Anyway, the reason I decided to jump back on this is rather personal. I felt that I’ve been lied to and betrayed as of late. Whether this is true is subjective. But the way I see it, someone played with my emotions and I am utterly pissed. I won’t go into detail, because I am not that petty. However, I feel I will no longer be able to trust this person with anything of importance again. This person has made some rather poor decisions in their life and I don’t think I can trust someone who continually and regularly messes up. Though I don’t like to admit it, I’m being rather self-absorbed right now. I feel I have the right to be selfish every once in awhile. What I am trying to say is that maybe I should have made a move sooner. Live and learn I guess. However, this person is a cunt for doing what she did. Right now I hate her so much I feel like killing myself. And when my tainted spirit finds its destination, I will topple the master of that dark place. From my black throne, I will lash together a machine of bone and blood, fueled by my hatred of her. This fear engine will bore a hole between This one and That one. When it begins she will hear the sound of children screaming – as though from a great distance. A smoking orb of nothing will grow above her bed, and from it will emerge a thousand starving crows. As I slip through the widening maw in my new form she will only catch a glimpse of my radiance before she is incinerated. Then, as tears of bubbling tar stream down my face, my dark world will begin. I will open one of my six mouths and sing the song that ends the earth.

Maybe a bit dramatic, but it accurately depicts how I’m thinking at this moment. Girls…disgusting yet beautiful creatures. Their games never cease to enrage me. I will bring them down from atop their pedestal. As they say, “Bitches Ain’t Shit but Hoes and Tricks”.

bleeding from the ears, presumably directly caused by the sonic boom. As the triad regained their senses, they took a more in depth look at the surrounding site. Jack’s complexion had shifted from its usual paleness to a sickly tinge of moss green. He gawked at the scene with vacant eyes and mouth perceptibly agape. Susan beheld the sight of an elderly women bleeding heavily near several upturned mannequins. Her numerous freckles stood in stark contrast to her newly pale features, stunned in incomprehension. Her aquamarine eyes filled with tears at the realization that the woman’s breathing was steadily slowing down. Her own breathes began to falter as she headed to where the women lay. Stifling rising bile, she carefully reached down and closed the deceased’s eyes.

Meanwhile, Cameron was blankly taking pictures of the area, not really focusing on anything in particular. He didn’t even bother looking through the viewfinder for a clear shot. He seemed to snap back to reality as he glared at his camera in betrayal, aghast at the disrespect he was giving to the injured. “What the hell happened?” he bellowed, voice waving with uncertainty. He was met with vacant stares by the unaffected populous. The entire scenario happened within several minutes and within several moments, panic erupted.

People in the vicinity exploded in pandemonium, clamoring for assistance and answers. Cameron looked around frantically, scrutinizing the swarming crowd for his friends. After a couple of minutes of frenzied searching, he found them relatively near each other, blankly staring off into space. Grasping each of them by the forearms, he swiftly led them away from the unruly horde. Arriving at a quiet corner near a peanut vendor, turning to face the two shell-shocked teens, he began to speak rapidly, “Compose yourselves, we need to get out of here and find some answers. Maybe the help desk will know. We can’t stay here. Someone could get hurt…well, more hurt by the rampage.” Jack and Susan came to at the sound of Cameron’s voice. Processing his words, they glanced at each other and nodded in agreement.

The group walked purposely through the corridors of the mall, attempting to ignore the carnage of the unknown sound. As they approached the central entrance and the help desk, Jack suddenly stopped. “G-granny?” he stuttered, eyes as wide as saucers. He stood agape at an elderly lady with an ashen complexion. She wore a lavender dress with hosiery and zebra striped ballerina flats. Her silvery hair was wild and clumped with bits of mud and twigs, and her eyes were sunken in. The most distinctive the woman had, however, was the scarlet sclera of her eyes. Jack slowly took several steps back and jogged after his friends who hadn’t seemed to notice his absence.

Considering their pace, Cameron and Susan had traveled a respectable distance so Jack had a fair bit of trouble catching up with them. “Guys,” he exclaimed raggedly, desperately sucking breathe into his sedentary lungs. “Where have you been,” questioned Susan, “you look terrible.” Jack’s ebony hair was wild and unkempt from running his hands through it. “Guys,” he repeated, “I just saw my grandma, we’ve got to go back and get her out of here!” Susan raised her arms parallel to her body, “Whoa, slow down,” she soothed placatingly, “take a deep breathe and try it again.” Cameron and Susan patiently waited for several minutes as Jack collected himself, “Okay, okay, I…just saw my grandma back there…we have to go back there and get her out of here.” Cameron furrowed his brows, “Wait…did you say grandma?”. Jack nodded excitedly, “Yeah and she-” “Wait a minute,” Susan interjected, “Jack, why did you miss school two Tuesdays ago?” Jack rubbed his hand against the back of his neck in thought, “Well, I went to the funeral for-”. Jack blanched suddenly before emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. While Cameron started to rub Jack’s back soothingly, Susan deadpanned, “Well, I think we’ve found one culprit of the grave vandalism.”

