Candy Got Attacked

 

Ok, so first off, spoiler: Candy is fine. There's just a small scratch on her face but honestly she's gotten worse when she fought cats those several times.

I've walked Candy around the block (up my street, around a corner, down another street, and then back around) for years and years now, and much more recently, I've been doing it everyday. At this point, I've got to be some sort of fixture in the area by now, you know, like in your own neighborhood. Like some kids who are always playing in the street after school, or an old lady who always sits on her steps at a certain time of the day smoking cigarettes, or that particular house where you know they're having cult meetings. Honestly, I've been at it for so long, some people have asked how Candy is doing, or asking about her age, everyone probably just surprised that she's still alive. And with the way she grunts when she stands or eats or shits, yeah, she's up there in age.

But more on that another time (seriously, I've been putting together a post about Candy's old age for several months). Let's get to the events. So, for a time reference, this happened last week Thursday (I hate typing, and I prefer posting on weekdays). I'm going down the other street when a dog starts barking. Nothing unusual about that, dogs bark all the time when Candy is peeing in front of their house. I see a dog's head through gate bars and it follows us as we walk passed the house. I see it try to peek over the low part of a fence, and I laugh as I hear some elementary school age kids trying to calm down the dog. We got to the end of the next house/ plot when I hear the kids' screams get louder. I turned back and naturally Candy does too, you know, because of the leash, and there's a dog barking and running right at us, roughly Candy's size or a little smaller.

Now, I told you that whole thing about walking Candy for years to set-up the fact that this obviously isn't the first time we've encountered loose dogs on our walks. And every single one of these encounters, no matter how aggressively the dog was behaving earlier, ends with the other dog either stopping short, barking more, and then running away; or circling around Candy to sniff her butt.

So, as this other dog is charging us, children yelling in the background, I'm just standing there thinking, "I wonder how this is going to go?" Well, that dog took option three and lunged right at Candy's face, who managed to avoid letting the dog clamp down on her snout. Instinctively I pulled Candy away and put myself between her and that other bitch (I think I'm allowed to say that, right, since it was a female dog). The other dog snarled and started circling around me, trying to get to Candy. I'm not sure why it considered Candy the threat/ target and not me but I guess that's a dog thing. Then I just spent the next minute or two (it probably wasn't that long) just keeping myself between it and Candy until those kids finally came over and grabbed their dog. 

I know what some of you are saying, "If that was me and my dog, I would've punted that other dog down the street." Well, let me tell you, it's a lot more difficult than you think to actually kick a dog. Not morally harder, mind you, I was still snapping kicks at it even when those kids came into view. I just mean that it's a lot harder to kick a moving target with your off-leg (is that the correct term? Non-dominant kicking foot?) as Candy's leash is held in my right hand, while you're also trying to keep yourself in front of your own dog, who, even after being attacked, is trying to get in front to see what that bitch's problem is.

Well, eventually those kids grabbed their dog, and Candy and I walked away. Well, she first stopped and peed in their neighbor's yard, and then we walked away. She got a small scratch on her nose which bled a little. Back at the house I cleaned it off, spraying some antiseptic on a paper towel and dabbing her wound. I thought about spraying it directly on the cut, but if she behaves the same way as she does when I give her a bath, I would've ended up spraying it in her eyes while she struggled. We went for another lap afterwards and didn't see the dog, so I can't say for certain what happened to it (their dad sounded really mad about the incident).

Land of the Undead (part 2)

The three shadows split apart, one going after each group. I readied my spear and I heard Anna notch an arrow behind me. My grip tightened as I finally saw them in the glare of the setting sun. It was even taller than the other ghoul, almost seven feet tall. Unlike the ghouls though, the creature was shaped more like a gorilla, huge slabs of muscle covering its entire form.

A twang! and an arrow flew just over my shoulder and struck the hunter in the knee. I'd seen the an arrow fired at full draw sever smaller limbs on animals. A hit to the chest might not be fatal but could knock a full-grown elk to the ground. Against this behemoth, I expected a shattered kneecap. Instead, the arrow glanced off harmlessly and the monster continued charging toward us.

"Put it in the head or the eye!" I said, hoping not have to go toe-to-toe with this thing.

It got to within a hundred feet before Anna released another bolt. No way she misses at this range, I thought, feeling my nervous grip relax slightly. Then the monster jumped. Not a lunge or a dive like a lion might when tackling prey. No, it was twenty feet in the air and still climbing when it occurred to me to look up. It took another second for me to realize it would come down on top of us.

I shoved Anna and rolled in the opposite direction. The hunter landed with a heavy thud, feet and fists sinking a couple inches into the ground. I thrust my spear toward its chest, hoping to pin the hunter long enough for Anna to stick it in head with her spear. The taller ghoul was right through - the spears were sharp but didn't have the weight to hold it as the point of the spear barely stabbed into the hunter's dense muscle. I tried to drive it further but the creature's muscle wouldn't budge. Anna's spear unfortunately met with the same result as she stabbed at the side of the hunter's head. 

The hunter roared and, seeing me first, reached out a massive arm. I shut my eyes, imagining great fingers wrapping themselves around me, pulling me to it, just a snack for this beast. Instead there was a loud crack! and I opened my eyes to see the hand hanging limply, the arm broken at the elbow. A club swung and shattered the hunter's leg, dropping it to a knee. The ghoul swung a third time, two-handed, bringing the club down on the hunter's head. It must've been enough, the force shattering skull and destroying the zombie's brain. The hunter fell.

I panted, terrified, until I heard Raymond cry out. I turned in time to see a hunter maul Raymond, bringing him to the ground and disappearing under the hunter's mass. Turning away from the gore, I looked over to see the other trio. The hunter lay motionless on its back while Tristan drove his spear into the monster's head. An arrow stood tall, probably a miraculous shot right through its eye and puncturing the brain. I let out a sigh of relief and began turning to help kill the last hunter. Then Denise screamed.

