Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Three Steps

The caravan was gone for weeks looking for generators to power the lights around the compound’s perimeter. Fences had been fortified and walkways established, but still people preferred the safety of their homes to the courtyards.

Cora had been pacing since the caravan left with her husband two weeks ago. Being the soldier he was, Oliver offered to travel alongside the caravan to help fend off the sea of undead. He left Cora safely behind the fence, alone.

While the distant moans could not penetrate the walls of her home, Cora knew they were out there past the fences feasting on what was left of humanity. She hoped Oliver was safe, but it was not looking so good. The round trip should have taken a week at most, and now with every day that passed she grew more and more anxious.

The pacing had started inside the confines of her safe house but progressed to the front gates of the compound. No matter how many times Cora checked the front door or the gate, Oliver was not there.

Moonlight flickered off the new fence as she walked the perimeter, occasionally passing a patrolman with a torch. No words were ever exchanged; each pretended the other didn’t exist. Cora tried to focus on the movement of her feet and the sound of her heart in her ears instead of the moans on the other side of the fence.

Stopping at the front gate, Cora stared down the dusty gravel road. There were no lights in the distance; only shadows of what were once people staggering across the road in different places. One more time around the perimeter and she would retire to pacing her safe house.

Around the corner, Cora spotted people in the park on the other side of the fence. She walked closer to get a better look; it was a man and a woman. Their faces were emotionless, but he held her hand with the utmost care. Cora found it hard to believe that they were undead like the others.

Cora sat quietly on the ground and placed a hand over her mouth, watching the couple. They made their way slowly toward the old swing set. The man helped his partner gently into the swing. She stared blankly at the heavens as he pushed her softly.

The next day, Cora did not pace. She sat at her small dinner table, set for two, and cried into her coffee. That evening she slipped into the night filled with the eerie call of the undead.

The couple was closer to Cora’s house than they were the night before, under the tree that overhung the old campgrounds. They sat across from each other at an old picnic table. Again Cora sat down, rested her elbows on her knees, and watched.

The man leaned across the table and brushed the hair from the woman’s brow with broken fingers, trailing blood across her forehead and cheek. It glistened in the moonlight. She tilted her head and followed his face with her cloudy eyes. He softly brushed her lips and covered the top her hand with his own.

Cora felt jealous of the couple. Their love was so great it passed into their next life. She didn’t want to think that Oliver might not make it back, but there was a nagging pang in the pit of her stomach. What if he’s wandering around, undead? Would he be looking for her?

In her dreams, she saw the couple very much alive, picnicking on a red gingham blanket in the courtyard. The woman’s crimson smile spread wide as she fed her partner grapes that sparkled like rubies on the vine. They laughed, kissed, and basked in the company of the other, while Cora sat alone in the dirt.

The pacing began again. Her thoughts were consumed with images of the couple. Each night she crept into the courtyard and watched their show of affection. While it wasn’t quite like she remembered, it was most definitely love, and she ached for it.

The perimeter was still unlit three weeks after the caravan left. Cora made her way around the grounds looking for the couple, but they were gone. With a heavy heart, she headed home

As she rounded the corner, she saw the silhouette of a man. He was standing quietly by the fence. Cora’s heart stopped.

“Oliver,” she breathed and ran toward him, but stopped short. His eyes were milky white, and blood stained his lips. His uniform was ripped, his hair matted. He stood there unbroken.

She took a step closer. Oliver didn’t move. There was one long stride separating them.

She stepped closer, and he stuck his fingers through the chain link and pressed his face to the fence.

One more step, and she entwined her fingers with his. She pressed in close to him, her heart racing. He stood perfectly still as she touched his face and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan.

Cora gathered her determination and her strength and attempted to force her hand into Oliver’s mouth. His eyes shot open and he pushed away from her, stumbling backwards.

“Where’s your teeth?” Cora said in a panic.

Oliver stepped backwards.

Cora threw herself at the fence, “Where’s your teeth, Oliver! Where’s your teeth!”

Oliver took another step backwards as his wife flung herself into the fence screaming and moaning uncontrollably.

He took one more step backwards as campus patrol rounded the corner. Thru milky eyes, Oliver watched Cora’s rabid expression explode into the night.

Guidelines:

• Word count: maximum 1,000
• The story must be a romance between two zombies. Make it as horrific as you like. ;)
• Stories containing animal cruelty, torture, graphic sex or violence, any form of exaltation of violence, racism or other forms of prejudice will be immediately disqualified.
• Post your entry on your own blog, with a title resembling this:

Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Story Title

• Leave your story title and a link to the story entry post as a comment at mari's randomities: http://marisrandomities.blogspot.com/
• Copy and paste the contest logo and the guidelines at the end of your entry post.

