I hope everyone had a better Thanksgiving than I did. I spent mine eating dinner at Denny's and listening all weekend to the details of the fight my Grandma is having with her daughter, my Aunt. Then I come back to work and have to hear about some stupid fight between two co workers that has been apparently raging on since last week. I actually heard one of them say, while complaining because some people (I included, but she doesn't know that) went to our supervisor about her behavior, "Where I come from, it's snitches get stitches. But if you're going to go and snitch on me, you can bet I'm going to go and snitch on your first before you can." Of all the juvenile, ghetto things I've ever heard, this has to be top ...6 at least. We work in a business, not on the fucking street, act at least a little classy and professional.
So many things to face-palm at, so little fucking time to do it. I honestly feel like I spend so much of my time throwing up my hands and backing up going, "I don't care. This is your problem not mine, I'm going to stay out of it as much as possible because I don't care enough to get involved and have a true biased opinion."
Sorry for that mini rant. Just had to get the annoyances out. Now onto more entertaining things.
A few weeks back I entered a creative writing swap/project/...thing. You had to write to your partner as if you were surviving a zombie apocalypse and had gotten split up from them. It was a very neat project; especially since you were encouraged to 'decorate' your letter to match what happened in the letter, or the theme of the writing prompt. So without much ado and because I'm pretty horrible at segues, here are my two letters I sent out, and the two I received. Hope you enjoy reading what I enjoyed writing...and reading.
The first letter I tried to keep serious. I put red dye on my hands and left hand prints as if I had actually been injured and in a rush to write to my partner, and unable to clean the blood off of my hands.
Don't mind the blood, paper is scarce where we are and we've managed to stop the bleeding for the most part. Don't worry, none of the blood is from the infected, and I'm not bit either.
Actually we had a run in with looters. We saved most of our stuff. Food mostly, but they got away with some water, cleaning supplies and two med kits.
I am so glad you're at a safe house, how is it holding over there? Listen, in your last letter you were making plans to come to us...DON'T!
The looters are getting crazy, there's very few supplies and the zombies are even braver than the looters. At first they were afraid of our guns, some residual primal fear I guess....they have quickly gotten over that.
I'm trying to get the others to leave with me, I'm heading over to you. Some don't want to go; mainly residents who've lived here forever and a day. Hopefully I'll find an even better safe house you can make your way to on my way.
Catch ya on the flipside,
The second one, I wanted to try and inject more humor into. I assumed the persona of a kind of annoyed, bored, sorority type who really isn't too worried about her current predicament. The person I had to send to lived in the Netherlands I think, I can't really remember, so I just pretended we were pen pals. I also didn't want to go the normal route of 'Oh noes! Undead viral infection!', so I went a more paranormal route.
Hey! Sorry about the state of the paper!
Before I even begin to tell you the story behind it, let me tell you what I just found out! (I'm fine by the way. My family and I, and a few friends, are still holed up in the college's gymnasium with more than enough supplies courtesy of Mom. She won't stop bragging about how she knew her paranoia would pay off eventually :p).
Alright so, on behalf of my country, let me just say, sorry for the zombies. That's right, they originated here. Remember that weird dude Jeff I was telling you about? The one in math class who always carried a copy of the Necronomicon everywhere? It was him! Apparently he was really into necromancy and is one of those ones with a huge ego (You know, the delusional 'The world will be mine! Mwahahahahahaha!' types.) and magicked them all here. Well not all of them, just the first few that did the biting and infected everyone else. That's why they all seem to have a hive mind. And unfortunately why they're hard to kill. Jeff keeps gloating and strutting all over the neighborhood.
Which brings me to the paper. One of my classmates who is holed up here with us, Brandon, looked outside yesterday and saw his girlfriend who was supposed to be making her way to us. Let's just say she didn't really make it. He was never one to handle stress well anyway. I remember he failed his remedial English final because he saw her hug and kiss another boy and spent all day moping, wondering what to do. (The boy turned out to be her cousin, what the hell Brandon?!)
He went all crazy and decided to just start burning things. Got pretty far too but we put it out and managed to save some things. Now hes in a fetal position in the corner crying. The poor illiterate bastard.