Turning around, a zombie draped itself over Karl's back with its teeth sinking into his neck. A set of hands wrapped around Denise's ankle, bringing her to the ground. Tristan stood transfixed, spear still in the hunter's head.

"Help your friends. The rest of the horde approaches. I'll take down the last hunter." The taller ghoul ran, Anna following right behind him.

I ran to Tristan, knowing too well that Denise and Karl were already among the dead. I got to Tristan, still standing in shock, and yanked him behind me. "Run back to the bunker!" I shouted before putting my spear through the heads of the two zombies. In the shadows of the trees, I could see a pack of zombies, almost two dozen of them, shambling toward me.

I found myself shaking, sobbing, looking down at the mangled forms of Denise and Karl. Though we weren't necessarily close before we went into the pods, we knew we would be all each other had when we awoke a thousand years into the future. We are all each of us has left. "There's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can do," I repeated to myself as I raised the spear over Denise's skull. I closed my eyes. I tightened my grip. I took a breath. A great roar shook me, the spear point burying itself in the dirt several inches away from my target. I looked over to see the ghoul delivering a fatal blow to the last hunter, similar to the one it delivered just a little while ago.

Quickly, I inhaled the sigh of relief I was letting out as smaller cries came from the treeline. Within the trees, zombies shambled out of the forest: skin withered and decayed, some missing limbs, their teeth an endless chatter. Amongst their ranks, cloaked figures moved unheeded between the corpses, delivering death blows with logs and stones. The zombies took no notice of the ghouls killing their brethren, all their focus on me and the other living humans. "Maybe it won't be too bad to travel together for a while," I said aloud, staring in wonder as nearly half the zombie horde is brought to the ground by a force seemingly invisible to them.

Two hands gripped my ankle with surprising strength. I try to jump back before realizing I'm anchored in place by a zombiefied Denise. "Shit!" I shout at my own carelessness. Of course they would change faster in the future as the virus progressed further and further. A thousand years ago, it took almost an hour for the change to complete. Looks like now it could take as little as a minute or two. I brought the butt of the spear down hard, fracturing the zombie's jaw. I did the same to its wrists, freeing my leg. Carefully I lined up the spear tip then shoved it through it through the eye.

As soon as I completed the task, another pair of hands wrapped around my waist and hot breath hit the back of my neck. Panicked, I dropped the spear and tried to pull away to no avail. I heard the snap of teeth close like a bear-trap but the pain never came. I looked down to see a pale hand unclenching the zombie fingers that held me. "Free yourself," said the smaller ghoul once he'd pried off enough fingers. I stumbled from Karl's hold and saw his teeth digging deeper into the ghoul's other arm, the leather-bound book lying in the dirt. The zombie fell to its knees, the ghoul's arm still hold in its teeth. With a free hand, the ghoul held the zombie's head back, exposing its face. "Finish it."

I picked up the spear, lining it up with the zombie's head again. Behind the head though, the ghoul struggled to keep hold of the head against his midsection. "Are you going to let go? I'd rather not stab you too if the spear goes through the head," I said.

The ghoul's head tilted quizzically. "I'm already dead," the ghoul simply replied.

For a couple more seconds, the zombie's head wrenched this way and that, trying to get to me though it still had a mouth full of the ghoul's arm. It was taking too long and I wasn't sure how quickly the rest of the horde would arrive, or how many of them. "If you could just hold still for a moment," I said quietly through clenched teeth. For a moment, it seemed that Karl could actually hear me and stopped struggling. Or the ghoul just managed to hold him a little tighter. Or I just focused a little bit harder. Either way, I managed to line up the spear for a second, enough time to lay Karl to rest.

The ghoul dropped the corpse to the dirt and I handed him back his book. We regrouped near the bunker entrance with the larger ghoul and the other surviving humans, six of us in total. In the trees, I could see cloaked figures standing statue still, their cloaks the only things rustling in the wind. Scattered on the ground, the bodies of zombies and their mutated brethren. It was more than we thought we'd find when we awoke but we'd do what humans do best, I thought as I took the book and opened it to unreadable pages. We were going to survive.

 

Based on the Reddit Writing Prompt: to survive the zombie apocalypse you put yourself in a hibernation pod for 1000 years only to discover an advanced zombie society. This might be the first prompt that I wrote a story all the way through (about a month ago), realized it was trash, and went back to re-write it completely differently. It wasn't that bad (by the standards of this blog which isn't that high at all) just not that good. Originally I took the zombies from another story I wrote that would get smarter the more brains they ate. In the end though, virus-type zombies can't really build a future society as their whole motivation is consuming everything. Then I spent time thinking about different types of undead, and there's so many I forgot about. And then, like with most ideas if I'm left alone with them for too long, it just fucking spiraled out of control to this thing. But of course, why end it when you can have one type of zombie interacting with other zombies, says the part of my brain that wants to continue this thing though I've threatened to cut it out several times already. From what I learned during the editing process (and if you're reading this you're thinking "Wait you go back and edit? Then why is this thing so bad?") I could stretch certain spots out to increase tension or suspense, but what I think I need is to shorten/ tighten sections to move along the story (did you enjoy that in a story about zombies it took forever before they were even mentioned?). I did mean to sort of end it with the main character (who I just realized I didn't name) and friends going off to look for other humans to sacrifice and free the ghouls, or something like that. Edit: crap, I didn't actually write that part into the story because I just wanted to stop writing this one already, especially since it's already taken up so much time already and the reason for no post last week. And the worst part is that I may go back to put it in if this fucking thing keeps going around in my head and bothering me to write it. I take that back, the worst part is that I'm already working on another, separate zombie story. No, I don't understand how I got on this binge of zombie stories, but hopefully I can stop after this one.

