Bright Lights, Big City

I finally got around to writing a new short story.  I hope to get back to my zombie story in the next few weeks, but I wanted to write something different as a warm up.  I’m sure there are errors, but here it is.  As always,  I would love to hear what you think.

****

This was my first time in a big city.  My first time leaving more than 30 miles from my hometown as well.  Everything I was expecting I had heard from friends or seen on television.  At 17 years old, I didn’t know much, but I thought I knew the world like the back of my hand.

As we continued along the interstate and traffic started to slow and then eventually halt completely, I looked down from the overpass we were on and could see the miniature people strolling along the streets living their lives.  I wanted to be among them.  I wanted desperately to get my first taste of city life, to walk up and down the busy streets and enjoy the hustle and bustle of the steel jungle.

The Captivity of Captain John Smith: Through the Eyes of a Native

I wrote this as a final paper for American Lit 1; it’s a retelling of the captivity of John Smith through the eyes of a Native American.   I wrote it as a frame story the same way Washington Irving did with “Rip Van Winkle.”  It’s not my normal style of writing, but I hope you like it.

****

A collection of papers was recently discovered upon the desk of the missionary William Bradstreet after his death.  These papers offer extraordinary accounts of life in the early Americas.  Many of the papers were transcripts of interviews Bradstreet conducted with early settlers in the colonies; others were interviews with slaves and natives. Each interview offers invaluable insight into the lives of the men and women attempting to survive in the new world.  One such transcript was an interview with an unnamed native who witnessed the captivity of Captain John Smith of the Jamestown colony.  I cannot speak to the validity of the account, but only say that the papers were authentic.  The text has been unaltered from the original version.

*The following is an account of the capture of John Smith told to me nearly 10 years after the fact, upon a visit to Jamestown, Virginia.  The man telling the story was in his thirties, or so he seemed, you can never really tell with the natives.  His tale is as follows:

The first time I saw Captain John Smith I had just become a man.  I was now able to hunt and fish, and able to attack and defend my village in times of war.  Being young, I had learned English as a child spying on the white men, as we would often do, and was able to understand it better than I could speak at that time.

A Short Little Easter Skit

This is a little comedy sketch I wrote for Easter.  Hopefully, you will think it is funny.  It’s two characters; they alternate speaking the whole way through.

****

“Dude, all I’m saying is that if I see someone hanging on a cross and left to die, and then 3 days later he is walking around town, my first thought is not that he arose from the dead.”

“What other possible explanation could there be?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Where do I begin?  The most logical explanation is that my eyes were playing tricks on me.  You know they probably saw some guy decked out in Jesus old robes.  It’s not like he could use them anyways.  I mean, how many guys with long hair and a beard do you think were roaming around the city in those days?  Or maybe he didn’t die to begin with, maybe he got taken down when no one was looking? The soldiers didn’t break any of his bones after all, right?  Just a man on a cross with a bunch of flesh wounds.”

“Really, is that the best you have? I expected a little more from you.”

“Whatever, dude.  Go pray to your zombie savior.”

“Zombie?  Jesus is nothing like a zombie.”

“I beg to differ.  According to your tale, he died, and then he came back to life a few days later.  I’m pretty sure that constitutes being a zombie.  Not to mention that he just aimlessly roams around the city for a few days, not needing to eat or drink.  Come on, if that’s not a zombie, I don’t know what is.”

“Jesus was not a zombie; God brought him back to life.  Why is that so hard to believe? He was crucified on the cross to die for our sins and on the third day he was raised from the dead.”

“That seems illogical to me.  Why would you wait 3 days to bring someone back to life?  Especially if you have all of the power of heaven and earth at your disposal.  However, if he was slowly becoming a zombie, then it could take up to 3 days for him to turn.”

“There is no point in arguing with you.”

“Whatever, man.  Go hunt some eggs.”

a leave of absence

I’m going to be taking a break from this blog for a few weeks do to a ton of writing I have to do for school.  I have quite a few papers to write and and am doing a creative writing project for the final in my American Lit class.  I’ll probably post it on here once I finish.  I am still writing down story ideas, but won’t be writing anything for this blog for the next few weeks.

Untitled Spy Story

This is meant to be a possible origin story for a piece of artwork by an artist I have come to like.  I can’t really give much more detail than that at the moment, but I hope you enjoy.

****

The first time Serena Vanderbilt ever shot a gun, she was 8 years old.

“I think she is too young to be shooting guns,” says her mother.

“It’s perfectly safe.  We’ll be at the range and I’ll be watching her,” says her father.

“James, you know how I feel about the subject.” She puts her hand on the counter of the large island in their kitchen.  The room is spacious and shiny.  The sheen from the stainless steel appliances reflects the openness of the room, making the two figures seem like pawns on a chessboard.  “And my mind is not going to change anytime soon.  I have a hard enough time dealing with what you do.  This opens the gates so that she can follow in your footsteps. Don’t we want more than that from our little girl?”

