Friday, October 29, 2010

"Nights Divided, Happiness is Somewhere"

This is another one of those narrative prose style stories I keep meaning to write. I sit here, late in the evening on a Friday, laptop in front of me and I wonder....

On the first morning I was awoken from this terrible nightmare of a dream. Nothing in the world seemed close to me. Nothing seemed to matter.

Have I really wasted all of these years? Filling my life with needless wants, needless desires and fake people who care for nothing but themselves? Have I really turned into one of those people? Can I really be sure I am who I say I am?

What if the person I think I should be is just a dream, a dream I had when I was ten years old? How can you be sure that you exist when nothing you touch seems real? Everything that should have texture feels hollow on the inside.

Looking up at the sky, through the glass ceiling in the place I called "home", I begin to imagine if those red clouds really are supposed to be red. Can the world be different than how I'm seeing it now?

My eyes begin to dart around the room, trying to find something I can focus on, something that I can count on the be 'real'. Anything? Does anything seem to exist?

I begin to panic. A sudden realization has come over me, can it really be true? How could I have been living a lie all of these years?

Looking for something to grab onto, something to gain some balance in my life. Running through the hallways, peering into empty room after empty room.

A bead of sweat begins to roll down my forehead, my arms are too heavy to wipe it away. After a minute it begins to follow the contour of my eyebrow and makes contact with my eye.

Instinctively, I try to blink the salt away.

The world seemingly ceased to exist around me, everyone had chosen to move on.

Left alone and standing in the middle of a giant room. The echos of footsteps from a million years ago resound around me.

The walls start to cave in around me, pictures are falling off the wall. LIghts begin to smash on the hard concrete floor in front of my shoeless feet.

The red painted ceiling begins to crack at the edges, sunlight begins to fill the room.

Holding my hand up in front of my face to shield myself. I begin to feel a faint breeze move across the back of my hand.

My eyes begin to adjust to the new world around me, I begin to see shapes and colours I had not seen before. Was the grass always this green? Did the fish really swim in the water?

Directly before me is a road that goes in two directions.

To the left the road is no longer paved, it is twisted and bumpy. But the sun shines off in the distance.

To the right the road is perfectly paved and straight as a pin. Off in the distance a dark cloud hangs over head threating to impede my progress.

Which direction is the one to choose? The easy one on the right? Or the difficult one on the left? Where will my happiness finally take me?

Looking down each road I begin to get confused, which one will lead me to a better life? Which one will make sure that my children will be safe and provided for?

Spinning in a small circle, I begin to run.

Somewhere on the road ahead, a faint bump appears before me. As the days went ahead, the bump never did seem to get closer, the more I ran towards what I thought was my salvation, the further it seemed to move away from me.

That small, insignificant speck in the distance to which I had been running towards all of these years.

The very one that I had almost given up all hope in reaching and turning back to a life of despair.

That bump... that bump was you.

I have this habit of starting a story with the clear intention of making it about something, in this case a life of ruin and desperation. Somewhere along the way the story just grows and evolves, gathers a life of its own and runs away from me. This story is as factual as you'd like to take it, its also been embellish and expanded for the sake of the story. I will not disclose what is true and what isn't, that is for your assumptions.

Thursday, August 5, 2010


After some careful consideration, I've decided to give this whole "creative outlet" a go again. I'm not entirely sure what brought this about, but I shall take this and run with it. Lets just see what kind of stream-of-consciousness I can come up with at 1am on a Wednesday.

I have been reading and watching alot of stories about Zombies in the past several months. I figured it was time for my own little take on the entire genre, maybe with a twist?


Its the twelfth of August, and I feel as though I have been awake for months. I have not rested since the accident.

I can no longer remember the last time that I had a meal, especially one that satisfied my appetite. Did I even eat today?

When was the last time that I saw another person? Where was I going when the world ceased to exist around me for those few moments?

The only thing I remember was waking up on the pavement with the world scattered and covered in a sea of pain and misery. Glass and metal surrounded my outstretched body. Was I driving a car?

