Just Like The Movies
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
902
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
902
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Just Like The Movies
Just Like The Movies
Last year I saw this great zombie movie. Dawn of the Dead. The remake. Ving Rhames said something I\'ll never forget in it. Some things are worse than death. One of them is sitting here waiting to die. I\'m not sure. Every time I fantasized about a zombie crisis, I pictured myself as the hero, with a small group of survivors, cutting them down with Ash-like remarks, quirks, and a few clips of ammo. Now we\'ve got nothing. We\'re out of food. They bang on the doors so much we can\'t even see out anymore because of the horrible spiderwebs of cracks. They\'ll be in in a few minutes; and we\'ve got two choices.
Fight or Die.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chrissy won\'t stop crying. I do my best to comfort her, but it\'s hard to with this awful stabbing pain in my arm. I wrapped it in wax paper, which was all we could find at this old beat-down Subway we hid in. Someone was here before us and ransacked everything except the cold cuts. Must be allergic to ham. The paper\'s greasy with blood, and it was the best piece I could find, so if I lose it now, I\'ll probably bleed to death. It doesn\'t matter to me.
I was bit.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Remember the \'rules\' scene from Scream? We\'ve all heard part of it somewhere. Don\'t do drugs. Don\'t drink. Don\'t say I\'ll be right back. Don\'t have sex. I even made up a few of my own.
Don\'t go upstairs when running. There\'s no way down from up.
Don\'t give someone else a gun, they\'re probably the killer.
If someone is bit, keeping them alive is no good. Blow the poor bastard away.
I keep telling myself it was a fantasy, and the bite means nothing. Movie stuff.
I\'ll know either way. The problem is, do I want to find out, and when I do, what\'s the catch?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Makeshift weapons. They always work out. Wrenches in Night of The Living Dead. Cricket Bats in Shaun of the Dead.
They\'re coming to get you, Barbara.
We\'re coming to get you, Barbara.
Ha Ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got bit just a few hours ago when they broke in through the windows above the restroom wall. Bashed a few of them over the head with the old push broom handle I found behind the counter. No good. I earned a bite and we ran past them into the back room. We\'ve locked ourselves in now. The ones at the window will probably get in first; one more good hit at that spider-web of cracks I mentioned will break. Or maybe the ones at the door will too. It\'s just us two now. Richard bought it on the ride over.
He thought it would be cool to try and hit one with his van like that guy in Resident Evil: Apocalypse.
GTA, Motherfucker. Ha ha. He crashed. Hit his head on the steering wheel and blacked out. We tried to to drag him, but he was too heavy and they caught up. Us or him. We let him go. He woke up just when they were munching on his eyesockets. Ugh.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We take a chance. Now. Forever. I unlock the door and slam it out as hard as I could. At least it was built right. Two moans. The one outside goes down. We haul ass past him and I push Chrissy out the door ahead of me, stopping to grab my trusty Broom handle.
Broom handle.
Broom Stick.
Boom Stick. Like Ash.
Ha ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There\'s over a dozen outside. We rush past them for a car, anything, and pay the price. These ones can run. Just like Dawn of The Dead.. just like out of a movie..
I bash their skulls one at a time. Chrissy shrugs out of one\'s grip and runs. She falls when she hits the edge of the curb and I hear her ankle snap. I confuse it with the sound of breaking bones from the zombie I\'ve turned on next, all the while spewing curses out from under my breath.
I try to carry her, she\'s pretty light, a bit younger than me. Richard would be proud the way I was taking care of his sister.. except by now he\'s probably dead or one of them. See ya down below, man.
I run carrying her for at least a few miles before we see the cop car that hit a tree. There\'s a shotgun between the seats. Empty. The engine won\'t start, because the keys are gone. Gas is leaking everywhere. Fire hazard. They should be fired.
Ha Ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I find something useful in the backseat; a handgun. I tell Christy to go on without me. Pain from my arm overwhelms me by now, and I sink into the seat of the car. They\'re coming up over the hill. I watch her run. I\'m not going to wait for my arm to answer that million dollar question.
Bang. One down.
Bang. Two Down.
Bang. Three Down.
Bang. The last one was for me.
See ya.
