Some zombie fan fic

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Some zombie fan fic

Post  dieu_du_soleil 2 on Fri Sep 02, 2011 4:59 pm

Hey guys! I have been recently working on my creative writing, and have found it much harder than the essays my teachers make me do at school. At the moment, I am working on a pointless zombie story to try and hone my meager talents. If you guys could read this first part, I'd really appreciate it! Criticism is appreciated and encouraged. I am warning you now, its a little long....



Harold sat hunched over his keyboard, focused very intently on the giant computer screen in front of him. He looked worn and tired; the room he was in was cluttered with food wrappings, soda cans, and water bottles.

"Dear Facebook," the white-hat hacker wrote in an e-mail to the company he was currently free-lancing for, "You gentlemen are woefully unprepared for November 5th, and I urge you greatly to reconsider messing with your current enemies. They will tear through you like they tore through PBS and Sony. Unfortunately for you though, the blow-back of losing all your information will be considerably worse. I advise trying to-" Suddenly, his screen turned blank, and the lights went out in the medium sized room.

"What? What just happened?" Harry muttered to himself. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. NO! Please be some practical joke. Please let it be a dead monitor, or all my lamps burned out simultaneously, or small dwarfs invaded my house and chewed through all the wires because they love the taste of rubber! Anything but a power outage! GRAAAAGHHHGHH!"

As Harold panicked around the dark room, banging his shins against computers, printers, tables, and other gadgets in failed attempts to find the door, he screamed. Loudly. His scream sounded like that of teenage girl that just got scared and excited at the same time during a long drop at an amusement park ride. He groaned and moaned and generally expressed his anger and misery in every imaginable way possible. Harold was having this considerable outburst because he just lost a bet. Not just any bet, but one of the greatest bets of his life. He and one of his friends had received a challenge from a hacking group. If Harold and his colleague could stop the group, they would be publicly acknowledged as two of the greatest coders on Earth. They had almost won too, except the bet was about to end in five minutes and Harold could no longer work.

Harold's venting had always been a very cacophonous event, and he had even been forced to move because of his tremendous temper tantrums. Due to the uproar he constantly caused when he messed up a line of code or his computer started going very slowly, this room was completely sound-proofed. No matter how loud he could scream, not even the keenest person outside his door would hear. This served another purpose too, as Harold did not always do perfectly legal things, and when he was concentrating, he tended to talk out loud. The dampeners spread around various key points in his office eliminated all possibility of others overhearing what he was up to. Harold was very proud of this, mostly because he had set up the system of carpets, foam, and various other padding himself.

When he finally stumbled awkwardly out of his office, Harold went to the kitchen. He felt that he needed some release, and the kitchen with the abnormally large fridge, impressive microwave, and gargantuan skylight, was the one place that always helped him relax. But this time, he was surprised by the scene that greeted him. There, in front of him, was his favorite plant. It was sitting there, on his counter, three times bigger than what it had been! Not only that, but the plant had grown to his eye level. It was giving off its usual scent, an intoxicating smell that Harold absolutely adored.

He danced up to this greatest invention of nature, and tore off a branch. As he peeled off its leaves, he imagined the great time in store for him. Harold carefully laid out the damp leaves onto the special drying bench in his backyard, veritably shaking with joy as he saw with his mind’s eye how he would light up, and all his troubles would disappear.

He rolled up a small, already dried piece from the previous day and went to hook up his inverter. He had an elaborate system of deep-cycle batteries powered by solar panels in case of a sudden power outage such as the one going on.

But, another, much less pleasant smell entered his nostrils as he hummed and worked. It was terrible, worse than rancid meat mixed with rotten eggs. As the cripplingly foul smell entered Harold's nose, he thought he was going to vomit. If not for the strong smell the plant gave off he would have let loose everything he had eaten in the past four days.

Harold decided to investigate the origin of the fetid stench, and walked around the house, up to the metal gate in front of his walkway. The scene outside was bizarre. People were walking randomly around in the street.

