A contrast

A contrast
Between a garbage landscape
cars and shops

garbage on the ground.
And a cerulean sky
littered with nimbus
dark grey-blue and rose
golden-rose highlights across those clouds
and a horizon that told me
"I've always been here"

A raindrop crashed upon my screen.
.
A contrast
Between the still living, soon dead
a short plant I picked from the ground
on a whim I picked it
just to feel
the soft green tendrils across my leathery fingers
and my calloused palms.
And the bright, almost lime-green, supple leaves
on branches high up
so out of reach

I reached, but no finger touched.

A contrast, but you've known how it goes now
Between a slug
crawling so slow across a grey gravel road
towards some signal it senses across a distance
or maybe randomly meandering
I know this from previous instance
it finds dead prey
"rasp! rasp! goes my tongue,"
it says.
And a dead slug
crushed against the sole of my foot
whether it felt anguish
a question that was never asked in the whole universe

Nobody knows it.

A contrast
Between a dark cave
apartment
no sun, just screen
and a husk that flees from thought
no such thing as a soul
yet, hark! the truth
deterministic materialism
self as illusion
will non-existence sweep over,
or am I doomed to eternity in this 'nother lonely night?
And
a bright blue sky
cerulean
clouds
contrasting a near endless expanse
where I wanted to play

But I'm stuck.

Valedictory

The following is a copy of my high school Valedictory speech.  I never actually gave the speech because I was alcohol-poisoningly hung over - you'd have to ask me for that sad story though.

---------------------------------------------------

Good evening everyone.  Well, here we are graduating and, well, here I am.  Valedictorian.  When I'm finished, you just may be left wondering how I got to be valedictorian.  I know for a fact that I wasn't the one who tried the hardest, but I've been lucky, and I guess that's all it really takes to achieve goals.  But that's not explanation enough; when I'm done, you'll still be wondering why me.  So here's the answer up front.  I'm here because I can milk a cow.

There were a thousand places I would have rather been that night, but they needed my help on the farm, so I had to help out.   There I was, putting a milker on a cow, when suddenly time and space ripped asunder, and I was sucked into another dimension.  When I awoke from the darkness which ensued, I found myself on board a ship in outer space.

I later learned that mine wasn't the first case of this happening.  You see, a doughboy of spatial distortion had snuck on board this particular pirate ship (the S.S. Einser Koff) during a raid on the Europium Consulate, and had been causing trouble ever since by swapping members of the crew with beings from other dimensions.  I had been swapped with Jr. Lt. Bilkry, a man in charge of a large device that made the pirate ship move.

Now the space pirates were in trouble.  You see, for pirates, there are riches all around; you just have to get to them.  And without Jr. Lt. Bilkry, they couldn't get to them.  So, since they had no reason to kill me, (and because I wasn't completely opposed to the idea of being a pirate), they decided to implant computer devices in my brain so that I could work the large device and they could make some cash.  It sounded exciting at the time, and I learned quite a lot from the computers in my head.

However, after some time in my new job, I realized that it wasn't what I expected.  I was stuck in a small dark room, regulating temperature and pressure levels, pushing red buttons.  During my stay there, the only entertainment to be had was conversing with other crew members.  Although most of the people I met were quite average, there was one that stands out in my mind.  It was Mr. Fragson Deasmir, who was in a similar situation as me, except that he was a part of the attack squad.  I once asked him who he had been before.  He replied, "It doesn't matter who you were.  It only matters who you are."  Later that day while raiding a transport his computer chips misfired causing him to forget how to use his jet pack, and he flew headfirst into the ship and broke his neck.  He's dead now.  I've wondered what to make of that ever since.

Anyways, after more than two months on board the S.S. Einser Koff, the doughboy was still causing problems; almost half of the original crew had been replaced by others like me.  It was a boring day at work, and I sat only half awake in my chair.  Until, that is, I heard the diabolical laugh.  The laugh of a doughboy.  I cautiously opened my eyes and saw him, standing on the control panel.  His doughy eyes seemed to be staring back at me.  His chef's hat and blue trousers seemed innocent enough, but the pointed teeth lining that evil grin stated otherwise.  Several thoughts passed through my mind at that moment, such as "Should I lunge for him?" and "I wonder what he tastes like?"  After pausing a moment to think things through however, I simply asked if he could send me back.  "Mister," he replied, "they'll never even know you weren't here."  When I awoke, I found myself back at the farm, milker in hand.  Three minutes had passed.  I guess sometimes you just have to ask.  After that, there's not much else to tell, except that I used my digitally enhanced brain to get good grades and become valedictorian.

So there you have it.  The moral of the story, you ask?  There is none.  Bet you weren't expecting that.  But in real life, being successful doesn't always mean living up to other people's expectations.  Sometimes the only thing that matters is being true to yourself.  Au revoir, mes amis.

