stop, and “processes” start. The cooling of the body and it’s eventual decomposition: this is all I ever expected to happen, had I expected anything at all.
Instead, the rest of my life happened. Now that’s something everyone will agree on: life definitely stops upon death.
I can’t say life went on - how could it? I was dead - so I’ll say another life started for me.
That of the living dead.
No, please, listen. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I’ll be less dramatic about it, if you’ll only listen to the rest. (Though you must admit, it’s pretty far out there in the first place.)
I’ll start again. At the ending, which is the beginning.
Epilogue
It’s getting harder to wake up.
Every time I let go, it gets harder. My body, I suppose, has cooled through the night – though this being summer, the nights are kind - and needs some time to get itself started again. (I’m always room temperature now, which, it being summer, translates as “quite warm” during the days.) Lying on the ground, knowing the it and I are cold but unable to feel it, I imagine an engine within me. Not a pumping heart – not anymore – but some sort of generator, sparks flying around the mis-crossed and short-circuited wires.
Have you ever watched a horror movie – or any sort of movie, I suppose, though horror movies like this setup - where the character’s in a car, a battered old thing, turns the key in the ignition and the engine chokes? And the scared brunette – a blonde would never make it this far in a horror flick - keeps turning the key?
Can you remember the sounds?
The girl, panicked and pleading. The ghouls – or werewolves, aliens, crazed fisherman, whathaveyou – scrambling up the road. The click of the ignition, loud in the momentary silence-bubble of hope. The choking, halting sound rattling on and on as the engine refuses to start and the girl and ghouls refuse to stop.
And then, just when the girl and the audience have given up hope, there’s a satisfying rumble then a purr as the engine comes to life.
Waking up as a corpse is a bit like that.
Somewhere inside me there’s a panicked girl turning the ignition key.
And every time, it’s taking longer for the engine to start. The ghouls are getting closer.
There will come a time when the choking won’t stop, when the rattling isn’t interrupted by a purr of everything working as it should.
And I won’t wake up ever again.
The result of all this wierdness is these two bits of writing, which I suppose are the beginning and the end. The longer, middle bit may take a while.
Title Etcetera
Proposed Header Quotes:
The dead travel fast. - Dracula by BStroker
Even Death can be excused just one weakness. - Jane Yolen, Sister Death
Few things start when you die. By definition, it’s usually all about endings, things stopping forever: breaths, heartbeats, hope.
With death, “experiences” stop, and “processes” start. The cooling of the body and it’s eventual decomposition: this is all I ever expected to happen, had I expected anything at all.
Instead, the rest of my life happened. Now that’s something everyone will agree on: life definitely stops upon death.
I can’t say life went on - how could it? I was dead - so I’ll say another life started for me.
That of the living dead.
No, please, listen. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. I’ll be less dramatic about it, if you’ll only listen to the rest. (Though you must admit, it’s pretty far out there in the first place.)
I’ll start again. At the ending, which is the beginning.
Epilogue
It’s getting harder to wake up.
Every time I let go, it gets harder. My body, I suppose, has cooled through the night – though this being summer, the nights are kind - and needs some time to get itself started again. (I’m always room temperature now, which, it being summer, translates as “quite warm” during the days.) Lying on the ground, knowing the it and I are cold but unable to feel it, I imagine an engine within me. Not a pumping heart – not anymore – but some sort of generator, sparks flying around the mis-crossed and short-circuited wires.
Have you ever watched a horror movie – or any sort of movie, I suppose, though horror movies like this setup - where the character’s in a car, a battered old thing, turns the key in the ignition and the engine chokes? And the scared brunette – a blonde would never make it this far in a horror flick - keeps turning the key?
Can you remember the sounds?
The girl, panicked and pleading. The ghouls – or werewolves, aliens, crazed fisherman, whathaveyou – scrambling up the road. The click of the ignition, loud in the momentary silence-bubble of hope. The choking, halting sound rattling on and on as the engine refuses to start and the girl and ghouls refuse to stop.
And then, just when the girl and the audience have given up hope, there’s a satisfying rumble then a purr as the engine comes to life.
Waking up as a corpse is a bit like that.
Somewhere inside me there’s a panicked girl turning the ignition key.
And every time, it’s taking longer for the engine to start. The ghouls are getting closer.
There will come a time when the choking won’t stop, when the rattling isn’t interrupted by a purr of everything working as it should.
And I won’t wake up ever again.