Land of the Undead (part 1)

 I awoke with a jolt, my body jerking upright. Confusion set in, then panic as my body still sat calmly. The last time I tested the hibernation pod, my lungs couldn't wait to evacuate the hibernation slime. Perhaps something went wrong this time? Perhaps I was actually suffocating? Immediately I stuck a finger down my throat. Like clockwork, my body reacted and I began coughing up the neon green slime that made the hibernation pod possible. My hands kept a tight grip on the interior handholds to prevent the natural urge to roll out of the pod and crack my skull on the ground. Slowly I began testing my movements while still lying on my back. The hibernation pod and the chemicals in the slime prevented as much muscle atrophy as possible but it was always best to test the results, especially after sleeping for a thousand years. 

Satisfied, I climbed cautiously out of the pod. Around me, similar coughs and groans echoed the room as my roommates for the passed millennium also awoke from hibernation. Seven others climbed out of their pods, stretching and waking themselves to the tasks we prepared to undertake. The next forty-eight hours would be crucial for us. The pods sustained us while we slept, but now that we were awake we would need to locate shelter and supplies.

"What about them?" asked Denise, motioning to the other five pods, still closed and their inhabitants still inside.

I inspected the five still-sealed pods as well as the electronic pads connected to each of them. Though Dr. Soares made the read-outs easy enough that an idiot like me could understand, I still preferred to put some faith in looking at the bodies inside the pods too. Especially since all five read-outs said their inhabitants were dead. Two were definitely deceased, decomposition slowed over a thousand years by the internal climate-control devices within each pod. The other three, well they could simply be asleep. "We'll have to leave them," I said making my way to the exit. "The computers say they're gone. Even if we forced open the pods, if they don't wake up then we'll be carrying a couple lifeless bodies through the unknown. Best to leave them here for now. Maybe the pod will awaken them as it's supposed to later, or maybe we can find someone in the new world that can do it." As I passed my pod, I picked up a steel spear, made from the same newly forged metal that the pods were built from, one of the few things guaranteed to survive a thousand years into the future. A couple of the others also had bows and arrows made of the same material.

I paused at the shelter door, two feet of steel separating us from the rest of the world for a thousand years. Before we went into hibernation, the world was descending into chaos as the government was on the verge of collapse and society was giving way to anarchy. The zombies, I thought and my body gave an involuntary shudder. The virus had spread worldwide and there didn't appear to be any hope for a cure soon. It was a losing war and so our small group, and probably dozens of other groups throughout the globe, took the only ride out of the madness. We planned for several different scenarios to emerge once we awoke. Would a utopia emerge after humanity eradicated the zombie threat? If the government decided on using nuclear weapons, would we be stepping into a nuclear wasteland? What if the zombies somehow survived after all this time despite the weather and the rate of decay of a human corpse?

"Are you sure it's safe to go out there?" Raymond asked, turning back to look at the pods.

I shrugged my shoulders and placed a hand on the door. "I have no idea. But we can't go back into hibernation, if that's what you're thinking. We're all out of the drugs they used to put us to sleep. Also, the only guy who could operate the machines died a thousand years ago. No, there's no going back." I gave the lock a twist, and pushed the door open.

I stood frozen in the sunlight as I took the time for my eyes to adjust. A humid breeze gusted passed, the smells of nature overwhelming after a thousand years in sterile isolation: a recent rainfall, decaying undergrowth, animal droppings. A howl from something that once might've been a dog. Trees stood taller than any house in the cul-de-sac had ever been, reclaiming the land as their own. And, standing just outside the door were two figures cloaked in some sort of rough fiber or hide, one of them a couple inches taller than me, and the other several inches shorter.

Immediately, my hand gripped my spear tighter. It took me a moment to realize why. Though they appeared as simply two people cloaked from head to toe against the wind, it was the smell of decay that gave them away. Zombies. The thought crossed my mind as a spear lunged forward and hit the taller figure in the chest. Anna always was faster than me.

"Please stop that," said the smaller figure as it pulled back the hood to reveal a clearly deceased man, blackened veins streaking his corpse-pale skin. In his other hand, he cradled a thick, leather-bound book. There wasn't a title, but instead the cover depicted an angry, bestial face that looked almost alive.

The taller figure simply grunted and yanked the spear out of its body, it's chest covered in tattered clothing beneath the cloak. Anna stepped back and I raised my own spear. I heard a couple arrows notched and strings being drawn back. "Sharp but too light," it said as it buried the spear tip in the dirt.

"Wait, the zombies can talk now? What kind of future did we just wake up into?" I heard Raymond ask from behind me as his spear lowered just over my shoulder.

The two figures exchanged a look and the smaller one smirked. "No, not zombies. At least not like the ones brought back from death by the virus. We're ghouls. Undead resurrected by magic to serve a master."

"So there weren't any zombies when we went into hibernation?" said Raymond.

The smaller ghoul shook his head. "Sorry, I think you misunderstand. There were zombies. There are zombies. What I meant is simply we are not zombies."

I knocked Raymond's spear away from my face. "And this master you serve, did he or she send you to get us?" I asked as I planned my next action.

Again the smaller ghoul shook his head. "No, The Master is long dead. Not many things can survive for more than a few centuries, even with magic." The ghoul held out the giant tome to me. "Unfortunately, we still aren't free to die, and in the state we are in, we can't decipher his texts to free us. Hopefully your group may assist us, freeing our souls from these bodies and moving on."