Note: If you have any doubts, please give me a shout on the comments or through the #ZombieLuv hashtag. ;)

My Real Friend

When my grandmother died, she left me a handwritten note. It was so very dear to me that I hid it... from myself.

While I continue to search for my Grandmother's letter, I want to leave behind written mementos for those who have influenced ME in some way. To create a tradition to honor my Grandmother.

Welcome to "Sincere Monday":


Dear Kemari,

Remember when we were just online “friends,” writing trash on other people’s blogs on MySpace (circa 2005)? When I learned of your plans to move to Phoenix, too, I asked you, “Will you be my real friend?” I was dead serious. I am such a dork… you know this.

I made it to Arizona before you did, but once you got there, you introduced me to Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts Ice Coffee, and Bookman’s. We mixed food, drinks, and conversation. We battled heat, kids, and annoying teachers. We cursed at traffic, stupid people, and vacationed at IKEA.

It was amazingly fun, and I was so lucky to have a friend in a city full of aliens – not all illegal, but otherworldly to me. I was so used to being surrounded by family in Oklahoma, that I was scared, anxious, and too nervous to venture out on my own. You were fearless, a quality I greatly admire, and together, I am sure we could have divided and conquered that great city… if it weren’t too hot that day, and we didn’t have something else better to do ;-).

You encouraged me to write more, and I did. For NaNoWriMo (2008), I switched projects half way through the month after you suggested I work on the piece I was “saving for later”. I can’t thank you enough for that… I probably never would have started it, and while I am not finished with that novel, I am so proud of it and how far I have come.

It’s been almost a year since I moved, and I am really missing you. Especially this time of the year, when the kids are out of school, and I know we could be hanging out. I miss being able to run my ridiculous ideas by you and you telling what you thought, often encouraging the madness.

I miss the laughs, the smack talk, Jessie’s smile, and Jordan’s jokes… any WIFI havin’ pizza/fast food joint where we could sit with our laptops out – not necessarily writing… just hanging out like friends do.

THANKFULLY…

There is the Interwebz, IM, and cell phones. Message me when you’re on; I have some ideas to run by you. <3

Sincerely,
~2


Kemari Howel is a freelance editor, amazingly beautiful writer, and a fierce friend. I honestly don't know what I would do without her. If you're in need of editing services feel free to contact her at LiterarySeamstress@gmail.com - tell her 2mara sent you ;-)

*Note: this post as not been edited AT ALL

Choose or... DIE!!!

I am excited to be taking part in the most awesome of projects...



Your choice determines the path of the story and ultimately your fate.

Check out the website http://chooseordie.blogspot.com/ - follow it, fan it on Facebook, bookmark it, tell your family, spam your friends... whatever, just get the word out.

The first story is starting soon. Check out this awesome trailer:



I can't wait for the adventure to begin. Will you make the right choice?

~2

The Painting on the Wall

Brian watched as Avery squeezed several large grubs and rubbed their pulp vigorously between the palms of his hands, shucking off their crusty hulls. No one in the chamber seemed to notice; they just danced wildly to the rhythmic pulsing of the music.

“Open your hands!” Avery shouted, nodding towards Brian.

“I’m going to be sick, Avery. I am not touching that.”

“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Brian. Open your hands!”

Brian’s face was pinched with sickness as Avery slapped the thick mess into his palms. It was strangely cool and calming.

“Rub them together, “Avery said.

Brian began to massage the grubs in his hands, feeling their bodies break down, and releasing the delicious smell of burned marshmallows. Brian’s eyes widened as his hands began to glow an electric blue.

“What is this?” he asked.

Brian had heard rumors of Avery’s shady dealings, and though he had never experienced it first hand, he was still skeptical.

“Wait for it,” Avery smiled, “You’ve never experienced anything like it.” The hairs on Brian’s arms were standing on end, and he was aware of every square inch of his flesh. It danced in time with the music.

“I found these… things, in a crack in the wall behind that big Eden Corporation poster. I accidentally smashed one.”

“Incredible.” Brian couldn’t take his eyes of the brilliant blue paste that was running down his arms and dripping from his elbows.

“You’re an artist… paint me something,” Avery said grabbing Brian by the shoulders and pushed him toward the corner of the room. Brian pressed the paint to the wall and began feeling the surface out with his hands.

“My clientele awaits.” Avery started toward his other guests but stopped, “Oh hey, I almost forgot.” He pulled a brown piece of paper from his pocket, “Open your mouth.”

