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The paper I turned into my composite english class. :)

How I Failed to Survive a Zombie Attack

As I type this final memoir, you must be made aware of the horrific struggle I have endured. Here I am in this pitch-black surveillance room on a typewriter that is probably older than I am, pouring what is left of my being on to this paper with a sawed-off shotgun resting on my knee, a cold, steel-plated forty-five magnum in my lap and a searing pain running the length of my leg. Even in this dim illumination given off by the ever present flickering monitors, I can see the yellow puss oozing from the putrid stench-ridden orifice that is gaping up at me in the middle of my thigh. The pain is beyond words like torture and agony and have me contemplating my reasons for continuing this meager existence. It's hard to collect my wits when I am constantly reminded of my predicament. The eerie scrapes of deadened limbs on the waxed floor and the grating moans of the trailing undead just outside this barred door, reminds me of their lingering presence.

I can still vaguely recall the distant memories of the unaltered life I lived. It has only been twelve hours since my world was turned topsy-turvy. I remember the clinging heat of the mid-afternoon sun as it beat down on my already sweating body. The perspiration was due in part to the fact that I was participating in a pickup game of touch football in the open park. Compared to the rotting stench in my current dark, dank confines, the welcomed aroma of freshly cut grass and the warmth of the sun is an unimaginable piece of heaven. It was in this paradise that hell flowed over.

With the ball launched from our all-time quarterback to the flawless catch of our untouchable wide receiver it appeared our victory was imminent. Then out of nowhere a supposed bystander ran, as if possessed with an insatiable hunger, onto the field before he lunged his fatigued frame at our untouchable. They both went down fiercely, their bodies collided to the ground with such force both heads whipped back before being hurled to the ground once more. In anger at the violent intrusion of this attendee, we hurried to our fallen comrade’s aid and arrived in time to see this monster, this unfathomable creature, gnash at the exposed neck of his victim. I felt the scream building up in my tightened throat as the crimson river began to spew from in between the gaps in the attacker’s teeth. In horror we failed to react quickly enough and our friend was all but devoured by his assailant, when the others arrived.

It was with a sickening sense of deja vu that I watched many of my remaining friends fall victim to the onslaught. In the next instant I was being dragged, as if the flames of hell were licking at my heels to my friend's heaven-sent truck.

The incredible amount of fiends that began to swarm around us as we barely managed to barricade ourselves inside the cab was incomprehensible. The tears began to fall hot and fast as I sat with my sole companion, looking on helplessly as my friends were consumed. All the while the truck rocked to and fro as the sides were bombarded with each addition of the undead. With an outraged roar my friend floored the pedal and plowed into the mob in great desperation to salvage what was left of our existence.

I believe it was at this time I went into shock. Not much is known to me of that harrowing journey through the gutted streets and terrorized communities that moments before had been my very neighborhood. The smoke billowed to the sky and the flames shot forth from overturned vehicles and abandoned houses. These fiends flocked in the streets, consuming every individual they encountered. The fear, the overwhelming fear was inconceivable and disabling and was magnified ten-fold when I discovered the status of my own ransacked home.

The front door hung from one hinge and the curtains waved in the open air through the shattered glass of my window. As to my family's whereabouts I still know nothing and I have devoted a great deal of my time to wondering of their fate. My own predicament held true for my friend behind the wheel as we discovered his home in much the same condition as my own. We embraced one another and wept in each other's comfort, both silently attempting to wake ourselves from this horrific nightmare. In the background, hands feebly clawed and scratched at the splitting windows and the bed of the pickup began to weigh down from the endless string of uninvited guests filing into it.

We devised a plan to arm ourselves. Our instincts proclaimed to us that we should depend on the law enforcement that had protected us for our entire lives, save for this afternoon. We barreled down the eerily vacant freeway, recklessly weaving and fishtailing through multiple lanes in attempts to overthrow the small army still lingering in the back of the truck. We screeched to a halt in front of the quiet and forlorn police station the bed of the truck now empty. I gave one final look to my friend, attempting without words to provide him with enough courage to storm the front of the building with me, in hopes that through those doors we would find our sanctuary. My memory is fogging up again, now, and I find it hard to concentrate on anything else, but I will do my best to complete my tale.

It was with a quick nod that we lunged from the truck and sped towards those short steps. I heard myself stumble over the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears, but my body recognized no pain. I scrambled to my feet and reached the doors soon after my friend crashed through the frame. Quickly we slammed the doors shut and barred them with our bodies as we examined our surroundings. This building had been assaulted upon. The tattered furniture was strewn about the room and the paper that littered the floor was crumbled and drenched in a sickeningly familiar shade of red. I refused to allow the

bile to escape from my lips as I saw the disembodied remains draped grotesquely over the banister that lined the stairs.

There was no-living soul to be found on the first floor of the station, but thankfully there was no sign of any dead beings slinking about either. We placed a solid, sturdy flagpole through the handles of the doors, denying entrance to anyone that should happen upon us. Cautiously we made our way through the devoid corridors in search of a gun or a knife or even an electric stun-gun, anything that could serve as a lifesaving tool. Our prayers were answered when we discovered a door labeled, “Evidence Lockup”. Upon closer examination we discovered an arsenal of weapons we could employ in our defense. As we were taking inventory and rationing the meager portions of ammo, we heard the distinct sound of wood snapping in two followed closely by the thunderous roar of a flood of bodies racing down the hall. I snatched the two weapons I mentioned earlier from the top of the weapons heap and fled close behind my friend.

Even now, sometime after the attack, my mind is clouded as to the details. We couldn't outrun them and I fell first. They launched themselves on my fallen frame and the first fiend sank his teeth into the soft fatty flesh of my thigh. The pain jarred me conscious of the heavy weapons I held grasped firmly in my fists. As the second zombie readied itself to feast upon me, I began to unload rounds into the cluster about me.

Again, my memory is blurred. I seem unable to recall how I managed to roll myself away from the throng that threatened to suffocate me. The next conscious thought I have is waking up on this cold floor in a pool of my own blood and the gentle flicker of the monitors. I just had to take one glance at the monitor screens that were wired to the cameras electronically patrolling the walkways to realize that any escape was futile. The creatures had amassed to such great numbers the corridors appeared to be a river of hallowed bodies.

And some hours later here I am, baring testimony to any person that should find my final words. I've accepted my fate. I know that before the night is over, I will have been transformed into the monsters I've lived in terror of this day. My feeble attempt to escape has left me alone and fading, but this is not how I envisioned my life to end. The pain is so great I believe it will consume me soon. Please know that I lived my life to the fpoelrkgjbvaldihalen l87; v5p7bkf9eh4kf556as 54adf65d87/* 4a8sd9a/7d+w4iej


baldwind says:
at: December 18, 2007 at 3:01 PM said...

remind me to keep you around in case of an imminent zombie attack :]