Slasher Films and Lunch Dates

~Torian~

Breathing hard, I waited for him to say something. Anything. Because, frankly, the awkward silence was killing me. He seemed concentrated on my fingers, which were resting lazily on middle C.
“Well,” I snapped questioningly, my tone one of impatience and anger.
“Well

?”
He raised a dark brow. His green eyes met mine and I tried my hardest not to strangle the smart-ass right out of the kid.
“Andrew,” I cried, throwing my hands up in frustration. He smiled devilishly.
“Yes, Torian?”
His voice had a fake syrupy tone to it that made me wonder if he was mocking me. A wild lock of curly ash blond hair had escaped from behind his ear, and I had half a mind to tuck it back in place.
“You were okay,” he admitted after a few moments, savoring the look of pure disappointment on my face.
“What?! I just poured my heart and soul into that piece and you completely-”
“Terrorized it? Yeah, I know. You were choppy… again. It‘d be okay if you were thinking about putting it into Chainsaw Massacre or Nightmare on Elm Street.”
I growled and rolled my eyes. Of course, degrading me for my piano skills was one thing. Comparing what I thought was a beautiful, melodious piece to the theme song of some stupid thrasher movie was something else completely though.
“I’ve been going at this one piece for-”
“Two hours and thirty-six minutes. I don’t know how many times you’ve screwed up, but it’s probably a new record. You need to slow down- meld the notes together- and listen to the music,” he insisted for the millionth time. I was considering calling him Polly, for all the times he’s ever repeated himself.
“Break time, please? My fingers are going raw from all that ‘melding’,” I muttered with an eye roll. Andrew may have been an amazing pianist- he was applying for Julliard in the fall- but he had no actual schedule. It was just practice, practice, practice.
“Fine. But get your skinny ass back here in ten minutes, or I will hunt you down.”
I knew he would stick to his promise and jumped from the old, worn piano bench. Stretching my fingers and limbs, I arched my back to hear the satisfying pop. Andrew shuddered.
“That’s disgusting,” he frowned, shaking his head as I cracked my knuckles.
I stuck out my tongue and reached for my bottle of water. The slow shuffling of feet outside the door made a chill creep up the back of my neck.
“No, that’s disgusting,” I insisted, taking a swig of my water and pointing towards the door. The dragging of feet could be heard from the other side of the music room. Andrew faltered for a moment before nodding solemnly. His sister had been Changed a few years before, before anyone knew what ‘being Changed’ even was.
“I, um… I’ll give you fifteen minutes. I have to fit in lunch,” he mumbled hastily, gathering his music and nodding at me before rushing to the door. I blinked as he opened the creaking door, the slow shuffling of feet even louder than before.
‘You always know the perfect thing to say, huh, Torian,’ I thought to myself as I shook my head and grabbed my sheet music. The clang of the door closing announced my lonesomeness and I considered chasing after him and apologizing, but then I realized I would actually have to apologize. Huffing, I hurried to the door. It swung open with a satisfying creak and I looked around the empty hallway. Nothing. Stepping carefully into the corridor, I looked around for any Changed. None. No dragging feet or low moans.
I smiled and turned the corner, rushing through the halls. I was lucky today. Most of the Changed would loiter in the halls, the smell of death following them. And then there were the Others.
Skittishly, I scampered through the halls, a wave of paranoia setting in. I glanced over my shoulder and heard the scuttle of feet, which only made me quicken my pace. As I turned the corner, making my way to my locker, something grabbed me from behind. I spun around, expecting to see a Changed or something worse. I almost screamed, but Derek covered my gaping mouth with his hand. My hand went over my fluttering heart and I let out a sigh of relief.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I cried, my expression still frozen in shock, as he chuckled.
“You should have seen your face, Tor. I swear, you looked like you about to pee yourself,” he laughed. I swatted his arm and furrowed my brow.
“Derek, that wasn’t funny,” I insisted, my heart still racing from the scare.
He shrugged, a smile placed on his pink lips. “I thought it was pretty hilarious.”
I had managed to crack a smile and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you if any zombies are roaming the hall,” he laughed. I stiffened.
“You know we’re not supposed to call them-”
“What do you want me to call them,” he interrupted. I faltered.
“I-I don’t know,” I admitted. Something flickered in his hazel eyes and we stopped as we reached my ugly, bright orange locker.
“Whatever. Hey, Sterling and I are going to lunch. Want to join?”
Just like that, the awkward anger diminished. I mulled the thought over before nodding.
“I only have fifteen minutes though.”
Derek nodded in understanding. “That hard-ass Andrew is just working you to the bone, I see,” he teased sarcastically.
“Well, can you play Rachmaninoff Prelude Op. 23 No. 5?”
He faltered and looked at me as though I spouted out fluent alien.
“Touché. I have taught you well, young grasshopper,” he joked, bowing dramatically, his forehead almost reaching his knee. I laughed and grabbed hold of his arm, jerking him from the ground. We made our way to the courtyard in front of the school to find my brother, Sterling, waiting in his car, all the windows rolled down and blaring music. In the front seat was his girlfriend, Madison, fixing her lip gloss in the mirror and fluffing her bright blond hair.
“Took you long enough! Come on, I’m starved,” Sterling cried impatiently as Derek and I scrambled into the backseat. I rolled my eyes as my brother sped out of the parking lot. He never liked it when something got in the way of him and his food.