“What is it?” Brian scratched his chin, smearing grub across his face and neck.

“Does it really matter?”

Brian hesitated for a moment then shook his head and opened his mouth in acceptance.

***

“Hey,” Pete stared at his brother through the railing of the top bunk. “Hey asshole, wake up.” He poked him in the face.

Brian swatted his brother’s hand. “Leave me alone… sleeping.”

“You need to get your lazy ass up and clean this mess. You’re fifteen for crying out loud. You’re supposed to be the responsible one!”

“Ugh… what mess?” Brian rolled to his side and opened his eyes. His room was covered in blue paint. Lewd drawings and profanity were on every wall; all in the same electric blue. “I didn’t do that!”

“You sure as hell did! You’re just as blue as these walls. And this,” Pete pointed to a picture by his desk, “dick sucking stuff… better come off, or so help me, I will kill you.”

Brian tried not to laugh at the photo of Pete with a large penis painted behind his head, “OK, OK! I will clean it up.” He rolled onto his back and looked at his hands. They were caked with blue grub guts. He vaguely remembered being at Low End with Avery.

While Pete continued to curse him for his art, Brian looked closely at the painting above his bed. It was an ongoing project, but now the image on the ceiling had a fresh coat of blue paint. He was amazed by the detail on the portrait of Jen. He hadn’t seen her since she disappeared before this year’s matching ceremony.

“Who’s Jen?” Pete shouted from their bathroom.

“What?” Brian blinked as he stared into the eyes of the painting above his head.

“Jen? Does Rachel know about her?”

“Can we not talk about Rachel?” Brian shuttered. The mention of her name caused his stomach to turn. They were to be married in the coming months, and Brian still despised her. He closed his eyes and imagined squeezing her in his hands and painting her on the walls.

“Jen is the lucky one… miles above basking in the sun.”

“What?”

“That is what it says in here. Jen is the lucky one… miles above basking in the sun. It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Pete walked back into the room.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What’s that on your neck?” Pete pointed.

Brian reached his hand to his neck and felt a grub attached to his skin. He could feel his pulse in its fat belly and pulled it off.

Pete’s face contorted in disgust as Brian began to rub his hands together. “This is how I made this paint,” he said. “Look.” Brian opened the palms of his hands, but this time red coated his skin and dripped from his fingers.

Brian managed a weak “Oh… “ before hitting the floor.

“Grow up, Brian,” Pete rolled his eyes and left his brother lying in the mess he’d created.



I cannot thank Kemari Howell (literaryseamstress@gmail.com) enough for her editing expertise and patience with me and my brainworms. You're awesome, Kemari!

I Cheated

When my grandmother died, she left me a handwritten note. It was so very dear to me that I hid it... from myself.

While I continue to search for my Grandmother's letter, I want to leave behind written mementos for those who have influenced ME in some way. To create a tradition to honor my Grandmother.

Welcome to "Sincere Monday":


Dear Mrs. Dauman (2nd Grade),

I am sorry I cheated in your class room. It was very hard to resist looking up the answers that were so cleverly hidden in the back of my reader. It saved time, and quite honestly, the stories were incredibly boring (and pointless).

Who had the bright idea to put the answers in the back of the books anyway, and how stupid do you think a second grader is? Maybe it's just me, but if the answers are clearly written in the book I am reading, I don't believe I should be held accountable for writing them down.

I guess I am not really sorry that I cheated; I am more upset that I was caught and accosted by you in the girl's bathroom.

Second grade sucked!
Sincerely,
~2

Baby Collector

Repossessing children was not originally on Leo Barnes’s list of job responsibilities, nor was disposing of them. Thanks to a rogue doctor, twelve children had been genetically altered before their incubation, and now these defects had to be recalled and destroyed.

With the help of fellow chairman Reginald Foster, all but one child had been collected and returned to the Eden Corporation. This remaining child was Leo’s to acquire.

“Barnes, if this is going to be a problem, I can collect the child for you,” Foster said sliding the microscope toward Leo.

“There is no problem,” Leo glanced thru the lens to view the specimen; nothing looked out of place, but then he didn’t know what he was looking for. “I will pick up the child first thing in the morning.”

“Let me know if you would like me to accompany you.”

He did not reply, he simply continued to look at the slide until Foster left the Genetics Lab. He waited until he heard the swish of the doors then let out the breath he had been holding.

Leo slumped into a chair and rested his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and let the tremors consume him.

He had hoped the twenty-seven flights of stairs down to his living quarters would clear his head, but all he could think about were tiny fingers and toes as he ran down the last three flights.