The three of them sat tiredly on the leather seats in the lounge. They were alone in the room with the exception of a sleeping middle-aged man with a newspaper of his face. Cameron let out a large sigh and started to speak, “Okay, let’s try to figure this out.” Susan brushed her auburn hair out from her eyes and nodded while Jack was still distraught over his recent reunion. Cameron lifted himself up from the recliner and began to pace, “Since Jack’s grandmother is up and about, we can probably assume that the tenants of other graves that had been quote-unquote vandalized are also around here.” Susan rested her head on the palm of her hand, “But how did this happen,” she questioned, “and why?” Cameron felt a sudden headache coming on, “I don’t know,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “but we are going to find out.”

From somewhere in the mall, shrieks rang out, echoing off the highly acoustic walls and interrupting the group’s collective thoughts. Yet somehow, the man was still slumbering. Susan immediately jumped from her seat, intent on assisting the ones who yelled. “Don’t!” cried Cameron, leaping off his seat and grabbing her by the shoulder, “we can’t split up, not at a time like this!” Susan stared at him incredulously, “Who said anything about splitting up, we can all go help!” Cameron gestured toward Jack, who had not responded to the shrieks. “Does it look like he’s in any condition to travel?” he barked rhetorically, “he has just been severely traumatized!” Susan seemed close to bawling at this point, “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Cameron loosened his posture, “I know,” he whispered gently, grabbing her by the shoulders and pressing his forehead to hers, “but the yells came from too far away, we might not make it in time.” “Besides,” he continued, “we can’t leave Jack like this, he would be vulnerable to attacks.” Susan collapsed on a nearby sofa, openly sobbing at the feeling of uselessness that plagued her mind. Cameron gave her one last sympathetic look before resuming his pacing around the perimeter of the room.

After several hours of nervous pacing, Cameron decided to rest on a recliner. Throwing cursory glances at a napping Susan, he wondered not for the first time if he made the right decision to remain in the lounge. The doubt that he indeed could have saved the victims gnawed at his conscience, tearing away at his self-confidence. His self-deprecating thoughts came to an abrupt halt, however, when Jack suddenly spoke, “Guys,” he croaked, voice froggy from disuse, “I know what the that sonic boom was.”

Jack’s unexpected statement caused Cameron to jump and roused Susan from her cat nap, “What’chu say?” asked Susan groggily, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I said,” he glanced over at her with bloodshot eyes, “that I know what the screeching noise that started this craziness was.” The two looked on expectantly, anxious for Jack to continue. “A couple months ago,” he murmured, “my dad showed me how the nanomachines work. The signal he used to manipulate the tiny robots was almost exactly the same as that weird sound only much, much quieter.”

He paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Susan took this as an invitation to speak, “So what you’re saying is that this nanomachine thing is related to the dead people being reanimated?” “Possibly,” he hesitated, “to my knowledge, the tiny machines have never been tested on an organic subject, so there’s a distinct possibility that this-” the roaring of an explosion was heard, “-insanity, is a side effect.” The three were lost in their thoughts for several minutes, listening to more explosions coming from the east wing of the mall.

“What can we do to stop this,” Cameron muttered, absently scratching his ear, “this doesn’t feel right, just sitting here while people are being attacked.” Susan turned to face Jack, “Do you think if we interrupted the signal, the nanomachines would stop controlling their corpses?” Jack flinched at the word ‘corpse’ being harshly reminded of the encounter with his grandmother. He narrowed his eyes in thought, “It could work,” he responded after several tense moments, “we would have to get to the communications tower on the roof, though.”

Cameron leapt off his perch on the snack counter he had planted himself on not long ago, “Let’s do it, then!” he chimed, eyes steeled with determination, “I’m sick and tired of sitting here, twiddling our thumbs while there are zombies rampaging outside. I mean, I’ve trained my whole life for this!” Jack smirked at his ridiculous comment while Susan seemed irritated, “You’ve played video games with zombies in them,” she remarked dryly, “ I don’t think it’s equatable to this situation.” Cameron deflated at this, “I was only trying to get the adrenaline rushing,” he mumbled before turning to Jack seriously, “Jack, do you think you would be able to take down your grandma’s body if we see her?”