Last year I saw this great zombie movie. Dawn of the Dead. The remake. Ving Rhames said something I\'ll never forget in it. Some things are worse than death. One of them is sitting here waiting to die. I\'m not sure. Every time I fantasized about a zombie crisis, I pictured myself as the hero, with a small group of survivors, cutting them down with Ash-like remarks, quirks, and a few clips of ammo. Now we\'ve got nothing. We\'re out of food. They bang on the doors so much we can\'t even see out anymore because of the horrible spiderwebs of cracks. They\'ll be in in a few minutes; and we\'ve got two choices.
Fight or Die.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chrissy won\'t stop crying. I do my best to comfort her, but it\'s hard to with this awful stabbing pain in my arm. I wrapped it in wax paper, which was all we could find at this old beat-down Subway we hid in. Someone was here before us and ransacked everything except the cold cuts. Must be allergic to ham. The paper\'s greasy with blood, and it was the best piece I could find, so if I lose it now, I\'ll probably bleed to death. It doesn\'t matter to me.
I was bit.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Remember the \'rules\' scene from Scream? We\'ve all heard part of it somewhere. Don\'t do drugs. Don\'t drink. Don\'t say I\'ll be right back. Don\'t have sex. I even made up a few of my own.
Don\'t go upstairs when running. There\'s no way down from up.
Don\'t give someone else a gun, they\'re probably the killer.
If someone is bit, keeping them alive is no good. Blow the poor bastard away.
I keep telling myself it was a fantasy, and the bite means nothing. Movie stuff.
I\'ll know either way. The problem is, do I want to find out, and when I do, what\'s the catch?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Makeshift weapons. They always work out. Wrenches in Night of The Living Dead. Cricket Bats in Shaun of the Dead.
They\'re coming to get you, Barbara.
We\'re coming to get you, Barbara.
Ha Ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got bit just a few hours ago when they broke in through the windows above the restroom wall. Bashed a few of them over the head with the old push broom handle I found behind the counter. No good. I earned a bite and we ran past them into the back room. We\'ve locked ourselves in now. The ones at the window will probably get in first; one more good hit at that spider-web of cracks I mentioned will break. Or maybe the ones at the door will too. It\'s just us two now. Richard bought it on the ride over.
He thought it would be cool to try and hit one with his van like that guy in Resident Evil: Apocalypse.
GTA, Motherfucker. Ha ha. He crashed. Hit his head on the steering wheel and blacked out. We tried to to drag him, but he was too heavy and they caught up. Us or him. We let him go. He woke up just when they were munching on his eyesockets. Ugh.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We take a chance. Now. Forever. I unlock the door and slam it out as hard as I could. At least it was built right. Two moans. The one outside goes down. We haul ass past him and I push Chrissy out the door ahead of me, stopping to grab my trusty Broom handle.
Broom handle.
Broom Stick.
Boom Stick. Like Ash.
Ha ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There\'s over a dozen outside. We rush past them for a car, anything, and pay the price. These ones can run. Just like Dawn of The Dead.. just like out of a movie..
I bash their skulls one at a time. Chrissy shrugs out of one\'s grip and runs. She falls when she hits the edge of the curb and I hear her ankle snap. I confuse it with the sound of breaking bones from the zombie I\'ve turned on next, all the while spewing curses out from under my breath.
I try to carry her, she\'s pretty light, a bit younger than me. Richard would be proud the way I was taking care of his sister.. except by now he\'s probably dead or one of them. See ya down below, man.
I run carrying her for at least a few miles before we see the cop car that hit a tree. There\'s a shotgun between the seats. Empty. The engine won\'t start, because the keys are gone. Gas is leaking everywhere. Fire hazard. They should be fired.
Ha Ha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to yell at the screen. Like a lot of movie buffs do.
Turn around, Damnit!
Run!
The door\'s locked, dumbass!
Don\'t go upstairs!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I find something useful in the backseat; a handgun. I tell Christy to go on without me. Pain from my arm overwhelms me by now, and I sink into the seat of the car. They\'re coming up over the hill. I watch her run. I\'m not going to wait for my arm to answer that million dollar question.
Bang. One down.
Bang. Two Down.
Bang. Three Down.
Bang. The last one was for me.
See ya.