I Can’t Get No (Satisfaction From Zombies) pt. 3

“Man, it’s dark in here,” says Jamie.

“Just give it a minute,” says Derick, “your eyes will adjust.”

All four of them slowly walk into the house, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.  After a few minutes, Derick directs them to the kitchen.  Jaime opens the fridge first, it’s still cool inside even without power.

“The family couldn’t have left more than a few days ago.” Says Jamie, “all the fruits and vegetables are wilted, but you can probably still eat them.”

Paula opens a cabinet above the sink. “Ooh, chips and crackers anyone?”

“I’ll take that bag of Doritos,” says Jake.

Derick walks over to the fridge.  He reaches in and grabs a carton of milk and takes a sniff. “Ugh, putrid.”  He takes a juice instead.

Turn Off the Radio (The Zombies are Coming)

Instead of continuing my story from two weeks ago (which I will get back to) I wrote a story loosely based on one of my internet compadres Sam.  I don’t really know her, since she lives in Brooklyn, but she seems kind of cool.  I figured if I wrote about someone I actually know, they might get pissed if I portray them wrong or whatever.  I think this story turned out really well, and it is one of the longer ones I have written.  As always,  I appreciate criticism, it’s the only way I’ll know what I’m doing wrong, and right.   Also, if you would like a story written about you, drop me an email or a DM me on twitter.  Without further ado, here is her story:

********

“Take that, you fucking cunt!” says Sam as she bashes in its head with a baseball bat.  The nails driven through the end of the bat suction as she pulls it back and forth attempting to release it.   Finally, a piece of skull breaks off and the bat is hers again.  “So, how many is that this week?  13 ,14?” she asks.

Dexter reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small notepad, and responds, “15 counting the two this morning.”

“They were just midgets though, so they should only count as one, right?”

“They’re not midgets Sam, they’re kids.”  He says with a sigh.

“Since when do you remember kids trying to rip out your fucking throat?”  She looks at the end of the bat and then begins picking out little specks of grey matter.  “A Z is a Z is a Z, remember? Blah, blah, blah, they’re not human anymore.  All of that bullshit.”

“Fine, call them what you want, it’s still a kill a piece.”   He begins cutting off the head of the lifeless corpse.  “This should get us enough gas to power the generator for at least 2 days.”

“Damnit, I got brains on my dress again.”  Sam is clad in a purple prom dress from 1985.  It’s ripped off around her knees as not to trip her or get hung up in a fight.  Her biker boots come up to where the dress ends.  Her hair is messy and loose, the brunette strands hanging down her back.  She doesn’t wear any makeup anymore, it always runs when she sweats and she figures what’s the point anyway.

Dexter is small, about 5’5” and wearing a black button up with a white skinny tie.  Traces of blood cover the tie.  He wears jeans with biker boots tucked under and has black rimmed glasses that draw attention to his beady eyes.  He is over confident for his size and Sam often compares him to Napolean.

“Ok, Sam” he says, “let’s get moving.  You know these fuckers feast at night.”

No Post This Week

My girlfriend is in town for Valentine’s and I’ve been pretty busy. I should have one ready for next week, though.

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction From Zombies pt. 2

There is something about life or death situations that changes people. Some gravitate toward one another and look to find the companionship they have craved for so long, others take to self-preservation and annihilate anyone or anything that gets in their way, and there are those that seem to find a place somewhere in between. Three hours have passed since we last left our group of companions. After traveling down the edges of the highway for about 10 miles, they have come upon a small group of houses.
“You guys wait out here,” says Derick. “I’ll go in and check the house.”
“Ok, be careful,” says Jake. He turns to Jamie, “How’s your arm feeling, kiddo?”
“Are you serious? What are you, like one year older than me?” says Jamie.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I said that.” His cheeks blush lightly. “Anyways, how’s the arm?”

“It’s alright; as good as it can be at the moment at least.”

(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction from Zombies pt. 1

As the sun begins to set across the desert horizon, a small group of people, 2 men and 2 women, are walking down an empty highway.  They seem unnerved.  One of the women, in her early 20s, is crying while holding her left arm.  She has long blonde hair down to her shoulder blades.  Her body is small, fragile like a child’s:

“We’re in a fucking desert, there is no way those things can survive out here,” Says one of the men.  He is tall, tan and well built.  His black hair blows gently in the wind. “It’s got to be too hot.” He looks at the other guy, “right?”

“I don’t know. I’m a first year med student, what the fuck am I supposed to know about zombies?”  He shakes his head in frustration and then turns to the small framed blonde.  “Let me take a look at your arm.”

She sheepishly walks over to him and lifts up her arm for inspection.  He takes her arm and looks it over it, casually but cautiously, as someone would examine fruit before purchase. “We’re gonna need to clean this up.” He reaches down into a satchel hanging by his side. “What exactly did you say happened again?”