Jack reflected on the inquiry, the question flashing in his mind like a flickering neon sign. ‘Could I?’ he wondered to himself, ‘would I?’. He remembered baking chocolate chip cookies with his granny on chilly December mornings. He recalled dancing with her at a cousin’s wedding, apologizing profusely when he stepped on her feet for the fiftieth time, while she laughed softly.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he looked from under his bangs at his friend, “I-I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely, furiously wiping the moisture from his cheeks. Susan’s eyes softened in sympathy, “What does she look like,” she questioned gently, “we can try to avoid her on the way to the tower.” Jack glanced up in gratitude. Bolstered by her kind words, he started to describe the walking carcass, “Well, she’s dressed in a light purple dress and zebra striped ballerina slippers, she’s got silvery hair and – Oh!” he shouted suddenly, making Cameron flinch, “She’s got red sclera!” Cameron looked at him in confusion, “Sclera,” he asked, “you mean the whites of the eyes?” Jack nodded in confirmation. “Yeah,” he continued, “they were a real bright red, sorta like tomatoes.”

Once more, Cameron began to pace. This time, he listed off priorities with his fingers while he strolled around the room. “Get to the tower, avoid Jack’s grandma, and stay alive…” he muttered repeatedly, eyes closed in concentration. “Um, shouldn’t staying alive be the top priority?” Susan asked quizzically. Cameron huffed and restarted his chanting, annoyed at being corrected.

The group treaded softly, yet swiftly on the broken glass that carpeted the marble tiles that was the mall’s flooring.

Three pairs of eyes scanned their surroundings carefully, acutely aware of the stifled breathing coming from the others. Susan halted, “What’s this,” she wondered aloud, examining the floor, “it looks like burn marks.” Jack knelt down and held the back of his hand to the abrasions, “It’s warm,” he sounded surprised, “one of the explosions from earlier must have occurred here, and look!” he pointed to nearby puddles, “it must have busted a waterline.”

Scrap metal lay everywhere, littering the immediate area along with broken tiles and other debris. Cameron strolled over to a rather small pile of debris and pulled a stray pipe from the wreckage, like Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone. He swung it a few times, getting acclimated to its weight, “I think this’ll fend off a rampaging zombie horde, don’t you?” His companions ignored him, in favor of continuing on the trail.

Reaching the food court which was previously home to a variety of expensive vendors, the trio stared in disbelief at the scene in front of them. The floor was glazed a brilliant crimson hue, miscellaneous severed appendages and digits scattered around the court haphazardly similar to broken limbs from a child’s toy soldiers. No complete bodies were to be immediately seen.

“Strange,” came a voice from behind them, “how a few dozen reanimated carcasses can do this much damage.” The group turned around slowly in unison, stunned to see the shopkeeper from earlier putting a newspaper away in his jacket.”Do you know anything about this,” Jack demanded, “do you know who did this to my grandma?” Ken shrugged and idly poked a severed finger with his cane, “Nah, I don’t know the culprit, but I do have some information if you’re willing to calm down. Jack took on a sheepish expression and the candyman continued, “The zombies are multiplying,” he stated bluntly, “when they bite living people, the nanobots get transferred into their bloodstream via mucus, which turns them into just another mindless breeder within minutes.” The teens looked horrified and disgusted at this, “The only difference between the corpses and the living is the eyes,” he stated, pointing the middle and index fingers of his free hand at his own eyes, “the stiffs have red sclera while the poor bastards who got bit have yellow.” His voice took on a more cheerful tone, “Now if you excuse me, I think have left my shop unlocked. Can’t have hooligans looting my shop.” He sauntered away, leaving the shell-shocked teenagers to their own thoughts. “I think I’m going to hurl,” Susan exclaimed, dashing toward the current floor’s bathroom, “I’ll be right back!” It took several minutes for the boys to shake themselves out of their stupor, before realizing Susan was absent. “C’mon Jack!” Cameron hollered, running towards the wing where the bathrooms were located, “we have to find her!” By the time Jack processed Cameron’s exclamation, he was already gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of grey and lavender. “Shit,” he muttered, holding a blink for a few moments, “this is going to suck.” Steeling his resolve, he knelt down and blindly felt around the floor for any kind of weapon that he could use to fend off his grandma. Grasping hold of a spongy object, he opened his eyes and screamed. He held in his hand an arm. A male’s left arm by the looks of it. He expelled bile once more, adding to the already bloodstained floor. Almost comically, he wiped at his mouth with the jacket sleeve of the severed arm he held. Grasping it by the bicep, he rose from his knees, intent on laying his dear grand mother to rest.