I stood motionless, trying to process everything I just learned. A primal roar erupting from the trees brought me back to the present. "A hunter. Could it be Meyers?" asked the taller ghoul, its hand reaching above it's head to something strapped to its back.

The smaller ghoul just shook his head. "No, Meyers would have kept his hunters quiet until the moment they struck. Probably just a small horde of zombies. They should pass us by."

The grip on my spear tightened again yet my chest was filled with a strange sense of calm. "Sorry, did you say 'zombies'? And what's a 'hunter'? And who is Meyers?"

Both ghouls turned to face me and I saw a look of terror fill the smaller ghoul's face. "Oh no," he said, "the humans."

Another roar exploded from the trees, and from the gloom three shadowed shapes rushed toward us in a barreling charge. "Zombies?" I asked, amazed that the monsters we originally tried to escape from could evolve into such creatures.

"Hunters. A particular mutation of the virus-created zombies. When it consumes enough muscle they turn into those behemoths. We call them hunters. Normally they pass us by since we are dead too. They must sense your group here." The smaller ghoul, now clutching the book tighter to his chest, moved closer to the taller ghoul.

"Don't worry. Though we expected nature to take care of the zombies before we awoke, we did practice for hunting wild game in case civilization collapsed. Taking down a few zombies shouldn't be as hard." I motioned for my team to spread out. Three split off to my right, three others to my left, Anna staying with me and readying a bow.

"These are not like the zombies you encountered before your long sleep," said the taller ghoul as it guided the other to the bunker while it unslung a gnarled branch from its back. "Destroying the brain is still the best way to put them down though."

Books of 2021: Quarter 2

 

 

So, I wasn't going to keep up with doing the book reviews every month as I did for the first three months of the year. This list also includes the first books that I bought from a bookstore since COVID-19, as well as a few re-reads.

Red Sister by Mark Lawrence

"It is important, when killing a nun, to ensure that you bring an army of sufficient size. For Sister Thorn of the Sweet Mercy Convent Lano Tacsis brought two hundred men."

"She had vowed that she would never let a friend down, that she would do anything, anything at all, to protect them. A vow more sacred to her than the Ancestor, more holy than the church from tallest spire to lowest crypt."

On a world orbiting a dying sun, the ice slowly seeks to cover all of the planet. Life struggles to survive on a thin stretch of land encircling the globe only a couple miles wide. Nona Grey is saved from the hangman's noose and taken in by the Convent of Sweet Mercy to train to become a nun. It is here she'll be raised and trained in the ways of blade and poison and magic, for any Sister of Sweet Mercy is a force on her own. But Nona's enemies are powerful and patient, and will seek her out for revenge.

Grey Sister by Mark Lawrence

"There is a purity in rage. It will burn out sorrow. For a time. It will burn out fear. Even cruelty and hatred will seek shelter, rage wants none of them, only to destroy. Rage is the gift our nature gives to us, shaped by untold years. Why discard it?"

"At a separation of three yards and driven with the speed of a hunska full-blood Kettle's throwing stars allowed no opportunity for evasion. The left one would hit the closest woman somewhere in the neck; the right one would take the other woman in the right eye. Kettle was more accurate with her right arm."

Two years have passed since Nona Grey got her revenge on Raymel Tacsis, and the shipheart was stolen from the Convent of Sweet Mercy. Nona graduated from Red Class to Grey Class. Along with her previous studies, Nona will now learn new arts such as disguise, magical threadwork, and training with a sharpened blade to further hone herself into a weapon of the Church. The ice however continues to squeeze the world tighter and the country is being invaded from all sides. Also sitting outside the convent is the stolen shipheart and the murderer of Nona's friend. To get her revenge, retrieve what was stolen, and possibly save her country, Nona must leave the safety of the convent for the outside world.

Holy Sister by Mark Lawrence

"Perhaps no battle so ugly had ever played out across the Blade Hall sands before. But the simple fact was that Sister Iron, the presumptive Mistress Blade, retreated before the sword of Nona Grey, her own hair wet with sweat now. Sister Iron's own swordwork was now stretched to extravagant lengths, all within a packed handful of seconds that few possessed the vision to follow."

"Nona scanned the forces arrayed before her. She felt her devils moving beneath her habit, their voices crying out for blood, and she found herself in agreement. The Book of the Ancestor says that for everything there is a season. This was a time to reap. A time for death. A time to die."

The ice closes on The Corridor from the north and south, continuously forcing everyone closer together into the only land touched by the moon. Within the walls of the Convent of Sweet Mercy, Nona Grey completes her trainee period and must decide which habit to take up and how best to serve The Ancestor. Meanwhile, her enemies are both invading from outside the borders as well as scheming from within their walls. To bring peace, Nona and her friends need to uncover the mysteries and secrets of the moon high above Abeth, and the Ark hidden deep within the Emperor's Palace.

 
The last book of Mark Lawrence's "The Book of the Ancestor" trilogy. The book jumps between the present as Nona Grey completes her lessons in Holy class and takes her orders as a full nun of Sweet Mercy, and the escape from Sherzal's forces from three years prior that concluded "Grey Sister." A different set-up from the previous two books that mostly stayed in the present except for a couple excerpts chronicling the future (or present day from the perspective of "Holy Sister") attack on the convent. Like the conclusion to Lawrence's Broken Empire trilogy, the ending is such an epic culmination of all the prior events and the changes to the protagonist's character that the actions taken come as such a perfect surprise. The only downside to the story was my own impatience, not letting the story unfold word by word as it should. To explain, though I read this book after re-reading the first two, I originally read "Grey Sister" about two years ago. That's a long time to wait to see how one child can bring peace to a dying world. Because of this, I found my eyes constantly jumping from the page I was currently on to skim through words on the next page that popped out as something important, like looking for a constant teaser about what happens next. I guess it also doesn't help that this is the first book I bought since 2020, the first one of a batch I bought from Barnes and Nobles, and I guess I'm anxious to get to all the others as well.

