This is what it should really say.
Monthly Archive for April, 2009
“Ron, what on earth is that smell? It’s everywhere!”
“You want a burger or you want to puke? If it’s puke, go over there. Don’t barf on my meat.”
“Krezner was getting worried about a cholera outbreak. Or E. Coli. I don’t know what. It’s hideous.”
“It’s better than how you smell. Be quick, pal. I got customers waiting with less refined palates than yourself.”
“It’s driving me crazy. I can’t figure out if I want to eat it or vomit. Just tell me what it is.”
“Well, business has been good lately, so we’re running low on rat. The Z’s are picking off the deer and the cattle are long gone. So I need something that’s like rat, but not a rat. C’mon. Figure it out. Haven’t you seen all the kids with coonskin caps running around lately?”
“Yeah. That damn Davy Crockett brigade. I can’t stand those little brats.”
“Did you see the what the new kids have to wear until they’ve passed their trials? The black and white tail? That single white stripe? It would be a shame to let all that perfectly good meat go to waste.”
“No–oh my God… …Well, I guess I’ll just have one then. Make it a small one, though.”
“That’ll be five silver. They’re half price until I can get them filleted just right.”
Joe and Jack were twin brothers who lived in New York all their lives. Joe became a cop and Jack was a low life, nothing but a loser drug dealer. Joe knew that his only sibling at that his twin brother was wasting his life by doing and dealing drugs but he couldn’t bring himself to arrest a member of his own family.
“You need to stop what your doing your going to get arrested or worse overdose and die” exclaimed Joe.
“I…I..just can’t stop” said Jack.
“You need to go to rehab its the only way” Said Joe.
“Kids these days, they’re really missin’ out, Ron. Back when we was young, we had all sorts of superheroes to follow. Superman, Captain America, even that plastic guy. Each month was a new adventure. They’d fight some super villain, and in the end the good guy always won.” I say as Ron nods to appease me while tending to his grill. “These days, we could use Superman. He could take care of this whole problem in an hour. And all he’d want in return was to see us smile and feel safe. Wouldn’t even ask for any payment.”
Ron throws another fresh burger over the hot coals and stares past me towards the main gate. As I continue, I am interrupted by a loud thud next to me.
“Would you mind keeping the guts away from my meat?” Ron asks his newest customer sarcastically. The man responds by tossing his blood stained ZED into the nearby grass.
“Sorry, Ron, sometimes I forget where I am,” the man replied before removing his helmet and pads; placing his protective gear next to his seat. “It’s just that I’m starving. I worked up such an appetite today; I got 27 kills on my own. How’s about double bacon cheeseburger with the works, some fries, and a milkshake?”
Ron laughed as he served up a freshly cooked burger to the man and left him to eat. He made his way back over to me and said, “Who needs Superman when you’ve got the Corps?”
Who was he?
He was beautiful once–a creature drawn to our time from the days of marble and soft sunlight on the Mediterranean–beautiful, and mine.
When I close my eyes I can still feel his hands on my neck, or his lips pushing through the tangles my hair to whisper meaningless phrases that to me meant everything; mine was a happiness that I would never had had the hubris to dream I deserved.
The first time I sketched his picture he was playing with my feet, laughing and tugging at my painted toes and teasing while I tried to focus on the charcoal and textured paper perched on my naked knee. The sketch was good; the strong jaw was captured in a thick line of black that faded gentle gray beneath the softer curls of the hair outlined in pale drags of pencil to create the illusion of his flaxen locks. He continued his kisses in an exodus to my shin while I drew, relishing in my ever-so-slight frustration at capturing a moving target in shades of gray.
Where have all of the great writers gone? Aren’t there more stories to be told? Just about the only way to escape the madness is to lose yourself in a good book. I’ve read all of the books we have here. I want new stories.
Over the years, the salvage teams supplied us with hundreds of books. The Zone’s library is pretty good, but everything in it is old. No one’s publishing anything new these days. I guess it’s understandable with the undead around. Where have all of the writers gone? Are they off somewhere thinking up new stories? Have they been taken?
I wish they were here. They could just take a look around this place for inspiration. We’ve got some real characters around here. I hope where ever they are that they are writing. Someone needs to tell our stories for future generations, if there are future generations.
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