Wednesday, December 26, 2012
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 110: 12/21/12 FORECAST--HOT, WITH NO CHANCE OF RAIN..., EVER...
The prompt this week, coincident with yet another prediction of the end of the world, is to use some of the words we’ve been hearing a lot lately in our story. They are: End, apocalypse, fireballs, zombie, alignment, and famine. The word count, fittingly enough, is 1,221. Perfect. I decided to have a bit of fun with this, and I hope you will enjoy.
HERE WE GO AGAIN
Oh no. Have you seen the news? Those wackos are at it again. I’m not sure how this started, but I think someone made a comment like ‘gee, isn’t that a sign of the end of the world?’, and before you know it, the press jumped on it. It’s on the news that our imminent apocalypse is on its way. Well, I’ve got a news bulletin of my own. I’m not falling for it this time.
Thing is, it isn’t just that once all the planets in our solar system are in perfect alignment, giant fireballs are supposed to shoot out of the sky. It’s that those damn zombies are going to take over the whole shebang and be the only ones to survive it all. Why should they have all the luck?
I remember a couple of times not too long ago when the end was supposed to occur, but the z-bombs got bumped because that prediction was way different. I heard some were supposed to be taken up to something called Rapture and the rest would be left behind. But the key word with that one was that it involved people. I don’t consider those nasty dead things ‘people’ in any sense of the word. Have you ever been up close and personal with one of them? Well, I have and let me tell you, it’s no picnic.
Zombies aren’t like the rest of us by any means. They don’t keep their places in very good order and they’re not divided up into family-type units. A whole bunch of them just find a big building on the outskirts of a town and they all stay in there like some kind of weird cult. They kidnap folks and bring them back to what they call home and all feed off the same sets of brains. Okay, so they do share. There is that. But that’s the only positive comment I can make about them.
They don’t clean up around their place and once the bodies start piling up, the whole neighborhood goes straight to Hell. There’s a rumor going around that if one of them bites a non-Z, then the bite-ee becomes one too. Come on, people, where’s your common sense. It doesn’t work that way. Only vamps can pull that off, and even they don’t have much of a taste for that--please excuse the pun, because it creates competition. I don’t mean for attention either. It creates rivals for food. Sustenance is tough enough for all of us to get our hands on, so if you’re, say, a dominant predictor, why clone yourself? You’re only going to end up going hungry some night. Get my drift?
Anyhow, back to this end of the world thing. The wife and I tried to prepare for it each and every time it’s been announced. The warnings throughout history have always been pretty precise too. I mean, no exact time of day or anything since the world does operate on a lot of different time zones, but a specific date has always been announced. I used to wonder how the time zone thing would work, but the way I see it is right after midnight on the day in question, whenever it’s right after midnight on the day in question, stuff starts to fold up and disappear. If nothing happens at the place with the earliest time, then it’s just not happening. I’ve lost a lot of sleep over that in years past, and this time, I’m not falling into that same trap.
I built this place way back in Harper’s Woods when we first got hitched and nobody ever bothers us. I doubt anyone even knows we’re back here. We live off the land pretty much so we don’t have to deal with the townsfolk at all. They’re pretty clannish anyway; you know the type. Everybody knows everybody and everybody is in everybody’s business. That brings nothing but trouble right to your front door, so we stay out of all that nonsense. The wife’s got quite a nice garden out back and I hunt up our meat. We’ve got plenty of clean streams for water and a big clearing close by where we can get some sun here and there. It’s all we need, but now our little paradise is being threatened yet again.
Channel 9 said after the fireworks start, all the oceans are going to heat up and boil over onto the land. Whatever was in there is going to be deep fried and the crops will get all soggy and you know what that means: a shortage of food. Famine, they‘re calling it. There won’t be anything for anyone to eat, and that’s where the dead things come in. They’re not big fans of Waldorf salads and BBQ spareribs. The only thing they eat is brains. Certainly not each other’s since I don’t believe they have one brain between them, but the story is that they will wander planet Earth, eating up the brains of all the humans and they will be the only creatures to survive.
Now, that sounds creepy and all, but think about it. What happens when they run out of humans? Then what, huh? Nobody seems too concerned to find out the answer to that one. That’s why I’m not going to get overly anxious about this latest zero hour crap. Whoever started this stupid rumor that cycles around every so many years really didn’t think it through. I’m going to keep on keeping on and let the dice roll how they roll. If those mindless freaks try to cross my threshold, I’ve got my welcome mat all ready for them.
A bullet to the brain will stop them cold and I’ve got enough ammo stashed to take out a whole platoon of them. Did you know they’re terrified of fire? Well, I do and I’ve got plenty of gasoline and matches stashed as well. I have to tell you though, I’m not really too worried this time around. Like I said, so many warnings, so many false alarms. ’The boy who cried wolf’ and all. Besides, I have to keep my cool and not scare the missus. I’m the man of the house and her protector. It wouldn’t do for me to start crouching in a corner and whining like a two year old, now, would it?
After all, I’ve faced many an adversity and I’ve made it this far. The rest of my kind are still running loose in the world‘s forests, barely surviving, while I have a roof over my head and a hot meal on the table every night of the week. Being a werewolf isn’t always a stroll down the lane, but when it comes right down to it, my claws and fangs have come in mighty handy at times. I wouldn’t touch one of those decomposing scumbags with a stick, but the humans’ weapons should work just fine.
Well, looks like supper’s on. Tonight’s veggie night. The little woman says once a week we should go vegan. After dinner, I’m going to doze off in front of the TV like always. I’m not worried about an invasion of the walking dead any time soon. Just as long as none of those clowns are carrying any silver…