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Zombie Drafting #2

“I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, I

Wanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and

guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies.”

–Arlo Guthrie, “Alice’s Restaurant Massacre”

 

This is a tale about Alice…

Not the “Mother-of-all-rabbit-holes” Alice. A different one.

Oh fuck it. It’s about me, just like every other thing I write.

 

Zombie Story Thing (Yeah this will be a title eventually–I’m taking suggestions)

It’s a normal thing to try and understand this– to make it mean something. But this didn’t happen for a reason. The living possess traits that assisted their survival, and the dead, well, they just died. None of it means anything.If it means something… God forbid it means something. If you can bear that in mind, we’ll all have a fine time a while, for however long it takes you and your body thetans to read through this shit. (Sorry for the recent obsession with body thetans, but I had read through Going Clear, and it was an evocative idea for me. I am somewhat fascinated, which is overstating it because it’s fancy is passing and already feels overused, but there is something about looking at a concept in a different way that I like about the body thetans–a sci fi spin on the “My name is Legion” sort of possession. After that, it got me thinking about dna, and really how “legion” we all are. How many generations of certain things, traits, pieces that were beneficial and were passed down, and those things actually came from people, we are, then, in many ways full of thetans, things that might not be in our best interest, but are still very much a part of us.

Some things you should know: this a story about death. You know that going into this, right? That there will be lots of death? I know the title was a bit vague, but the Guthrie quote (Arlo, not Woody)  was pretty plain. But just so there’s no saying I didn’t warn you: Kids will die, mothers and babies will be eaten alive. Someone’s father’s going to get raped by flesh-eating fucks of the living variety. Shit’s going to die. You’re going to die a little bit, too. You might call this, “change,” but mostly it is you watching yourself die, or you watching myself die–and we could spend all day arguing if there’s a difference– but you’re going to change either way.

 

In the beginning…

It was a boon for the religions–especially the cults– those that offered salvation from tribulations through strict adherence to the sacred texts, doctrines, and traditions of the group. Which, of course, included the offering of resources shed as a sacrifice. I’d been in a cult before the calamities and taken my fill of the destruction and remission of my offensive properties and encouragement toward flesh-peeling levels of gifting, so I avoided the groups as much as I could. Still, you couldn’t go anywhere without getting proselytized by one of the emergent groups and the reinvigorated mainliners and American sects. All monotheistic, at least at first, but as we went further in, and we understood shit wasn’t getting better, the groups became stranger and more dangerous.

 

But people were still interested, even after the dead woke and ate the flesh of the living. And this wasn’t the resurrection and those  “Take, eat”™  wafers or “My Blood” ™ grape juice, and it wasn’t  transubstantiation either. Entire families devoured by their neighbors, the blackened, broken teeth of the dead gnashing like rain on the just and unjust. It was The Great Calamity, the end of time. An apocalyptic reflection of ourselves we all knew we’d see, that we were waiting for without knowing what it was.

We still don’t know what it was. A weapon, maybe. But if it was a weapon, who used it and why?  The governmental structures started folding once the dead were entrenched and there was heavy speculation that it was a possible population purge induced through weaponized microbes. Shit went horribly wrong, of course.

My California

My California is 39 million meat sacks destined to rise from the dead, called out of the ashes like a dark phoenix come forth to engulf the world. Here’s how it went for us: Antibiotics went before the ice sheets, but the ice sheets went, too. Then the ‘fugees came. Economic ‘fugees. Climate ‘fugees. War ‘fugees. Pandemic fugees. Do you have any idea what happens when tens of millions of people migrate? How stable do you think that’s going to be?

We lost antibiotics a few years into the migration crises. Routine infection treatment dropped back two centuries; We were chopping off limbs to stave off infection. There was the ever-present risk of toxicity, an entire planet going septic. It made us ready, though. Ready for… something. It was an uneasiness, I guess. A sense that something big was happening every time a new person popped up in a community without a limb. Sure, the prosthetics were nice enough, except on the poor. If they had them, it was primitive stuff. I mean, I’m not talking about Black-Beard or anything, but they weren’t fooling anyone and were largely used like patches over holes in pieces of clothing.

Composite character statement maybe somewhere in here. I thought I had a draft of this somewhere…

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