Dark Lit FiresMature

This is really up to whoever would like to contribute. I want it to be very scene-like, with alternate story lines, some find each other, some don't, but all contribute somehow to the way things end. Oh, did I mention there were zombies. Yeah, zombies. Just hit me up with a message if you're interesting in getting more in depth with some of what I'm hoping to accomplish, but anyone is free to put in their story.


“The rain was a constant for weeks after it happened, daylight seemed to fade into nothing but grey. Of course, the power, water, and heat all shut off instantly.”

“The beginning never mattered, makes no difference how anything starts if it leads to the same inevitable moment you’re in now, ‘cause it ain’t changin’. Wishful thinking had nothing to do with it, the communication cord our lives so desperately craved was sliced clean as a hack saw. One day you go to bed in the same bed you did weeks and months and years before that, next, well, next everything’s off, and that’s it. We didn’t leave at first, no need too, food and shelter from the rain. Just put pans under the leaks and all was well. The rain was dangerous, but nothing a couple layers of clothing couldn’t handle. Holes would quickly fill, which patches from other clothes filled. Nothing changed, for a while. Then just as soon as everything else ended, something new became noticeable. People wandering. Everything biological science has come to agree on never surpassed to what I have witnessed.”

“‘It’s just as impossible as it is likely.’ My grandfather would always tell me to anything I declared impossible at that sure age of six. All I remember was a tall man with big ears, and of course, the daily treats of cartoons and candy. Weird, the experience you recall after something has passed.  Anyway, after the disease became apparent it became necessary survival, with the word necessary used with full meaning. All the daily needs started surpassing all other tasks. With the passing of river bottoms, pitching small tent, small fire, all time seems to transition to the drawing and fading of everyday’s sun, or, I guess in our case, lack thereof.”

“Quite poetic for someone that’s been through what you have.” A slow drizzle cascaded downward from black sky onto the crackling of a low, well coaled, fire. Two faces outlined the flames against everything else the darkness holds, real or not. A rush was heard not too far away of the fast creek that rolled down some moss laden rocks nearby.

“I like to do what I can, especially since people are so few and far between now, just like the wild west days, reputations are everything.” A quick smile drew shadows across the cheeks of one of the men under a shoddy tent, elongating his mouth to the point of clown-like stature.

“’Fiery eyes better match a fiery gaze’ they always say.”

The Otherman sat cross-legged on top of a tarp and thin blanket, hands huddle towards the warmth. He seemed far away, but who didn’t these days? Everyone that survived the initial infection always found their drug of choice. Between the booze, the pills, the sex, the money, or the killing, things never change. His dark eyes matched his dark face and his teeth were the only thing visible when he spoke.

“Who’s they?” The sarcastic smile led way to a raised head and face lit by fire. His shaggy mess of hair fell over all sides of the head, covering his eyes at all times.

“First of all you should probably cover up, the rain may still be toxic, you never know if that..” The main failed to find a word and made sweeping hand motions instead, then continuing, “evaporates or whatever the hell it does. Up here the spring water may still be fresh, but everywhere I go I still boil the shit out of it. ‘Better safe than sorry’ you know the saying, fuck,”

Otherman, sensing the man would continue talking, and trail off, quickly set up another tarp above his blanket and seated himself again.

“I know for a fact that every kid to mid adult can recite the Pledge of Allegiance,” The man stopped to do a mock salute with grin attached, “But most of them can’t, for a fact, shoot a gun or even defend themselves. There are two weak animals in the world, men and pandas. The rest survive according to principals of the wild. Jack London, who is the saint and seer of our nation if I had ever seen one, wrote spot on about the laws of club and tooth and fang. You remember reading it in school, at least they give you the chance to see the snare trap their settin’ you up to give in to. More than I can say ‘bout the animals I kill.” Another yellow grin, then a yawn. “Damn, is this rain ever gonna stop?”

“Guess not. It’s been well over a couple of months I’m guessing.” He forgot totally about the always unanswerable question that lingers over us. The infamous, famous they.

“Hey, Old Man, you better get some sleep, I’ll put the fire out and spray ‘round the camp. I’ll keep watch for a few hours then wake you.”

“I ain’t that old you ornery son of a bitch. I bet a hundred dollars I can shoot your pecker clean outta this camp, and that’s a small target! Old, Jesus Christ, I ought to show him old.” The man drew his hardened cowboy head over his eyes and crawled underneath his covers, still muttering to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, no need to hurt your feelings.” Otherman escaped a small laugh as he turned back towards camp. Not sure if it’s superstition or fact or a little of both, but if you spray pepper spray around the entire area surrounding your camp, nothing seems to bother you.

As the shaggy man crawled underneath his musty maroon blanket solitary thoughts of the future quickly came to him. Thoughts of pepper spray reigning of the new gold. Thoughts of true anarchy, pure or terrible, thoughts of totalitarian rulers of past put forth again on different soil. Then, thoughts of how short time really is, and how quickly and elusively it disappears, meanwhile, fate and luck dangle as strings down from the desperate stars, playing with the dolls they so urgently require for reasons unknown to the lost children. Forthcoming and inevitability are two in the same, and both seem to ensnare us as much as they can, to bring us into their games of desire and wishes. Thoughts of words themselves, and how inert they really are, so nothing really means anything. Then, like everything, the dark of sleep, to new days always unknown and forever forgetful.

The End

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