Another of Lawrence's post-apocalyptic-style stories, the setting is a character itself. Lawrence imagines a world orbiting a dying sun and what that means for life on that planet. Most post-apocalyptic settings use desert wastelands filled with sand dunes and wrecked structures. Starting from  "Red Sister" life only survives with the help of an orbiting giant mirror magnifying the sun's heat and driving back the ice. Everything in the band thrives as it should, but outside it the ice has covered the ground miles deep. It is this world that four original races arrived from the skies and settled on this world. Each race had their own unique physical or magical trait, and blending them allowed all four to survive on this harsh world. The history itself that Lawrence creates is fascinating to read and learn.

From his other two trilogies, I know that Lawrence has a way with writing fight scenes, but I only remembered why (again) when re-reading these books. It's not necessarily the fight itself, which can be extremely hard and, honestly, boring if you're just describing the characters' movements and strikes. No, it's the words inbetween, the ones that add meaning and suspense and thrill to the fight that make them so good.

Gone Tomorrow by Lee Child

 

 

"Suicide bombers are easy to spot. They give out all kinds of telltale signs. Mostly because they're nervous. By definition they're all first-timers."

"'It will help me if your guys grab them up, I don't want to have to shoot them all.'
     'Got a conscience?'
     'No, I've got thirty rounds of ammunition. Which isn't really enough. I need to parcel it out.'"

Riding the New York City subway at 2am, Jack Reacher finds himself on a train with five strangers, one of them matching the profile for a suicide bomber: all 11 points of a checklist distributed throughout the military and law enforcement. Of course Reacher attempts to diffuse the situation except he finds his assessment wrong. His actions though drag him into a far reaching conspiracy, stretching not just between eyes from Washington D.C. to Afghanistan, but actions that happened 30 years ago that could easily reshape the present day. Everyone thinks that Reacher has something and they're all stepping out of the shadows to come after him.

Finally, another Jack Reacher novel! After spending all of 2020 re-reading old books without a Jack Reacher book, I finally made it outside to a bookstore for the next book in the series. As always, the books are entertaining with the same type of vigilante justice, violence, and tactical knowledge I've come to expect from the "Jack Reacher" movie but also like "John Wick" and "The Equalizer." Lee Child does a great job putting action on the page, balancing movements with a brief explanation on their necessity that keeps the story moving without bogging it down. That said, the other half of a great mystery novel is trying to solve the case with the clues as they're presented, hopefully solving the mystery before the protagonist (which, once again, I failed to do). From the very start, the clues are dispersed and I once again learned it'll take a better eye than mine to solve it. Suspicions, of course, can only get you so far to finding the truth.

Peace Talks by Jim Butcher

"Wizards live a long time, and they don't do it by taking unnecessary risks. If you look up unnecessary risk in the White Council's dictionary, my picture is there. And my address. And all my personal contact information. And my permanent record from middle school."

"The old man glowered at me and thrust out his jaw. 'Boy, tell me you ain't dumb enough to try this.'
     The Winter mangle immediately bayed for blood, for defiance, for violence.
     I started drawing for power.
     'Oh, I'm more than dumb enough,' I said through clenched teeth."

A negotiation has finally been announced between the Fomor and the rest of the supernatural community, and it's just Harry Dresden's luck that the talks are being held in his town, Chicago. As a representative of both The White Council of Wizards and of Mab and the Winter fae, Dresden's job is to keep the peace and make sure everything goes smoothly. Of course, nothing is ever easy for Dresden and a new mystery presents itself at the same time, a mystery Dresden must solve or risk losing his brother. 

The sort-of newest Dresden Files book in the series ("Battlegrounds" in hardcover came out sometime last year too but I'm still waiting on the paperback). It's the newest one I've got and why I spent the first six months of last year re-reading ALL 15 of the previous novels in the series. I also went out to Barnes and Nobles the week it was released in paperback to pick it up, and spent a good 10 minutes trying to figure out the new shelving system just to find it. After the heist-style story of the previous novel, "Peace Talks" puts the storyline back in the battle against the returned Fomor, a supernatural group that had retreated into the depths of the ocean when humanity began gaining their hold on the world. Though the Dresden Files has been running for 16 books, this is the first one that really feels like it ends on a cliffhanger. Having listened to several interviews with Jim Butcher, it does make sense as the storyline should be approaching a sort-of climax based on the plans he's revealed for the future of the series.

Maybe it was just because I waited so long for the next book, or maybe I'm just nostalgic for how the series used to be (Dresden taking on a monster of the week while solving a mystery) but this wasn't one of my favorites. I understand that the previous formula of Dresden being assigned a supernatural case that leads him to a greater understanding of the magical world is gone, replaced by things much bigger and more dire, but I still miss those stories. In regards specifically to this story, there was a good chunk in the beginning I felt was unnecessarily long though I understand its importance to the rest of the story. I probably would've tried to shorten the section, or cut it out somehow while still keeping the information the reader gathers from that part of the story (though I've never finished a story so of course, don't listen to me).

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

 

"God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."

"There were five billion people down there. What was going to happen soon would make barbarianism look like a picnic - hot, nasty, and eventually given over to the ants."

The end of the world is upon us, as accurately predicted by a 16th century witch. The Antichrist has arrived on Earth ushering in the end times. A Hellhound is set out to great its master. After bidding their time doing what they do best, the Four Horsemen are also setting out to start humanity's end. Heaven and Hell are preparing for the last great battle. An angel and a demon though, having lived on Earth since The Beginning and having grown quite fond of their time here, set out to ensure that the apocalypse doesn't happen. Except one thing is derailing their plans: it seems that no one knows where the Antichrist really is.