Being Dead Sucks

~Nick~

I cleared the plates painstakingly slowly. The laughter of humans and clanking of silverware echoed through my ears. But I didn’t hear it. Or at least, I didn’t try to.
The weight of the dirty dishes seemed almost unnoticeable as I lugged around the tub of dirty plates and silverware. I had to keep focused on moving my arms, and not thinking about anything else. My ‘new’ limbs moved slowly, at a speed that, at one time, would have left me in a frustrated fit.
People in the slightly crowded restaurant watched me with a type of strained wariness. I remember when I used to look at the Changed that way too.
They had that look of disgust and pity melding in their hardened eyes. They stiffened as I drew closer, even though I moved at a speed that would have made a turtle get road rage. The stereotypes about ‘zombies’ weren’t true.
They… We

didn’t live off of brains. We didn’t eat.
We didn’t moan and groan, crying ‘brains

’ when we spotted a human.
There was no zombie apocalyptic end for all of humanity.
But there was segregation. And bullying.
Against

the ‘flesh-eating’ zombies that ‘terrorized’ the town.
School was the worst.
I had grown up with most of these kids, and then suddenly I’m an outsider.
My friends, the ones who had moved on, were my enemies.
I was still good at it, school I mean, but I didn’t talk.
Or rather, I chose not to talk. The words didn’t come off my tongue as they were supposed to. They seemed scrambled around in my brain until the thought just became too hard to voice.
My writing had become a process of shaking and praying it was slightly legible.
But then there were pictures.
I could still take pictures, with my uncle’s old camera.
I could still capture a moment, a second, before it was gone.
That was one thing I was grateful of.
The tinkling of the bell, above the door of the restaurant, snapped me out of my concentration. I dropped the glass cup and it fell to the floor with a shattering noise. The room grew quiet. I bent down slowly, slower than usual, and brought my fingers to the glass. In the glare, I caught a glimpse of my reflection.
Pale skin, the color of milk. Haunting dark eyes that looked somewhere between a murky blue and a grey.
I didn’t look like me anymore.
As I picked up a handful of glass, ignoring the sting because picking it up with my fingers would have been even harder, I heard the steps of someone else. At first, I thought they would just step over me, not bother.
But then, I looked over to see a familiar girl, crouching by my side, picking up shards of glass with her slender fingers. Honey blond hair fell in her face, so I couldn‘t get a good look, but something about her stance was familiar.
Before I could register anything else, a shadow loomed over us.
I looked up to see my manager, Mr. Darby, his face redder than his hair.
He was a tiny man, who only stood to about my shoulder, and wore a bowtie, as if he were on some fifties throwback.
“Nick, what do you think you’re doing, making this poor girl clean up your mess? You big oaf, I should-”
“It was my fault,” the girl said quietly. Her ice blue eyes flickered to the door. “I, uh, tripped him. I thought the least I could do was help.”
Mr. Darby scowled and shook his head. “Clean up this mess, busboy. I swear, one more mishap and it’ll be the end of your job here,” he hissed snidely.
The girl, who didn’t even bat an eyelash, pursed her lips. “Mr… Darby,” she paused, reading his nametag, “I really am sorry. It wasn’t his fault.”
Darby finally looked at her, his scowl softening slightly. “It’s okay. How about a discount? Accidents happen, right?”
She nodded uneasily.
Embarrassment washed over me. The girl, the stranger, had lied for me because she felt sorry...
Of course Mr. Darby would play the nice guy act now, in front of the customers, but once it came to quitting time he would tear my ass apart.

~Torian~

Everyone knew the story of Tommy Kingsley. He had died when he was seventeen, but no one really remembered how. What they do remember is when he sat up in his casket, in the middle of his memorial service, stitched up and almost as good as new.
He was the first ‘zombie’.
His parents thought there was something wrong with him. The exorcised him. They chained him to the basement. They brought him to doctors, even though they couldn’t fix him.
So, they rammed a stake through his silent heart.
Jasmine Marvin was the second. Jasmine’s parents were much kinder. They thought this was a blessing, to have their little girl back. I remember reading something about her in the newspaper, right after she died, again, after being attacked by a gang for being 'different'. Or rather, dead.