No one else was there. No one saw what happened. No one can help me.

The longer I walk the more alone I feel. I have been following a path set out before me. A thin grey line is draped across the world and I am destined to follow it.

Day after day I wander, trying to find the end to the line that God has provided for me.

Every day I try to imagine what is at the end of the path. Is it a warm meal? A hug from the woman I love?

Death would be a warm welcome from what I have endured. The countless animals I have attempted to use to survive on my journey.

Ahead of me the woods are changing and appear to be thinning out. The path has taken me to the beginning of a road, a paved road. Have I found salvation? Have I found the end to my journey?

As I cross through the brush, I can feel a change in the air. My sense of urgency has been replaced by caution and excitement.

I find myself concentrating on the sounds around me. I hear nothing.

The wind does not rustle the leaves in the trees, I can no longer feel the warmth of the air as it moves across my skin.

Looking around I begin to notice that the road does not feel as welcoming as I had hoped. There are no painted lines on this road, the houses do not appear to be in the best of shape anymore as if their best years were well behind them.

Across from me a family is out playing in their yard. Little Johnny notices me standing on the side of the road and points towards me. A ball rolls across the lawn in front of him, Johnny has forgotten all about the game of catch he was playing. A child does not easily forget about a game.

I try to force a smile across my dry, tired lips.

The mother looks up to see what little Jimmy is mesmerized about. Her eyes lock onto mine, I can see the look of shocked horror run across her face.

I see the pupils of her eyes dilating. I see the colour rushing towards her cheeks. I can see the muscles in her throat tighten as she is ready to say something.

She opens her mouth.

In the split second before she lets the world know of my presence, I begin to realize that something is not right. I should have not come through the woods. I was not meant to find this place.

Did I wander into a secret government location that no one was ever supposed to find?

My attention focuses back on the mother who shrieks in horror.

As the world around her freezes in reaction to what she has just done, I begin to take notice of what she might be afraid of.

The rest of the family begins to turn their head towards me. Under normal circumstances I would begin to feel shame for causing such a commotion, but today is different. I want them to notice me, I want them to be scared of me. The thrill excites me.

I look down to inspect my appearance before introducing myself to the family. The first thing I noticed was that the left side of my pants was torn from the knee down. And my leg was covered in dry blood.

A rock appears to be embedded in my leg, likely from the accident. Reaching down toward the rock I notice that the shape of it appears to be more uniform than what would be the normal shape of a rock. I run my finger over top of the rock and flick it towards to ground to remove it.

The rock stays firmly planted in my leg without any indication that it will be easily removed. I grasp the rock firmly between my fingers and pull. After I've pulled the rock out more I suddenly realize that it is not what I thought.

I let go and wonder to myself how it was possible for me to walk as long as I did with my shin sticking out through the front of my leg without feeling any pain.

The mother screams again, bringing me back to reality and the situation that I am currently in.

By the time the scream has finished for a second time, the hunger returns.

My nose picks up a delicious aroma coming from their lawn. Coming from their house.

Its been so long since I've eaten that I have no choice but to see if they will offer me food.

I begin to walk across the street. As I get closer, the smell is more attractive, making me crave it even more.

The family is still standing on their lawn as I reach the other side of the road, they are unable to move. Frozen in place by the sheer shock of seeing me approach in my current state.

As I the journey across their lawn, my entire thought process is destroyed by the need to eat.

Little Johnny is still standing behind is ball as I walk by and push him out of my way towards the delicious aroma. I approach the mother, who still has the scream frozen on her face.

I put my hands out in front of me, to which I will notice later are missing fingers and are horribly discoloured.

Wrapping my fingers around her shoulders was enough of a signal to awaken her from her daze and begin struggling. But by then it is too late.

My face is already buried in her neck feeling the warmth of her body against me as I taste her flesh for the first time.

Now that I've written that it seems to be darker than I had originally intended. Then again, its hard to write a happy Zombie story. When was the last time that a story was told from the point of view of a Zombie?