There she stood, not fifteen feet from him, staring at him lifelessly through cold, glassy crimson eyes. “God help me,” he whispered, charging at the frail old lady. He raised the limb above his head, intent on literally knocking her head off, when a stiff headbutt to his gut knocked the wind out of him. He gaped in disbelief at the relative quickness his grandmother’s body moved. Once more, he swung the arm at her, only for it to be wrenched out his hands and tossed over the shoulder of the deceased. Eyes widening, he stumbled back and ran to the nearby sport’s shop, intent on equipping himself with a new weapon. For minutes he searched and searched, discarding items such as hockey sticks and boxing gloves for something that would deal more damage to a decrepit body. Eyes brightening at his newest find, he shouted joyfully, “Aha!”

A figure with grey skin walked mechanically toward a sport’s shop with empty panes that had previously held windows that advertised sales. An arm stiff with rigor mortis grasped the door handle, and opened the door…only to be faced with another figure, this one clad in a white suit. “Bonjour, Madame,” came the man’s voice, muffled through a fencing mask, “en garde!” He pointed a razor-sharp rapier directly at her forehead and lunged, plunging the steel sword through her brain, causing grey matter to ooze out the puncture wounds.

Jack sheathed the rapier, took off his mask, and said a quick prayer over his defiled grandmother’s body. Eying a nearby police cart with hazel eyes, he decided on his mode of transportation to search for his friends. “But first,” he murmured to himself, “more weapons.” He turned toward the outdoors supply shop, eyes holding a glimmer of mischief.

Meanwhile, Cameron stepped cautiously through an empty door frame that had until recently held an opaque glass pane. “Susan?” he hesitantly called, “are you in here?” He was met with the gurgling of what sounded like water in pipes. he stood in place for several moments, letting his eyes adjust to the inky blackness of the room. He unsteadily took a few steps into the darkened chamber, arms held out in front of him ironically like a stereotypical zombie. He cautiously felt his way through the room, taking small steps as to avoid tripping in case he ran into an object. He stumbled for a few more feet before two lemon colored lights materialized out of nowhere. They appeared to be semi-far off and glimmered like sunshine compared to the jet black shadows of the room. Courage bolstered, he renewed his pace. Every so often the beacons would flicker briefly, before returning to their previous luminescence. Suddenly, he felt his feet shuffled into something soft on the floor. Peering down, Cameron focused his eyes onto the unknown obstacle. He could vaguely make out a feminine figure with cinnamon hair spanned out around her head. “Susan…?” he whispered in disbelief. He saw that she was unconscious, so he bent down and began to scoop her up in his arms. Instantly, more pairs of lights appeared around him, flickering in random patters. Among the canary-yellow lights he had grown accustomed to, also shined scarlet ones. Cameron paled in sick realization. He hoisted the comatose Susan onto his shoulders and ran like a bat out of hell for the nearest door.

Slamming the heavy steel door behind him, he reached for the light and cursed loudly. He had made an incredibly daring escape straight into a janitor’s closet. Various cleaning instruments and tools haphazardly lined the shelves. He took inventory of the situation. He was trapped in six-foot by six-foot closet with a possibly injured girl, a dozen living dead people were throwing themselves at the steel door, and the available tools he had to defend himself were his trusty pipe, a couple lengths of rope,and some cleaning liquids. To make matters worse, Susan opened her golden-yellow eyes. ‘Wait, yellow?’ Cameron thought frantically. He sprung into action, grabbing both lengths of rope and tying her firmly to a support beam in the corner. As Susan thrashed against her bindings Cameron searched the shelves furiously for some sort of sedative that could knock Susan out.

He didn’t find any relaxants immediately, but what he did find was a revolver. He deliberated putting the piteous girl out of her misery before ruthlessly quashing that line of thought. He would find a way out of here and turn off the radio signal, which would cure everyone who had been bitten. He grasped his trusty pipe with a death grip and had the other on the door handle. Cameron had determined a course of action; he would charge out the door swinging, avoiding the Yelloweyes if possible. He resolved to himself to find the one responsible for this madness and make them pay. Bringing the dense pipe high above his head, he counted to three slowly. With a mighty heave and a guttural roar he swung open the steel door and brought his club down on a Red-eye, bludgeoning its skull and sending brain matter flying. Throwing a kick to a nearby zombie’s gut, he brought the pipe in front of him to defend from a vicious swipe. He jabbed his elbow into a zombie’s nose that was right beside him, sending the cartilage into the brain and downing it for the time being. As a Red-eye dove for his torso, he instinctively ducked and thrusted the pipe through the zombie’s skull as it was sailing over him. However, this caused the corpse to collapse on top of him, smothering Cameron with rotting flesh and flooding his olfactory glands with a putrid odor. Dry heaving, Cameron threw the carcass into another approaching zombie, this one with yellowed eyes. He started to sprint for a less crowded area when he felt a sharp pain in his back. Looking back in fright, he found a young girl with greenish skin and hollowed out crimson eyes jabbing skeletal fingers into his lower back. Crying out in both pain and rage, he gave a devastating mule kick to her chin, sending into a wall a good ten feet away. Cameron was beginning to lose the adrenaline rush, so with one final moment of blood-lust, he plunged the pipe into a crimson eyed zombie’s temples, making it look like it was wearing an arrow-through-the-skull gag hat. Planting one foot on the collapsed cadaver’s chest, he brought both hands to either side of the pipe and pulled towards his own chest hard, ripping the iron weapon through his victim’s face with a nauseating crunch.  Cameron collapsed to one knee, worn out from the taxing battle. Sweat and blood mixed on his scalp, running down his face in rivulets. He grunted in pain as a stout, yellow-eyed zombie kicked him forcefully in the ribs. As he lay on his injured back, staring at the ceiling, he wondered if this would be the end.

