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the_siobhanThe three of us have been going through the food and throwing stuff out of our kitchen for days now, trying to figure out where the fruit flys are coming from. Today D finally tracked it down to a bag of injera that had been shoved into a cupboard and basically liquefied in the bag.
So the source of the problem is now dealt with but as I sit here and type these fruit flies keep crossing my field of vision. And they are very interested in Axel's wine glass.
"You want to know what?"
"How you survived the outbreak. You know, stories of where you were when the outbreak started, how you surivived without getting bitten..."
"Isn't that kind of done by now, though? I must have read fify stories about people camped out in shopping malls and school cafeterias."
He made that unconcious flexing motion with the tips of his fingers taht you sometimes see in smokers who haven't quite gotten over not being able to light up in bars. Instead he had to settle for taking a swig of his beer to cover up his embarrassment.
"Look, I"m not saying we'll print it," he said. "And the magazine understands that the public may be ready to move on, but there are also a lot of human interest stories out there and we're always on the hunt for something unique." He hesitated for a second before adding, "And look, just between you and me... A lot of the stories we've collected so far are... well, they're kind of violent."
"I thought people liked violent."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, they do. At least they did. Except... well... since the 12-step programs are having so much success that's kinda' falling out of fashion with the advertisers."
"OK, I get it, I get it. Well it's your dime." I waved the waitress over for another round and started my story.
*****
To be honest it wasn't much of a story.
The night it started my best friend Zag was over at my aparment and we were watching some movie on Netflix. The roommates were out, John at work and Meagan at her boyfriend's place. It was a hot night and we had the front door hanging open to try and catch a breeze because my shitty landlord refused to fix the air conditioning. The latch on the screen door wasn't very good either, so when something heavy fell against the door it just popped it right open.
I looked up to see one of my neighbours from across the street stumbling through the front door. He looked awful - his skin looked green and he had a big gash across his upper arm that was leaking slow rivers of black blood down his arm and dripping off the tips of his fingers. His eyes were glazed over and he made this raspy groaning sound when he started shuffling towards us.
I thought he was high. I thought thsi big football-player lookin' dude was off his tits on some really bad shit and was about to go all Florida Man in my living room. Zag and I both shot straight up out of our seats and over the back of the couch. My place is one of those old victorian places where there`s an open arch between the living room and the dining room and then a door into the hallway that leads to teh kitchen. Dunno if you know what I mean, but most old houses in my neighbourhood are set up that way. So anyway, we back up into the hallway and he follows us. And in my place there`s actually a couple of doors between the hallway and the living room because sometimes we hang a curtain in the arch and use that dining room as an extra bedroom when not enough people in teh house are working and need the extra rent money. So we slam that door in his face.
Adn he stands there and pounds on it. Like there`s an open path if he backs up into the dining room the way he came, but he just leans on the door and bangs on it. So we run to the front door thinking we'd get out of the house, put some space between him and us so we can call a couple of friends who are bigger than us, only there are more people right there, on the lawn and oen of them is coming in the door. And this guy, he's obviously just come out of a grave somewhere and half of his face is rotted off.
That's the point where we realized what was actually going on and we ran up the stairs.
I think we figured we'd climb out one of the windows or soemthing. Only at some point when we were going back and forth looking out the windows to see which would be the safest to escape from, one of us realized that they weren't following us. We stood at the top of the stairs and watched them for a while, and they didn't really seem to get that whole lifting your feet to make it up the next step thing. They would kind of stand at the bottom of the stairs and shuffle and occasinoally one of them would fall over onto the steps and then they would just drag themselves back to their feet and start over again. None of them could climb.
So we spent three days up there. We ate all the chips and and granola bars I had stashed in my bedroom and we had the bathroom so we had water and a toilet. We took turns sleeping while the other one sat and watched from the top of the stairs just in case. We played checkers and read my comics and played rounds of hangman and fuck-marry-kill and waited for something to happen.
And at the end of those three days, the neighbour who had been banging on the door in the hallway all that time finally turned the doorknob and walked through the door. He came into the entrance at the bottom of stairs and we sat there and watched him while he just pushed all the other zombies out the front door - he was really gentle with them too, just kinda leaned into them and used his weight to make them shuffle outside. Then he looked up at us where we were sitting there watching him, and his eyes focused right on us.