We were worried the commotion would draw them near, but no! I know we all know they are afraid of fire, but they also hate the smell of it too. The got interested because of the noise but once they smelled the burning smell, it drove them away. Some are still lingering but they're keeping their distance.
I think we're onto something here.
I hope any of this info helped you somewhat. Stay safe!
I really liked the letters I got back as well. Both of my partners seemed to have some sort of hive mind and based their letters about being on ships when the zombies started attacking.
The first one wrote hers as a diary entry from a little girl.
Mommy woke me up early last night and said we were gong away! She said Daddy was gone, I think he left because of me but I won't tell that to Mommy, she's been crying all night and day. We drove all night and out on a boat. It was SO BIG!
We are in a small room with another family. I don't like them, there's a little boy who's bleeding and his Mommy won't let him play with me. His arm looks like a dog bit it and won't stop bleeding, even if they press it tight!
The boy won't shut up now. His daddy tied him to the bed in here! His eyes look red like he has pink eye and now he's bleeding EVERYWHERE! Even his nose is bleeding and his Mommy won't wipe if for him. My Mommy always wipes my nose.
You wouldn't believe it! I went to say sorry to the little boy, and he bit me! What a brat. Now all the grownups are mad at me! This is SO unfair!
I don't feel good. My body hurts and I'm hungry. No one wants to come near me, and all I want is a hug. :(
I thought it was kind of creepy, and a little sad. Poor idiot child with good intentions. I also really loved the drawing at the end. I giggled a bit more than I probably should have.
I was so excited when this last one came in the mail. The sender actually sent it to me in a bottle through the mail.
It's been months since the initial outbreak. Almost everyone I've known is gone. There are still a few of us alive, on the aircraft carrier we've fled to. We're safe here for the moment. Food, water, power. Of course, none of us want to consider just how long this will last or what will become of us after these necessities run out. Our little haven in the midst of the storm. For a moment we can almost pretend life is normal, away from the rot of the city and the howls of the undead. We stumbled upon the ship after our little yacht ran dry. Like a beacon of light shining in the distance after hearing our distress call they came and picked us up. Most of the crew had taken ill and were quarantined to the lower decks. No one ventures down past the 3rd deck for this reason. Some have taken to systematically cleaning a few of the rooms, shooting the undead as they go. It's been slow going however as few want to risk being with the zombies in small cramped spaces below deck. The reality and direness of our situation is becoming ever more clear in the understanding that the overstock of food and the water desalination tanks are all down in the bowels of Hell. If the equipment goes down or we run out of food, whether we head to shore or venture below, we will eventually have to face the hordes. Sometimes I think I will wake up, but then I never do.
I don't even know why I am writing this. It seems almost silly or comical to write a note, stick it in a bottle and cast it out to sea. Maybe in a way it's like hope, that this might wash up somewhere and someone will find it, read it and know they aren't alone. Maybe it helps me feel not so alone. Sometimes to pass the time we sit around the radio listening to the static. Late at night in the dark after focusing on the popping for hours you start to hear voices. Never legible words, just mumbles. Even though we have each other, there is still the need of contact. Even the remote possibility of other survivors. I am so weary of hoping. Once in a while we will pass a ship and hail them. Each ship passes without word however, phantoms on the sea. Once we passed a cargo ship, its decks lined with shipping crates. We were close enough to see the undead stumbling towards our ship and falling overboard into the depths of the dark ocean. I had to wonder if the fish would even touch their foul flesh. There are days when I miss land but the ocean has its own ethereal value - the sunsets, the dolphins leaping in our wake. Still out here in the big blue we're stuck with our grief and horror. There's no place to flee our nightmares, no place to tuck them away and forget. I am thankful that I am alive but then what's the point in living if it's every waking moment in Hell, every last breath like some ironic stanza out of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, the poem I was forced to learn in school and can not shed from my thoughts.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
had never passed away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
Keep hope, I pray this finds you well. Continuing on upon the USS Rosevelt, by the grace of God.
I absolutely loved the inclusion of the poem too. I think it really set the tone overall. Not to mention that the person's writing was quite poetic as well.
These were so much fun to write. It was very neat to come up with my own zombie mythos and create my own rules for the world the people lived in in the letters. Also the writing and creativity practice is always good.