For a book written by two people, the writing blended really well in that I couldn't tell it was written by two authors. Having read a bunch of books by Gaiman, I could pick up some of the elements of his writing, for example, transforming already established ideas and concepts in a way I've never thought of before. Having never read any Terry Pratchett but having watched the first season of "The Watch" by BBS, I could definitely pick out the side humor put in by Pratchett, like the author is making fun of his or her own characters in such a way that none of the story characters are even aware. The story blended their writing styles very well to create something so good and wouldn't be possible without the two of them working together. 

Originally I'd meant to re-read this book BEFORE watching "Good Omens" the show on Amazon Prime but I was still in the middle of reading another book and besides, this book was too far under my bed to conveniently retrieve. The show and the book are basically the same in terms of story and theme. I think the book though has more jokes that the show didn't have, either because of time constraints, they just couldn't be fit in, or just wouldn't be funny to today's audience (the book was published in 1990). I think the main thing I'm sad that got cut from the show was the side remarks (because even in the book we never meet him) about Greasy Johnson - the third boy at the hospital during the baby swap scene.

Also, when I mentioned earlier that it was in an inconvenient place, I meant that it hidden in a box with other books I haven't read for a long time under my bed blocked off by a bunch of other crap next to it. And by a long time, I mean that I've had this book for over ten years now, as you can see from the yellow coloring on the pages and how every page turn felt like it might tear. Still a great book to read though.

Zombie Bite (part 2)

Finally I spoke. "I can't stay here," I begged, surprising the other man. "The horde is close. I can hear it. Take me with you."

The man stared at me in shock before shaking his head. "No, I can't. There will be too many questions and I don't have all the answers. I need you to stay. Don't worry, you're safe here," was all he said before once again grabbing his things and leaving me behind, alone in the room.

But I knew I wasn't safe here. I wouldn't be safe anywhere it seemed. No longer a part of the horde, I would simply be prey to them. Other humans wouldn't understand what I was, and fear and ignorance wasn't a good way to approach them.

Alone and unchained, but unsure where to I could escape, I stared out the window. Outside fires burned where I assumed the other human encampments might be. Zombies roamed the streets, their teeth chattering and ever alert to sounds of their prey. Perhaps they could forgive and welcome me back if I just showed I was one of them, that I never meant to leave the horde, that I was taken from them. Yes, as the horde we were strong, invincible, unafraid. The horde feared nothing and no one, and never had anyone been turned aside from their ranks. Yes, the horde was where I belonged and surely would welcome me back into them.

The man again returned the next day with supplies. Before he could speak, I asked, "Have you tried biting another zombie yet? Did they revert to their human selves as well?"

The man closed his eyes, a shiver climbing up his spine as he took a breath. "Just one other right after I bit you. It was older, I guess, and was already injured. He changed back but succumbed to the bullet holes puncturing his chest. He bled out in front of me and there was nothing I could do." The man's eyes met mine and I could see that there was something worse coming. "Before he died, he told me, begged me to let him die. Said he remembered it all, being a zombie. The screams of his children as he set into them, the taste of their flesh. 'The Hunger' he repeated as he struggled to stop me from applying pressure to his wounds. He was terrified. I don't think I can do that to anyone else."

His body convulsed in horror and he doubled-over, vomiting on the hardwood. I moved in closer to see tears and puke splatter on the floor. I waited. There was still one more question I needed answered. After a while, he straightened, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes widened and his body recoiled in shock when he realized how close I'd gotten. "Do you remember being a zombie as well? Everything you did? I'm so sorry bringing you back to relive it all."

I ignored his questions and his sympathy. "Have you told anyone else about what you could do? About what they might be able to do?" I asked, my hands reaching out to him desperately.

The man reeled back, slapping my questing hands away. "Do you remember being a zombie?" He asked again, though with not the same amount of conviction he possessed the last time.

"Did you tell anyone?" I asked, louder this time as my hands sought again to grab him.

His eyes widened and I could see an understanding come across his face. "You remember," he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Did you tell anyone?" My voice filling the room as my hands finally latched onto his shirt.

"No, I couldn't. I wouldn't let anyone do what I did to another person. I'm so sorry."

My hands shook him hard, then slammed him against a wall. "Sorry for taking me from the safety of the horde, kidnapping me into this terrifying world where I'm just meat?"

Confused, he said, "No, for bringing you back along with all the the things you've done." Another moment of clarity washed over his face as I bore down upon him, my body pinning his to the ground. My teeth parted flesh as I bit into his throat. I tasted metal as blood filled my mouth. Though The Hunger no longer drove my actions, I still attacked with the same ferocity I once possessed. I tore away, ripping apart a piece of the man in the process. My hands held him as my teeth ground his body down, and I let it slide down my throat. For his part, the other man struggled, he pleaded, just as prey should. He tried to escape but I was determined and he was losing blood.

I leaned back against the wall and watched and waited, eyes focused intensely on the body before me. If a bite from a human could take me from the horde, could my bite still bring someone into the horde? The light made its way across the room until darkness once again filled the room. The corpse continued to simply lie still, inert. I felt something inside me break and I bolted upright. My fists pounded themselves into the walls and countertops. I took objects into my hands only to smash them on the ground. Taken from the horde, I could no longer bring anyone into its glory.