"Is today Wander-Aimlessly-in-the-Middle-of-the-Street Day? Strange, I usually know about all the weird holidays," he mumbled to himself.

Then, he noticed a major car crash in the middle of the street. Both cars were more folded than accordions. To Harold it looked as though one car had gone into the approaching lane, and had collided head-on.

This is normally such a calm neighborhood, wonder why anyone would do that, Harold thought. Unless they were swerving to avoid something... Hope the people in that mess are OK. Why is everyone in the street ignoring it? And not a cop, fire truck, or ambulance in sight! Harold felt a chill go down his spine. What the hell is going on?!?

One of the people in the street noticed him looking out the gate, and began to make his way towards the house. Harold was increasingly suspicious and took a careful look towards the person walking at him with arms outstretched. He was a middle-aged man in a gray t-shirt and cargo pants, with disheveled blond hair and blue-looking skin.

Harold was a pretty smart guy and could put two and two together; the four he got disturbed him. It disturbed him enough that, with the speed of lighting, he rushed into his house, closed the blinds over his window, pushed his dining table in front of the door, and ran screaming all the way back to his dark office.

"OHMYGOD IT'S A ZOMBIE!" Harold shrieked. He was completely unprepared for this. Yes, he had discussed with his friends and fellow hackers what would happen if there was a zombie outbreak, but he never thought one would actually occur. And now here he was, hiding in a dark, soundproof room, trying to stay as far as he could from the recently deceased walking corpse that was surely banging on his gate. Desperately trying to remember tips from some of his more unusual friends, he pulled out his phone- a new smart phone that he had gotten on a discount because of a job for a major phone company- and found one of his texting conversations about zombies.

"A weapon is priority one," Harold told himself as he scrolled through the bright screen that was starting to hurt his eyes in the otherwise black room. "Let’s see, I don't have a baseball bat, or a machete. Hedge clippers! That's it!" It looked to Harold like smoking that wondrous monster of a plant would turn out to be a good habit after all.

He rushed out into his tool shed in the backyard, and carried back into the house every blunt and sharp tool he owned. When all of his gardening supplies were lying in his living room he thought of food. He then proceeded to get every cup of noodles, bag of chips, and piece of candy lying around the house, and dumped it all next to the tools. Next came water and soft drinks. Finally, Harold loving placed his plant in an especially reserved space directly next to the weapons. If he needed to make a run for it, it would be the second thing he could grab.

Then, Harold sat down on the floor of his office, exhausted yet strangely hyper from the adrenalin pumping through his veins. The power had finally turned on as the inverted came to life, but even then only a few light bulbs and the fridge were receiving any electricity.

I can go and make a run for it, he pondered, but there seem to be a lot of zombies out there and I don't think I wanna risk it. I think the only other thing I can do is to stay here, try to make this place a fortress, and figure out a plan of escape if the zombies ever break into the house.

Harold began to make his house a makeshift castle. First, he dragged away the dining table he had previously moved in front of the door, and instead shoved a sturdy chair under the door handle. He found some cardboard boxes and nailed them over most of his windows so that the corpses outside couldn't see in. He then took the table apart and nailed the top over one of the larger windows near the front door. The legs he piled on the floor in case of some other need.

By the time Harold finished fortifying his house, it was completely dark. Outside he heard the increasingly incessant beating of at least twenty fists upon his metal gate and the front of his house. They seemed to all be clamoring to get through the now dented gate through which they had first spotted him, and he suspected that they were slowly spreading out across the front of the house, trying to find a better way in. Tired and scared, Harold pumped up a blow up mattress in his already cramped office and collapsed. Apocalypse or no, after a few hours of restlessness, sleep finally won over his nerves.

The week passed by slowly for Harold. He had nothing to do except eat, sleep, and read boring technical manuals on coding and programming languages. The first day he was occupied with making his escape plan- in which he carefully thought to avoid any and all possible places a zombie might be. For Harold, this included shopping malls, hospitals, schools, and police stations. But after that, there was nothing Harold could really do to pass the time. Meanwhile, Harold suspected that while he was turtled up in his home, the situation outside his crudely constructed fort was rapidly deteriorating.