When Leo finally pushed open the doors to his home, a small child lay on a blanket in the living room floor, sucking on her hands and kicking her tiny feet. He walked toward her, but heard the clink of glass in the kitchen and headed that way.

“Rebecca,” Leo called for his wife. She was pouring a glass of wine with another baby on her hip.

“Hello, dear,” She smiled; her face already warm from a previous glass. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He stared at the child.

Rebecca took the baby’s hand and waved at her husband, “Hello, Uncle Leo,” she said in a sweet little voice. This made the child smile, exposing a single tooth. Leo melted, grabbed the baby from his wife, and covered her with kisses. “Oh, Natty,” Leo grinned, “I got your sugars.” She giggled as he hugged her close.

The baby in the other room began to cry. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Rebecca said as she grabbed the bottle of wine and walked into the living room. She sat down on the floor close to the baby, tickled the bottom of its feet, and ran her fingers through the child’s dark hair.

Leo sat Natty beside the baby on the floor. They instantly grabbed hands and began to babble incoherently.

“Rebecca, you really think this is going to work?

“It has to. It will be too late for Emily to notice tonight, and Eden will take her early in the morning,” Rebecca said. She stared blankly at the children in front of her.

“Well. Let’s just hope nothing goes wrong.”

Tears began to trickle down Rebecca’s face. “Eden will make sure Walt and Emily forget, right?”

“I hope so,” Leo uttered.

After dinner and baths for both children, Leo and Rebecca changed them into their pajamas and laid them down to rest. Natty slept quietly in their bedroom, while the other child lay in a bassinet in the living room.

It was getting late, when Emily finally arrived. “Hello, dear,” Rebecca said as she wrapped her arms around her guest.

“How was Natalie?” Emily asked.

“An absolute joy,” Rebecca smiled.

“Thank you for watching her, Aunt Rebecca. We never seem to get a break these days.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Rebecca steadied herself as she reached for the child in the bassinet, “I went ahead and changed her into her pajamas, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it when you got home.”

“Thank you so much.” Emily took the wrapped child into her arms. “She gets heavier each day.”

“Well, she did eat some pasta,” Rebecca winked. Emily laughed.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Well get some rest. I will see you soon.” Rebecca kissed both Emily and child on the cheek and walked them out the door. She waved until Emily stepped into the elevator, closed the door, and sank to the floor.

After helping Rebecca to bed, Leo decided to take a walk. Three flights of stairs later, he was standing in front of his colleague Reginald Foster’s living quarters. He rang the bell.

Leo was surprised to see Foster answer the door in striped boxer shorts. “Uh,” Leo muttered.

“It’s late. What is it Barnes? “ Foster furrowed his brow.

“I have uh… a conflict of interest. The last child belongs to my wife’s niece.”

A big smile spread over Foster’s face, “You want me to pick her up?”

“Please.”

“Consider it done,” Foster said as he closed the door.



***
“How was Bethany, Mrs. Barnes?” Gretchen Townsend asked.

“Bethany? Oh, she was great… a sweetheart.” Rebecca smiled. “Thank you for letting her stay with us for the night. Leo and I have discussed fostering for a while.”

“It’s a big decision. I know.”

Rebecca held the baby’s hands in hers and tried to swallow the knot in her throat. “I will work on Leo, but with his schedule, I don’t think he will want the added burden of having a small child in our home.” Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Barnes, I am sorry you’re upset. I will find a good home for Bethany. Please don’t worry about her,” Gretchen said as she handed Rebecca a tissue.

“She is a lovely child, and I wish her the best.” Rebecca kissed the baby on the cheek and handed her carefully to Gretchen. “Thanks again, “she said as she left the office.



***

If you're new to my blog, read my very first Eden Corp story, "Forbidden Fruit". My other Eden Corporation stories are all tagged so, and located under the "Categories" section on my side bar... if you're interested.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting. You're awesome!
~2

It Would be OH SO Nice

I wrote this piece in my writer's group a few years ago. I am really feeling it today. Thought I would go ahead and repost...

***written for the draw: Fulsome***

It Would be OH SO Nice

Every time I see your face my stomach turns
My eyes roll and I look away in disgust
That shirt… the way you comb your hair
Makes me want to vomit on your shoes

Every time you open your mouth garbage spews
Rotting flesh and soured milk
I can’t stand the sound of your voice
Your lack of imagination
Your misplaced wit and spoiled integrity
Don’t talk to me

Every time you walk by, I grind my teeth
It takes all that I am to bite my tongue and be civil
To not blurt out extreme malevolence
To look away, smile, and try to think a happy thought
A life without you in it

~2