Then I heard it. The familiar chattering of teeth and shuffling of unsteady feet. My brethren. Down several flights of stairs I flew until I emerged back on the street. Before me stood a small group of zombies, members of the horde eternal. I let out a shout, clapped my hands, stomped my feet, offering myself to their Hunger. Though I could no longer feel it, I knew The Hunger had taken notice, the zombies shuffling to me. I felt their hands take hold. Then came the teeth, eruptions of pain where they tore into me. Something inside me screamed to run, flee from the pain but I dismissed it. This was the initiation into the horde, the same as I'd endured before to join their safety, and I'd suffer it again and again. My legs went weak and I collapsed on to the pavement, bodies piling on top of me. But soon I'd rise strong once more. My vision darkened and soon I'd awaken to pain being nothing more than a memory. We were the horde, and we were invincible.

 

From a Reddit Writing Prompt about being chased by a zombie and, in a last-ditch effort, decide to bite the zombie first. This is actually a prompt that comes up what seems like once a month, and I actually started it a couple months ago when I saw roughly the same prompt pop-up. The original version though was from the POV of the guy who bites the zombie. It was going well and I was almost done but when I got to the end I couldn't figure out how to show increasing paranoia from the outside. I decided it would look better from the POV of the zombie turned human so I decided not to finish the story and would do a re-write. Then I did nothing with it because well other things. Then the prompt appeared again so I decided that was a good excuse to go back and finish the re-write. Of course without a background in psychology and my general obliviousness to my surroundings and others, I'm really not sure if I captured the main character's fear and growing paranoia properly, but that's going to require either going back to school or actually paying attention to people and I'm not interested in either at the moment. I'm also told that you can't observe your own paranoia since crazy people don't think they're crazy so I guess that method of research isn't going to work too well. Also if you're curious, yeah, I'm impressed I went three weeks in a row with a post. Sure last week's had been written for  weeks prior and I had the bare bones of this story sitting around for months but still I'm on my way to making this a weekly thing (just another thing for you to scroll past) as I always intend to do. And then once I talk about it I'll always find an excuse to break my writing habit. I can already feel a cold coming on. Luckily next week's is almost done as well so that should cover that. Also, if you're thinking that means I'm going to put more effort into the following post with all the extra time, you really should be reading something else.

Zombie Bite (part 1)

Our horde spilled into the city like a flood. Our prey ran with heavy steps and panting breaths. These were the sounds of food, the trails they left for us to follow. Here and there, small packs broke from the horde to give chase down alleys and into buildings, like blind fingers hunting for the very last cookie in a jar. We were one being, and though one or two or twenty might be brought down, they are soon replaced. We are strong, we feel no pain, we are invincible.

We chased the fleeing sounds down an alleyway. A deafening boom and one of our numbers is slowed but not stopped for pain is no longer a deterrent. Another boom and one of ours drops from the horde. No loss for we are many. We continue forward to our prey now scurrying out of the sunlight. More noises, more of us disappear. We pay no heed for The Hunger drives us all. It is that which gives the horde meaning, purpose. Finally hands are placed upon the prey but our teeth cannot find flesh. It struggles, holding us back and denying us our prize. It matters not as its strength will inevitably wane and soon we shall satisfy The Hunger.

We feel a pressure clenching at my arm. I look down to find a sensation like I haven't felt in a lifetime. A shockwave of agony radiates throughout my body, forcing me away from our prey and onto the wooden floorboards.

Suddenly, I'm awake again, my heart pounding in my chest. I gasp as air stings through pathways left too long unused. My eyes blink, bringing the world into focus. A man stands above me, his hands moving, connecting two items together. It takes another moment for my brain to work out the puzzle before me. I raise my arms as the other man points the reloaded gun at my face. I shut my eyes and try to tell him to stop but the only noise I can make is a wheezing sound.

The bullet doesn't come. Instead, something wet splashes on my face. A small drop of blood. A deep bite mark cut into my skin. A piece of dead flesh hanging from the lip of the other man.

"What's going on, zombie? Are you human again?" the man with the gun says wiping away the dead skin with one hand while his other keeps the gun trained on me as if expecting us, no, me, me to lunge hungrily at him.

I stare back, no longer connected to the horde, no longer driven by The Hunger. My throat and mouth still not used to forming words, I just nod. The gun still trained on me, I'm terrified. Depending on the bullet's trajectory, much more than simply death awaits me. He grabs an arm and pulls me to a pipe running vertically through the wall of the room. A cuff goes around my wrist, and another anchors me to the pipe. The man stares at the bite mark on my arm, then touches his mouth. "I'm not sure what is going on, but I need you to stay here until I can sort this out."

Alone in the apartment, the night settles across the city. Silence dominates the room but outside it was punctuated by unsettling sounds. The howls and screams of stray cats and dogs roaming the streets. Crashes and bangs the sounds of humans doing their best to survive the apocalypse around them. Worst of all, the shuffling footstep, origins unknowable from my spot in the room. Whether they belonged to other zombies or other humans, either presented a threat to me. No longer part of the horde, The Hunger would set my former kin against me. Other humans, already untrustworthy in my life before joining the horde, should be treated with more suspicion in this new world.

I sat tense, waiting in the darkness, unable to find either peace or sleep. Images of my previous life floated through my mind: shambling after other humans, my hands tightening, my mouth filled with their meat, screams unheeded now piercing my ears. Through it all though, was the feeling of safety. There were no secrets, no deceptions, no betrayals within the horde, all of us driven similarly by The Hunger. We were one.

The morning light made it halfway across the room before the man returned. As the door creaked open, my body jumped and was immediately yanked back down my the anchoring pipe. "Looks like you're still human." The man tossed me a bottle of water which I guzzled down greedily. Though a human's needs weren't as strong or driving as The Hunger, I still found them formidable, devouring the canned meat thrown to me next. "I haven't had any luck cornering another zombie to see if biting it might turn it human too. And I haven't told anyone about you yet. If they think that just biting all the zombies will turn everyone back, it'll cause a riot. I just need more answers first."