And he said, "Sorry."
And he walked out the door and closed it behind him.
So the source of the problem is now dealt with but as I sit here and type these fruit flies keep crossing my field of vision. And they are very interested in Axel's wine glass.
"You want to know what?"
"How you survived the outbreak. You know, stories of where you were when the outbreak started, how you surivived without getting bitten..."
"Isn't that kind of done by now, though? I must have read fify stories about people camped out in shopping malls and school cafeterias."
He made that unconcious flexing motion with the tips of his fingers taht you sometimes see in smokers who haven't quite gotten over not being able to light up in bars. Instead he had to settle for taking a swig of his beer to cover up his embarrassment.
"Look, I"m not saying we'll print it," he said. "And the magazine understands that the public may be ready to move on, but there are also a lot of human interest stories out there and we're always on the hunt for something unique." He hesitated for a second before adding, "And look, just between you and me... A lot of the stories we've collected so far are... well, they're kind of violent."
"I thought people liked violent."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, they do. At least they did. Except... well... since the 12-step programs are having so much success that's kinda' falling out of fashion with the advertisers."
"OK, I get it, I get it. Well it's your dime." I waved the waitress over for another round and started my story.
*****
To be honest it wasn't much of a story.
The night it started my best friend Zag was over at my aparment and we were watching some movie on Netflix. The roommates were out, John at work and Meagan at her boyfriend's place. It was a hot night and we had the front door hanging open to try and catch a breeze because my shitty landlord refused to fix the air conditioning. The latch on the screen door wasn't very good either, so when something heavy fell against the door it just popped it right open.
I looked up to see one of my neighbours from across the street stumbling through the front door. He looked awful - his skin looked green and he had a big gash across his upper arm that was leaking slow rivers of black blood down his arm and dripping off the tips of his fingers. His eyes were glazed over and he made this raspy groaning sound when he started shuffling towards us.
I thought he was high. I thought thsi big football-player lookin' dude was off his tits on some really bad shit and was about to go all Florida Man in my living room. Zag and I both shot straight up out of our seats and over the back of the couch. My place is one of those old victorian places where there`s an open arch between the living room and the dining room and then a door into the hallway that leads to teh kitchen. Dunno if you know what I mean, but most old houses in my neighbourhood are set up that way. So anyway, we back up into the hallway and he follows us. And in my place there`s actually a couple of doors between the hallway and the living room because sometimes we hang a curtain in the arch and use that dining room as an extra bedroom when not enough people in teh house are working and need the extra rent money. So we slam that door in his face.
Adn he stands there and pounds on it. Like there`s an open path if he backs up into the dining room the way he came, but he just leans on the door and bangs on it. So we run to the front door thinking we'd get out of the house, put some space between him and us so we can call a couple of friends who are bigger than us, only there are more people right there, on the lawn and oen of them is coming in the door. And this guy, he's obviously just come out of a grave somewhere and half of his face is rotted off.
That's the point where we realized what was actually going on and we ran up the stairs.
I think we figured we'd climb out one of the windows or soemthing. Only at some point when we were going back and forth looking out the windows to see which would be the safest to escape from, one of us realized that they weren't following us. We stood at the top of the stairs and watched them for a while, and they didn't really seem to get that whole lifting your feet to make it up the next step thing. They would kind of stand at the bottom of the stairs and shuffle and occasinoally one of them would fall over onto the steps and then they would just drag themselves back to their feet and start over again. None of them could climb.
So we spent three days up there. We ate all the chips and and granola bars I had stashed in my bedroom and we had the bathroom so we had water and a toilet. We took turns sleeping while the other one sat and watched from the top of the stairs just in case. We played checkers and read my comics and played rounds of hangman and fuck-marry-kill and waited for something to happen.
And at the end of those three days, the neighbour who had been banging on the door in the hallway all that time finally turned the doorknob and walked through the door. He came into the entrance at the bottom of stairs and we sat there and watched him while he just pushed all the other zombies out the front door - he was really gentle with them too, just kinda leaned into them and used his weight to make them shuffle outside. Then he looked up at us where we were sitting there watching him, and his eyes focused right on us.
And he said, "Sorry."
And he walked out the door and closed it behind him.