It was a day like any other... or, well, maybe not like any other, but a day like a good few of the others; a day at least close enough that it could sit at the same lunch table as the other days without being pelted by whatever food it is that days eat.
But that is neither here nor there. Nor there, and no, not there either. In fact, forget it ever came up, and just look back to the first sentence fragment there; the bit ending in the ellipsis. 'It was a day like any other', that one.
Well, the keyword here would be 'was', for it was about to become such a strange and terrible day that the other days would soon be shooting it strange looks and then banishing it from the cafeteria altogether, and it would end up eating its lunch alone in the bathroom, poor thing. Let us mourn for a moment its life of normalcy before we move on. A few line breaks' worth should do.
Very well. Now, you may be disappointed to learn that the protagonist of this tale is actually not this day, but rather a young man who first rued the day, then accepted its existence, and then later cursed the day. If this is the case, feel free to write an angry letter to the author of the story, demanding that he write a story solely about the days and their escapades. Go now, I'll save your spot!
Well alright, now that we've gotten rid of them, let's get down to the meat and potatoes of our tale, and stop fussing around with the salad.
Our protagonist does have a name, which is a very good thing, because Protagonist isn't the greatest proper noun to go repeating over and over. This name would be Forsythe, except that Forsythe is a ridiculous name. His name was actually Jordan, and this is his tale.
* * *
Jordan woke up.
This, in and of itself, wasn't much of a surprise; as it was something he did nearly everyday. The bit worth noting was that he had awoken a good half hour earlier to the sound of his alarm, promptly shot out of bed, turned it off, and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. And this all happened lightning quick; a veritable blur of laziness, if you'll excuse the oxymoron. A casual observer, or even one who getting paid to observe but wasn't great at it, could probably have sworn they had imagined the alarm and the subsequent blur of motion, and would chalk it up to too much coffee or a bad burrito.
It seems like a shame, now that all that detail was put into describing the events preceding his eventual awakening, that I've just remembered that isn't the part with noting at all. In fact, at this point, you're better off noting nothing, because you'll need the ink later, and he wakes up in this exact same fashion more often than not.
This leaves very little time for such frivolous things as eating and showering and getting dressed, yet he insists on cramming each activity into the very limited space he has. A customary breakfast of cold cereal is scarfed down cereal so quickly a sprinting shawl would be proud. A shower that could make him a navy officer, a dressing frenzy that would make a quick change artist sweat, and he is out the door at a velocity that invites further creative metaphors.
And today was no different, at least not yet. He ate, showered, dressed, and left, all in the usual manner. He walked down the street in the usual manner. He saw the elderly lady from a few houses down crossing the street to the park in the usual manner. Well, sort of. She looked to be a good deal more decrepit than usual, but she wasn't getting any younger and the snow on the ground sure wasn't helping her walk.
He pulled out his phone to check the time, silently fumed at the day for getting the jump on him, and picked up the pace, looking to his left as he made to cross the streets. Why high school had to start so early was beyond him. Why he wasn't used to it after three and a half years was beyond his parents.
Back to him looking left, though; he noted a jeep coming his way and stopped short of the street, waiting for it to pass, but also staring it down. It was easily greener than the greenest green he (and more than likely anyone else without a fluorescence fetish) had ever dreamed of. It was like an ocular submission hold; painful to experience and yet impossible to get away from.
The vehicle was approaching quickly, not showing any signs of slowing down. Which might have been fine if it wasn't going twice the speed limit. Though even that might not have been so bad had it not been for the fact that the old woman still hadn't made it to the sidewalk.
Acting without thinking (which really wasn't all that uncommon a thing for a teen to do anyway), he ran out onto the street in front of the approaching car and tackled the slowly shuffling senior onto the snowbank on the side of the road, narrowly avoiding the jeep as it zoomed past. He grimaced midair as the woman's dentures came flying out of her mouth and landed on the icy sidewalk on the other side of the snowbank, and for a moment, there was only one thought on his mind.
Who the hell drinks and drives at 7AM?
The sinfully green monstrosity skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into a parked car due to the icy roads, but it eventually evened out. This suggested that the thing was probably packing some decent winter tires, but it was pretty much impossible to see the wheels through all the green glare.
Jordan rolled onto his back and groaned, wiping some snow from his face. That had felt about as nice as getting crushed by a giant ice cube, and wasn't nearly as entertaining. He glared at (or maybe just squinted and frowned at) the jeep, which was by then turning around and coming back.
It pulled over beside Jordan, and had he been able to see anything but a painful green glow, he would have noticed the window roll down and a toque-clad head stick out. Jordan expected a furitive apology, some lame excuse.
"Kid, what the hell are you doing?!"
"...fler?" was all he could manage. He was flabbergasted. He was caught so off guard, he didn't even notice that his mouth was open, he was drooling, and it was freezing to his chin.
"Look what the old bat is doing! Can't you feel that?!"
Looking stupidly down at the old lady, he noticed that she had a hold of his coat-encapsulated arm with both hands, and was gumming away at it like it was a cob of corn. Snapping to, he pulled disgustedly away and stood up, trying to see who was talking to him.
"So what!?" he said to where he guessed the someone might be. "You nearly killed her!"
"That's what we were trying to do, you idiot! What the hell were you doing last night?"
Jordan was mighty confused, but couldn't help but think on the man's question anyway. Last night... Well, it was Monday, so yesterday was Sunday, and seeing as Saturday usually turned into a 36 hour no-sleeping marathon, he usually spent Sunday night...
"Uh, sleeping? What's going on?"
He heard other voices from the lime-mobile; cursing and mumbling, and after a few moments, the first voice made itself heard once more.
"Kid, you ever seen Dawn of the Dead?"