By the end of the first week, Harold was having a major logistics problem. He had run out of food, and was going to starve if he didn't find something to eat immediately. It wasn't helping that he got the munchies whenever he got bored enough to smoke another leaf. Harold was deathly afraid of going outside to scavenge from another house. The zombies outside were still in full force and the wave that had spotted him had only attracted more by its restless pounding on his front door. Towards the end of the day, Harold finally worked up enough courage to very carefully venture outside through his backyard, which was thankfully free of the undead. Once again, his less than legal habits saved his skin, since the tall fence around the entire property was used to keep prying eyes and curious faces away from the drying bench in his backyard, and appeared to be a surprisingly effective barrier against the zombies, as well.

Before the outbreak, when people were still alive, Harold had incurred some static with his neighbors for the plant he essentially worshiped. Harold had been forced to bribe his immediate neighbors with the occasional privilege of taking a small branch from his plant. For this purpose, he had installed two gates on either side of the house. Harold now used one of them to gain entry into his neighbor’s backyard.

How am I going to get inside the house? These guys never gave me a key.... Fortunately, the sliding glass door in the back was broken open, and Harold used that as his entrance, carefully avoiding all the suspicious brown liquid lining the jagged edges.

Once inside, Harold made a bee-line for the kitchen, stuffing all the dry food and cans he could fit into the backpack he had brought along. Curiosity did not get the better of him in that house. All he wanted to do was get in and out faster than though a fast food restaurant. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he nervously stuffed cans of corn and peas into a backpack, constantly looking around him and tightening his grip on the hedge clippers every time he imagined something moving in the shadows. The smell in the house was unbearable, and Harold was sure that one of the zombies was still nearby. When the last bag of Doritos was hastily stuffed into the already overflowing backpack, Harold made a run for his own yard. As he came up to the fence separating the two houses, he came to a full stop. Harold had foolishly left the gate open in his hurry to get to the other house and back.

The sudden increase in smell hit Harold harder than a bulldozer, and he vomited right there on the spot. As soon as he did, he heard a groaning very close by. One of the walking corpses had wandered into his backyard. As he peeked around the gate to his own home, he saw the thing stumbling around in his general direction. It seemed to be having lots of trouble figuring out where to go, and Harold saw that part of its head was smashed in. Its face was covered in blood, RED blood, which Harry assumed had been recently liberated from his former neighbor.

Harold's mind was racing. Oh God. What do I do now? Should I just try to kill it, see just how these things can be combated? I should just book it right now; I can't fight one of those things. But my plant? Oh man, I can't leave that! He began to hyperventilate. Alright, calm down you friggin coward, what’s the best way to go around doing this.

Meanwhile, the zombie had finally seen Harold, and began making its way toward him, trying to run, but instead constantly stumbling and only managing to do a very stiff shuffle.

Suddenly the zombie tripped over a hose in the middle of the yard. As it struggled to get back up, Harold saw his chance. He ran around the writhing thing as it lunged at him from the ground. Swinging the clippers open over his head, Harold made a large stabbing motion and stuck one of the blades into the zombie's neck. A jet of vile smelling brownish-red liquid squirted out of the puncture. Harold threw up his arm and recoiled just in time to block the stream of decomposing blood. He then looked at what he had done to the zombie. It was lying motionless in his yard, spine severed, clippers sticking up into the sky like a macabre flag.

Harold began to vomit again.

dieu_du_soleil 2

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Re: Some zombie fan fic

Post  darkhopper on Fri Sep 02, 2011 8:02 pm

Perhaps I will read this later. Little long for right now -.-
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darkhopper

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Re: Some zombie fan fic

Post  Mister_Tape on Sun Sep 04, 2011 11:38 pm

I could so something less epicer Surprised

Steve woke up on the beach. All he remembered was skill's. This was his ovar 9000th timed respawning. "Thats a very nice life you have Tsssss..." Boom. Steve was dead again. Game over.

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Re: Some zombie fan fic

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