As this ominous thought ran through his mind, the agitating tooting of a mall cart was heard. A white silhouette in a mall cop’s cart came hurdling through the doorway, sending several zombies scurrying. The man halted the cart near Cameron’s prone form, extending a hand in assistance. Cameron instinctively grabbed the limb and pulled himself into the cart, barely avoiding being mauled by a zombie wearing a three-piece suit. “Jack?” he asked quizzically, observing his friend’s grinning face, “where the hell have you been, I just about freaking died!” Jack frowned, “Well excuse me, princess for being fat. You ran off so quickly that I couldn’t keep up.” Stomping on the gas, he continued, “Besides, I had to put granny to bed.” Cameron sobered at this, hanging his head in shame at his hot-headedness. “So how’d you get away, man” Cameron asked in an attempt to break the strained atmosphere between them. Jack smirked haughtily and gestured to the soiled rapier hanging by his waist, “Sword through the head. Easy.” Jack looked around, “Did you find Susan?” Cameron nodded somberly, unable to meet his gaze, “Yeah, but she’s been bitten. I’ve tied her up in a supply closet back in the room.” Jack swerved hard, almost hitting an advert stand. “All the more reason to end the signal” he stated decidedly. Cameron gazed at the passing scenery with steely eyes, “Yeah,” he whispered inaudibly, “and slit the throat of the one who did this.”

Reaching the lift to the tower, Jack handed a machete to Cameron. “Here,” he said, gazing up at the lofty spire, “you’ll need something better than a pipe to protect yourself.” Cameron acknowledged this and clasped the bladed weapon in his hand, simultaneously slipping the pipe into an inside pocket in his jacket. “Let’s go,” he murmured striding toward the lift. Jack punched the top floor button and waited for the elevator’s doors to close. Cameron chuckled slightly at the ridiculous music before catching Jack’s gaze and becoming refocused on his objective. The duo stood in a tense silence for well over five minutes, becoming more and more anxious as the elevator rose steadily to the highest floor. “Cameron,” Jack muttered, glancing at his friend, “if I don’t make it, make sure Susan gets cured.” Cameron regarded his companion hesitantly before nodding, “As long as you do the same if I can’t continue.” They shook hands for a moment, creating a silent pact to end the hysteria that plagued the mall.

As the lift doors opened to the final floor, the two exited in two divergent paths. Jack rushed hurriedly for the control room, sneakers pounding heavily onto the cast-iron floor. He gripped the rapier in his left and wiped the nervous sweat from his brow with his right. “Crap, wrong turn!” he whispered loudly, twisting his body to run in the correct direction. He didn’t get far. With a muffled yell, Jack was knocked out cold by an unknown assailant.

Cameron strode purposely through the passageways with thoughts of murder on his mind. With the machete in his left hand, he pulled the pipe from his pocket and rested it against his right shoulder. Every so often, he would look over his shoulder, in case the mastermind behind all this would try to get the jump on him. After what seemed like hours of searching, Cameron had finally stumbled upon a room that resembled a control room. He dashed over to large silver table housing switches and buttons and started hammering on a keyboard, desperate to halt the devastation that the radio signal was causing. Cameron hissed in pain and dropped the machete as he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his left shoulder. He dodged to the left as another shot rang out where his head used to be. Clutching his bleeding arm, he turned to face his assailant.