Standing in front of the boy, I swore my heart would stop beating. His pale hand brushed against mine, his skin a shocking type of cold that made me wince. With shaking hands, I finished picking up the last of the glass. He didn’t utter a word the entire time.
Mr. Darby, the creepy manager, had found Sterling, Madison, Derek and I a table in the corner. But for some reason, I had stayed and helped.
“You’re, um… you’re bleeding,” I said quietly to the pale kid. He looked slowly at his hand, where a bubble of burgundy had formed on his fingertips. His shoulders moved slowly and he shrugged. His dark hair fell in his eyes but he didn’t bother to fix it, and instead set the dustpan he had been using aside.
“I’m sorry, if I embarrassed you,” I continued cautiously. He didn’t say anything. His grey eyes flashed to the bits of sparkling glass that was too hard to pick up.
“You look familiar… do I know you,” I asked. He shook his head and began to stand. Before I could say anything else, he slowly walked off. I furrowed my brows and considered following when Derek called my name.
“Are you coming to eat or what,” he yelled from the other side of the building. I ignored the annoyed glares thrown my way and scurried over to our table. Madison’s nose turned upwards as I sat down.
“What are you going to eat,” Sterling asked me as he examined the menu. He was a big guy. He was an offensive lineman for our high school team and ate like a starving horse. Or rather, he could eat an entire horse.
“I don’t know about you, Tor

, but I’m trying to keep my figure. I think I’ll just get a salad,” Madison simpered, even though no one had asked her. She flipped her glossy blond hair over her shoulder and continued primping herself in her hand mirror. How Sterling ended up with such a bimbo, the world may never know.
“I’ll just get chicken strips,” I decided, setting my menu aside and taking a sip of the ice cold water. I found myself scanning the restaurant for Nick, the boy who had dropped the glass. My eyes landed on him as he was making his way back to the table at the edge of the room, the place growing quiet as he picked up his tub. Madison giggled slightly as she caught me staring.
“Off to help the dead boy again,” she snickered. For a moment, many- and when I say many, I mean many

- rude comments flashed through my head. Instead, I nodded.
“Well, the ‘dead boy’ is much nicer than you.”
She pursed her lips, as if to say something just as mean when Sterling stopped us.
“Hey! I can’t have my two favorite girls fighting,” he insisted, wrapped his arm around Madison and nudging me from under the table. I rolled my eyes and muttered and apology. Madison simply snuggled up to my brother.
As if lunch could get any less appetizing, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Don’t feel left out, Tor,” Derek insisted as he poked my shoulder, “ we could always snuggle.”
I grinned and tried to contain my laughter. “In your dreams.”
Sterling grinned. “’Atta girl! I always knew you were my sister,” he teased. In all reality, Sterling and I looked nothing alike.
Sterling was big, and muscular. I was tiny- only one-hundred five and standing straight up at five foot.
He had almond shaped, brown eyes, whereas I had Bambi eyes; very animated and big.
His nose was wide and his face jaw line was strong.
I had dark brows and light lashes, which I usually had to coat only about a thousand times before they were dark enough. Sterling’s eyelashes had me envious- they were thick and dark. Perfect.
But we had the same honey blond hair.

Lunch was quiet.
Derek picked at his sandwich, obviously not hungry. Madison ate a whole plate of salad and a few rolls, which I promised her would go straight to her ass. Sterling was done within a matter of minutes.
And me? I was focused on Nick.
I was sure I had seen him somewhere. I just couldn’t place it…

Stitches and Bitches

Stitches covered my face, black kohl lining my bright blue eyes. The light, instead of reflecting in my eyes, went into my eyes, brightening the blue to a point where they looked fake. Gashes and gore covered my face and body. My skin was a sickly hue of greenish blue, somewhere between a mint-blue and white.
I watched in horror as my skin began to peel. I shed my blue skin to reveal skin like snow, white and perfect and clean. The whites of my eyes turned blood red. The gashes began to bleed, the stitches began to open.
And then, there I was, in a coffin, a stake driven through my heart.

I woke up to my heart pounding in my ears. I spun around to face my clock, which glowed a sickly green. Three-forty-seven in the morning.
I was sweating and pulled the covers off of me, trying to calm down. I flickered on the bedside lamp and closed my eyes, running my fingers through my hair.
The howl of an Other made me shiver and I had half a mind to snuggle back under the protection of my blanket.

I closed my eyes and practiced my piece. My fingers knew the notes.
They had become an extension of the piano, to a point where I could play pieces with my eyes closed.
Julliard was my dream.
Maybe a far fetched dream that would never come true, but a dream all in all.

The fake keys calmed me slightly, and I pulled my pillow tightly into my chest. My heart was still beating quickly but it seemed to slow slightly.