I nodded along in agreement, too scared still to leave the room much less meet with other humans. Who knows what they'll think of a zombie turned human. Maybe they'd rather have revenge for those we'd, I'd probably eaten rather then answers. No, isolation was the safe play.

Our arrangement continued like this a while: I stayed hidden and he'd continue to bring me supplies, sometimes daily or sometimes with enough food and water to last for days when he knew he wouldn't be able to sneak away. At night, the images of what I'd done would come back to me, and I'd sleep in the memories. Soon though the noises outside changed from merely ambling footsteps to the distinct and constant chattering of teeth. The horde roamed the city, no longer sweeping through en masse but spreading over it, through it like a puddle seeping wherever it could go, hunting for food.

Backpack Memorial

 

 

So, about two months ago (shut up, I had other things that I was failing to write, but mostly I dreaded going through those old pictures ... ugh just look at that guy), the zipper on my backpack broke. I was just pulling the zipper open, nothing that I hadn't done a million times, and it just came apart. If you've been on vacation with me, went to school with me, worked with me, or have just known me within the last 15 years, you know which backpack. Though one of the pockets now won't close all the way, it isn't completely unusable. I'm not sure if it's repairable, mostly because I'm stupid. Anyways, after surviving this long, I guess I should write some sort of eulogy/ relive some memories before it disappears either into my closet (if I can trick myself that it's still usable) or into the trash.

Yes, I know how weird this entire post is. I'm attempting to write a memorial for a backpack that doesn't give a shit what I say about it, or, more likely after having held my notebooks for over a decade, would rather me not say anything knowing how terrible at writing I am. It was weird going through so many old photos to see if anyone captured a picture of me with my back turned, or if I happened to put my bag down so it's still in the shot. It's also weird that for something I've had since highschool, I can't think of really stand-out significant stories that focus on my backpack. It's been with me through highschool, college, study abroad in Japan, Portland, Seattle, New York (sort-of, I think most days of that trip I carried a drawstring bag), Australia, Seattle again, Japan again, and Korea, and not to mention every single day at this job I've been at for almost 10 years now. I guess the best stories to tell are the times when it really came through for me, whatever that means exactly.

On just a day to day basis, my backpack was responsible for carrying so many things necessary to my daily survival. Items of note include my notebooks and spare pens for when inspiration or boredom strike, whatever book I happen to be reading so I can further avoid participating with society, my phone charger because PokemonGo drains my battery so fast these days, and my hoodie for those odd days when the office A/C is much colder than usual.

There was the time that all I had was my backpack and its contents when Terry and I took a week-long trip to Kyoto (it probably wasn't a week but I know if I start re-reading the journal I kept then I'm going to keep on reading and not finish this stupid post). Not needing an entire suitcase of stuff for just a week of adventure, I managed to stuff my backpack with a week's worth of supplies. Of course, most of it went into a locker at the hostel but the bag came with me as we traveled around Kyoto, Nara, Osaka ... other places (now I can't remember, fuck I'm getting old). Also, just to amend my earlier statement, looks like it was just three or four days at least based on the folders I sorted my pictures from the trip, but that's still a good-sized side quest, right?

Backpack and I also hiked Mt. Fuji with a group while studying abroad, originally starting by holding my hoodie, an extra t-shirt, some snacks and water bottles. That was also when I learned that the reason people hike Mt. Fuji during the summer is not because it's cooler to be on the mountain than in the hot and humid city, but because the weather will kill you at other times. That said, I packed light, leaving behind my actual heavy jacket because I thought I'd be sweating on the hike and I didn't want to carry so much stuff through Tokyo to the bus station. Upon arrival at the freezing mountain though, I immediately emptied by backpack of everything I could wear. The extra shirt and hoodie made the hike survivable but not at all comfortable. Actually, I take that back. The first thing I did after getting off the bus was ask some guy where I could smoke (poisoning my lungs before trekking up a mountain, stupidity really should've killed me off by now). We managed to beat the sunrise to the ... well not quite the top but as high up as we were going to get.

Still on the topic of hiking (which I guess is where backpack stories truly shine), a couple friends and I went exploring the summer palace years and years ago. As we wandered around (I'm not sure what exactly we were looking for) we got lost trying to find our way back to the highway. Then the rain came and drenched us. Lost in the woods and wet, I thought we were going to end up as another story of dumbass hikers needing to be rescued by helicopter. By pure luck (we had no idea where we were going) we managed to find our way out and back to our cars. And, through it all, my bag managed to protect my cigarettes from getting soaked, which I remember being extremely thankful for.

I guess now that we're talking about protecting my stuff from the elements, I'll just quickly mention some notable rain storms that my backpack saved my stuff: That one time I stupidly thought I could walk from Keio University back to the dorm which I think was 14 kilometers or something like that and the rain caught me a couple hours into the walk; My first night in Seattle (the second time) coming back from my friends' apartment and wandering the long way around instead of a straight line from the bus station back to the motel; That one day in my Korea trip that I refused to stay at the hostel all day and headed out into the rain to spend several hours in a library (the housekeeper later looked at me like I was an idiot for not taking any of the free umbrellas).

Finally (or maybe I should've put this in the beginning... oh well too late now), if you cared (and I guess to fill space), about those pictures (from top left clockwise): Feeding deer in Nara; Gundam exhibit at a Uniqlo; Me and the Coronal; waiting for the train from Portland to Seattle; Spark of writing inspiration in Korea; Group picture in Australia; Me and slinky in Enoshima; On the steps of the Sydney Opera House; Tour guide for visiting Japanese highschoolers; ... I'm not sure but I think it's Jiyugaoka; Crossing the street in Kamakura; after classes at UH. Background: Changdeokgung Palace.