There stood Jack’s father, in his white lab coat with a smoking revolver in his hand and a cold look on his face. “So you’re the one behind this,” Cameron remarked in a deceptively calm manner, “you’re the disgusting freak who dug up his mother-in-law and sicced her on Jack.” Jack’s dad raised an eyebrow at this, “Do you have a point to make or should I just execute you now?” Cameron became enraged at the apathy in his voice, “Why did you do this,” he bellowed, “why the hell would you destroy people’s lives like this?” Mr. Fisher chuckled quietly, “I will grant a dead man’s last request.” He casually strolled over to a nearby office chair and sat down, still pointing the gun at Cameron. “It started when I was fired from this job one month ago,” he began, an insane gleam entering his eyes, ” I made a huge breakthrough in my research, so they sacked me. They decided it was better for the entire company getting credit for the project rather than a single man.” He shook his head sadly, “I truly did not want to bring you kids into this. It looks like I’ll have to apologize to your and Susan’s parents for being unable to rescue you two from the overwhelming horde. Don’t worry, there will be a memorial for the teens who sacrificed their lives so that I could single-handedly save the day.” Cameron looked ready to burst, “I don’t understand,” he cried, “why didn’t you file unlawful termination against your employers or something?” An unholy expression grew on Mr. Fisher’s face, “I’ve been walked on all my life, Cameron” he said smoothly, “I had decided enough was enough, and decided to get my vengeance. Goodbye Cameron.” Jack’s father cocked the gun and aimed for Cameron’s heart. Before he had a chance to shoot, however, Cameron gave a roar of animalistic rage and assaulted him, knocking the gun out of Mr. Fisher’s hand with his pipe. Reacting with surprising reflexes, Jack’s dad punched Cameron in the throat, sending him sprawling against the wall. He started to chase after the gun when a hand grabbed his ankle firmly, stopping him in his tracks. Cameron brought the pipe to Mr. Fisher’s kneecap hard, receiving a satisfying yelp of agony. Jack’s father responded with an angry stomp of his foot on top of Cameron’s hand, causing several bones to make crackling sounds. Gritting his teeth and restraining a cry of pain, he doggedly held on to the ankle, determined to keep the sick bastard away from the gun. Unfortunately, Mr. Fisher slipped out of his grasp and limped over to where the gun lay. He picked up the revolver and pointed it at Cameron once more. Grinning smugly, he smarmed, “Any last words?” Cameron spit at his general direction and yelled, “Go to hell you sick fu-” All of a sudden, a silvery blade appeared at Mr. Fisher’s throat. “You know I don’t like that word, Cameron,” chastised Ken the shopkeeper, cane-sword pressed firmly against the culprit’s throat, “it really is an ugly word.”

“Now,” Ken said pressing the blade harder against Jack’s dad’s throat, “where is your son tied up at?” The scientist whimpered before pointing to a nearby storage closet. “Thank you,” Ken murmured. With a vicious tug, he pulled his cane-sword in a sharp manner, slicing the man’s carotid artery. Cameron was about to scream in horror at the merciless action before the shopkeeper dropped his sword and held up his hands placatingly. “Don’t wig out man,” he said calmly, looking at Cameron underneath the shadow that his bucket hat made, “it needed to be done. He was just like a rabid dog, it was necessary that he be put down.” He reached down and offered a hand the fallen teen. Taking his hand gratefully, Cameron asked, “How are we doing to explain this to Jack?” Ken rubbed his chin in thought for a few moments before remarking, “We’ll just say his dad was infected.” Cameron just shrugged, causing a sharp pain to shoot down his left arm. “Whoa there,” the shopkeeper reprimanded pulling a nearby chair from a desk, “you’ll have to restrict your movements on your left side for a while. Here, sit down on this chair while I go free the damsel in distress.” Cameron took his advice and sunk into the chair, the full events of the day sinking in. ‘I’m going to need a damn good therapist,’ he thought to himself, rubbing his right temple in a circular motion watching dispassionately as Ken released Jack from his captivity.

“What a day, huh?” Cameron asked dully to his friends. They were sitting at a steel bench in east wing, idly watching medics, news crews, and other people scurrying around the devastated mall. He glanced at Jack, remembering how he collapsed in anguish at seeing his father’s lifeless body before dazedly turning off the radio signal, thereby curing Susan. Every so often, police officers would question them about their role in the catastrophe and the teens would answer numbly. They received praise for their bravery, but every commendation seemed hollow to them. Each of them was traumatized in their own unique way, with Susan being manipulated, Jack facing down his grandmother and seeing his father’s dead body, and Cameron’s murder of several yellow-eyed zombies in self-defense. Cameron sighed heavily and layed his eyes upon the lone window still intact. It was a red and gold stained glass window with various Gothic designs etched into it. On the pane was a saying, the motto of the founder of the mall. It said “Come Whatever May”. Hope for the future grew inside him as he looked through the sanguine glass, staring balefully at the gleaming sunrise.