And then, I wondered something weird.
Had Nick, the zombie who dropped the cup, ever thought of himself that way? As a zombie, from the movies?
I let myself imagine him, when he was alive.
He was a football player, I decided.
He had a beautiful girlfriend, who still loved him as a zombie.
He… he had a dog, named Dexter, with scruffy ears and a tail that never stopped wagging.
He had a secret crush on Celine Dione and wore feetie pajamas until the age of…

I stopped myself. What good would it do to wonder what Nick was like before he died?
And so, I thought of my master plan, while lying in bed, shaking from a nightmare.
I would get to know the real Nick.


And then, I wondered something weird.
Had Nick, the zombie who dropped the cup, ever thought of himself that way? As a zombie, from the movies?
I let myself imagine him, when he was alive.
He was a football player, I decided.
He had a beautiful girlfriend, who still loved him as a zombie.
He… he had a dog, named Dexter, with scruffy ears and a tail that never stopped wagging.
He had a secret crush on Celine Dione and wore feetie pajamas until the age of…
I stopped myself. What good would it do to wonder what Nick was like before he died?
And so, I thought of my master plan, while lying in bed, shaking from a nightmare.
I would get to know the real Nick.

~Nick~

I sat in my bedroom window and watched as a shadow flickered across the yard.
It was Mae. It had to be.
She was the most graceful out of all the Others, and her pelt was as sleek and dark as the night sky. She could easily blend in.

I heard the hushed whispers from down the hall. My aunt and uncle were discussing me. Again.

‘Wilfred,’ my aunt would say, her lips pursed and curlers tight against her head, ‘ we are the only family he has.’

The pain was gone.
I was grateful for the end.
My death, I mean.
Because once I had risen, I couldn’t feel the heart ache.
Silent tears didn’t send me into a restless sleep like they would have.
Instead, I laid on my tiny twin bed and gazed at the cracks in the ceiling.
Cracks were better than wishing you could change the past, right?
Sometimes, it felt like I dreaming.
Like I would wake up and we had never gotten in that car in the first place.

My eyes zeroed in on the long crack that traveled from the side of the wall all the way to the light. I wondered what it was from.

The howling grew louder and I smiled to myself. Mae was calling for me.
I sat up a little straighter and tried to find her in the darkness. My eyes adjusted to the dimly lit backyard until I spotted her in the shadows, crouched over something.

I tapped on the window and her red eyes met mine, even though I was safe and sound, two stories above her.
I could picture her glinting white teeth as she smiled.

And just like that, she was gone. She had disappeared from my field of vision and into the night.

~~~

I walked out of the house to see the rusty pick up spray-painted. Today’s message was Dead Boy, with an artistically challenged looking frown face with X’s for eyes, written in a sad excuse for graffiti. The corners of my mouth tugged into a tight grimace.

My uncle would not be happy.
The truck had been a hand me down from my cousin, who was off to college.

Something about the normality of this- being Graff-Attacked as us Rejects liked to call it- was sickening.
I trudged to the driver’s door and flung it open. It creaked, loud and high-pitched, and I started it up. The old thing sputtered pitifully before revving.

The stereo lulled some familiar tune that tugged at my chest tightly. I knew it- the song.
It was the one I died to.

“Mom! Nick hit me,” my brother Pete cried from the back seat. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I swore I saw his grey eyes and haunting smile.

“Nick, stop it,” my mother scolded.

I closed my eyes. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I sped up a bit.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” I insisted, my breathing becoming heavy.

But my mother shot me a look anyways.
“I want to listen to country,” my brother whined. I thought I saw his hand reach for the radio.

But I imagined it. He wasn’t there. He never was. Within a few minutes, I was at the high school. I watched as kids pointed at my truck, as if the old thing wasn’t embarrassing enough.

I pulled into the parking lot of the school and waited for Mae. I spotted her dark skin in the crowd of Others and Changed and smiled to myself. She met my gaze, and then looked at my car, her golden eyes blazing.

“You’ve been Graff-Attacked, I see,” she noted, taking in the frowning face. “The X’s really pull it all together.”

I made myself smile for her sake.
She pulled her silky straight hair into a ponytail, careful with the ones at the nape of her neck, high on top of her head.

“Hey, Nicky, why do you look so sad,” she asked, her brows scrunching together in concern. How could I possibly begin to explain to her that I saw my dead family on the car ride to school?
I simply smiled.

“I’m not.” The words were slow and careful coming out of my mouth. I paused between each words, giving myself enough time to prepare myself for the next.
Mae was one of the few, if not only, person I talked to, dead or alive. She didn’t gasp in amazement as I spoke, and instead nodded, as if understanding. Because Mae understood. She was an Other. A freak. An Outcast.

Impressum

Texte: DO NOT STEAL OR I WILL GET YOU WITH MY ZOMBIE FRIENDS!
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.09.2012

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Widmung:
To Liv and Meg, Who pushed me to write this, and have always supported me <3