Peach cobbler is marvelous. I love cobbler. Peach is the best.
>Phyllis Ofical and the Gnematoids.

I think I’m slightly neurotic. See, there’s a spider web that’s home to several families of spiders that hangs just outside the back door on the porch. When I turn the lights on bugs fly into the web and the spiders get to eat. But occasionally I accidentally leave the light on for a long time and the swarm of bugs destroy the web…I get sad when this happens, ’cause I like animals and insects (except snails and slugs). Am I crazy?

Why has no one banned turtlenecks yet? They are super-douchey. Especially when fat guys where them. They wear them in an attempt to hide their extra chins, when in fact, they draw attention to them. It’s pathetically hilarious.

Sleepy.

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free

Feelin’ kinda down lately…mostly because of homecoming. I want to go, but I don’t know who to ask. It’s frustrating as hell. I mean, it’s my last year of highschool, I want to enjoy it. I’ll probably just suck it up and ask someone, anyone this week. No sense in living life without risk. I’ll probably be let down, but I’ll have to try again and again. If anime and manga has taught me one thing, it’s refusal to give up, however cliche that is.

Went on a Monmouth College Open House visit earlier today. The dorms are fantastic, and they let you have an airconditioner in underclassmen dorms if you have asthma. For once my chronic illness has a purpose. My roommate is going to love me. So yeah, I’m looking heavily into MC. They even have a study abroad course for Japan, so I might do that. Disappointed that Patrick Thompson was the only one I knew there…

I’ve found watching someone play video games live online, with other people is pretty fun. It’s hilarious when they get frustrated and freak the hell out.

Dude configures his Commodore 64 to play a version of Guitar Hero with a Shredz64 and a PSX64 interface which basically makes the user able to connect ANY Playstation controller, including DualShock 2 controllers and Guitar Hero controllers to the Commodore 64. Uses SID files, and from what I gather, there’s tens of thousands of different SID file versions of popular songs on the internet, so you could possibly play a song on here, that you wouldn’t be able to anywhere else. Most likely with obscure songs though, since I’m sure that someone customized downloadable songs for GH and Rock Band already.

Guy demos the Zelda Overworld Theme from the Original Zelda, which is pretty sweet by the way. Even has star power! Which in Shredz64 is Shreddocity. Neat-o. Frankly, I’m impressed by the dude’s ingenuity and nerd-determination in creating this project. Much more awesome than any douchebag’s youtube video of doing “The HARDEST SONG EVAR ON GH4 ON EXPERT”.

I’m really surprised by the C64′s audio capabilities. Like in the video, he said “many people think that the Commodore 64 only does bleeps and bloops,” but really, the tunes are recognizable and the graphics are decent considering the era in which the C64 was developed.

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Girlies love the douchebags. It’s an intrinsic law of the universe. I guess for some reason they’re attracted to jerks because they think they can heal their ‘emotional wounds’ which make them a ‘bad boy’ in the first place. Ignorant. Guys who act like this are one of three things: Emo, Acting, or they have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. Yes, I paraphrased that last description from Hermione Granger. Sue me, J.K. Rowling, your last two books were shit anyways.

See what the guy who’s acting does is take advantage of the naivety of the female in order to get some sexing. He acts emotionally scarred and/or mysterious to initially attract the female. Case in point, lil’ Eddie from Twilight. Dude just wants some ‘tang, but then gets roped into marrying and makin’ a baby with the chick. On that note, how the hell does an undead creature such as a vampire produce sperm when all other bodily functions cease? Dunno.

Anyway, I’m not really complaining, since it keeps all the shallow bitches away from me, thing is, almost every girl in the school is a ‘shallow bitch’ by these standards. So I’m just about out of options. Everytime I TRY to be a jerk, it comes out all silly and sarcastic…yeah…I’m pretty much a failure at this point. What I suppose it comes down to is self esteem. Guys put up a tough guy act to cover up for their insecurities and girls don’t think they can do any better, either that or they try to “redeem” the guy. Which is ludicrous.

I wish I could find an intelligent, yet good looking girl in the school. But if wishes were shit, I would be shoveling some mean fertilizer.

School’s started. Starting to get into a fuckin’ groovy rhythm. Have classes with most of my friends, my favorites would have to be Creative Writing and Modern Novels, even though the book we’re reading in MN is Shit. Yes, I capitalized Shit. Fuck off. I don’t understand how I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is so critically acclaimed. It’s literally a boring biography of a black girl in the 30′s and 40′s. I just can’t relate. I don’t see how anyone cares about the attention whore that is Maya Angelou in the first place. Life sucks, get a helmet.

Next on my bashing agenda is Women. Females. ‘Bitches’ if you will. Oh how they piss me off so. I mean, yeah, they’re soft and squishy and sexy, but they’re also self-aggrandizing, pretentious, twits. They’re at the top of the food chain, womyn warriorz whose shit don’t stink. Flaunting what they have to who they want and being appalled when they’re stared at like a piece of meat.
Well guess what ladies, you ARE a piece of meat.
In fact, I’m a piece of meat too. WE ARE ANIMALS. There is no higher meaning to life (or maybe there is, I’m not arrogant enough *coughwomencough* to assume that I know all the answers to life.) We, as a species on this earth, are meant to do two essential things. Sexercise and Survive. That’s it. We are born to make more of us. You are not the Be All End All of the universe, you most likely not achieve greatness, or ascend as a higher power. You will live, and you will die. Whether you fail to live up to your instinctual expectations of making babies is entirely up to you.
Now don’t get me wrong, there are some females who aren’t all bad. Just the majority of you, even if you aren’t aware of it. It is natural, instinctual even, for girls to mislead, lure, and trap guys for their pleasure (maybe that’s the wrong word, ‘enjoyment’ is probably better). Then, when they tire of them, they throw them back like underdeveloped fish and cast out their ruthless line for another one. It is entirely frustrating, but I have no choice but to play this game. Even though no ‘line’ has caught me yet. I’m not trying to boast that I’ve been able to see the writing on the wall and evade the lure of the succubi, but that I’m essentially a social reject. A loser. A creep. A dweeb. Nerd. Geek. Idiot. Jackass. Dementoid. Call me what you will, and I’ll probably agree with you, because I’m that much of a doormat.

Oh, and women? NO SANE HUMAN BEING UNDERSTANDS YOU. I do not have female hormones, therefore, my inferior male brain cannot begin to fathom your bitchfits. You nag and nag and nag, therefore you’re being uppity. Therefore, you’re being stubborn. Therefore your boyfriend gives up the fight cause you won’t. Therefore, you complain about his lack of passion, therefore you break up. Therefore, the caged bird gets motherfuckin’ set free and gets to live a healthy lifestyle without your dumbass clogging up his good vibes. I’ve been told that a relationship is basically mutual understanding between partners, there cannot be understanding if you don’t talk. Therefore (there it is again), you must let HIM talk too. Let HIM share his point of view. Try to see things through his perspective. LISTEN. Divorce rates have been rising like hell ever since the 60′s. The Women’s Rights Movement really went full throttle in the 60′s. Coincadence? Sure. It’s a coincadence that the sky and oceans are both blue, too.

Now, I’m not raggin’ on Women’s Rights? It’s awesome as fuck that girlies get to wear skimpy outfits. Howerver, it doesn’t give you precedence over men. It. Is. Supposed. To. Be. Equal. Rights. No one is above another and all that jazz. You get hired if you’re qualified, no matter the race, gender, or sexuality. Thing is, sexual harassment complaints have been rising, too. We have the motherfucking right to flirt with and look at you. Goddamn, uppity bitches, goddamn.

Ties in with the feminist movement. Yeah, it’s a good cause…in theory. Make sure females receive the same treatment as males in the workplace, make sure females are given respect. Yeah. Thing is, treatment works both ways. If you’re fired for not doing your job, I’m willing to bet that you would still be fired if you were male. Also, you deserve to be payed the same amount as your male equals. You don’t deserve to be payed more than your male equals who work the exact same position, that is, if work effort doesn’t play a part in salary. I’m all for equal rights, I just don’t think women should be given preferential treatment because they have a vagina.

Thought about the draft yesterday, and I wondered why women don’t have to sign up for it. Pisses me off actually. REALLY pisses me off now that I think about it. I don’t see how your forefathersmothers worked their asses off for equal rights and that doesn’t include the Draft…Maybe because you bleed out the groin for 1/6 of a month makes you a hazard? I think that would be beneficiary for the army, get you all good and menstrual, give you a gun, and send you off to blow the hell out of terrorists. I can’t think of a good reason for women NOT having to be drafted. Can’t. Unpossible.

There will probably be more frustration at women and their ‘Boy Who Cryed Wolf’ mentalities next blorg. I’m out.

Next, my cousin Sadie said she’d stay all week with us…so far she’s only stayed Monday. It’s Saturday. So I’ve not been in a good mood. I mean, I’ve been down about grandma so it would have been nice to have some company for awhile.

Several kids from my grade have gotten tattoos. Stupid ones at that. One got fuckin’ religious shit on his wrists: tacky as hell not to mention that he’ll regret it in about 5 years. Another got stars descending into her waist: real fuckin’ classy.