-Ryan

the downfall of earl bobinson as well as the fhagod kicking naussi's who listen to music (?) or something akin to that. Volume 4, Book 93, chapter 12, pp 134-35. A Lesson in Stupid People Pretending to be Thoughtful, if not retarded/psychotic.

(From February 2, 2007 - I was 22 years old, it was 3:04 AM, and I was burnt out from smoking weed and probably playing WoW all night)

I live for the joy of not having to skip the next song that comes randomly. I would love fate if the next track is a good one. The beginning doesn't sound hopeful, but I'll listen another minute. Next please. Too bad I don't care enough to alt tab and change it. Why should one have to search through the list, the long list of tracks just to find the perfect one. It'll be over in approximately 5 minutes anyways. Thats the beauty of random. It gives you the krap and then it gives you the pizs. But then when it gives you the perfect song, at least you can sit back and love fate for bringing it to you. Even though it won't last. It will be over, and probability says you will get the krap again. Or the pizs.

Probability is a fhag. Not like the ghays though, they usually seem nice enough. Although they kinda seem to like the krap. None of my business. He's a fhaggot though, simply because thats the worst insult in my opinion. Err maybe that means its the best one. He tells you you are going down. Downtown to Chinatown to buy the chickenballs made from puppies feet. Down to the ground. Then up to the banana tree house, where you will receive curses from monkeys holding their poop. Only it's not poop, its golden nuggets, but they are still brown and squishy and smell bad so you will avoid them nontheless, consequently missing out on the great fortune you would have made as a pioneer in the golden monkey nuggets business. I guess we'll leave that one for the third world countries to fight over. But let's kick the fhag in his azs and go somewhere else instead of down. Is the silence a sign of sentient crickets attempting communication? I will become a druid then. I will live in the forest with the insects, and they will make me cricket wing robes, and a single shoe made of barley corns to wear when I host the Dance of the Garlilies, twice every year. Come to think of it, the probability of sentience occuring inside the body of a cricket isn't particularly good. Or maybe that is a good thing. Once they tricked me into the forest they might have just drugged me and raped me, leaving me clothed only in the duct tape that binds my hands and feet in the ditch by the highway, only to be picked up and tortured to death by Balinda Gurgendiezer, the alter ego of average, every day trucker Earl Bobinson, who's only real sin in the whole ordeal was in not knowing about the strange neuro-chemical produced by the reaction that would take place between the uppers and New Melon Blast Chocacola that he drank only hours previously, unleashing the hidden woman inside him, who just happened to be a deranged man hating psychopathic ho. Plus the Dance of the Garlilies sounds kinda ghay. I mean. Nothing against ghay people. Just, ewww. Yuck. So I guess I should just stay here for a while longer. If theres ever been a good time to kick a fhag in the ass as hard as you can, its definitely not now. I shouldn't need probability to figure that one out. I guess. Or something.

I live for the ashes that don't blow into my eyes. For the molecules of lighter fluid that aren't giving me cancer. For that dying glow of the embers that are my thoughts as I fall to sleep. They never make any sense, those embers. And they are lost, burned up in the flame of the wakened and the alert. My playlist only has one song, and I don't like it as much as I had hoped I would. And my repeat button is broken I think. Maybe.

White Russian

The following is a dream I experienced and wrote about around 2002 when I was ~18 years old.  It has been very mildly edited from its original form.

-------------------------------------

There is a game to be played.  A game with warriors.  Many different warriors can be chosen.  There are fighters, thieves, berzerkers, wizards, samurais, archers, and anything else you can think of.  I am looking down on a grid of streets.  On each street, a different type of warrior marches.  Most players build armies out of just a few kinds of warriors.  This time though, the player wants a variety.  I see a ninja.  Ninjas can walk on walls.  Ninjas wear pointy hats.  I am to be a ninja.  I will take off my pointy hat, because it looks kind of gay.

I start out on the ground.  There is a mission that ninjas have to accomplish.  Three ninjas have been chosen for this mission.  Here is Witt, Lemon, and myself.  Here is a tall skyscraper, with a russian turnip roof.

The sky is a dull purple-black colour, and only a few stars light our way as we ascend the building.  It appears as though Witt and Lemon have also cast off their ninja pointy hats.  It sucks being part of a big game.  Sometimes programmers aren't fair and they make you wear a pointy hat.  Sometimes they are more than fair, but then you forget about being part of the game.

Back to the mission at hand.  We are to abduct a Russian girl from the turnip roofed skyscraper.  You see, the men in the turnip roofed skyscraper abducted her in the first place.  They took her from her parents.  Why did they do that?  I don't know.  Why are we supposed to abduct her?  I don't know that either.  I'm just part of the game, not the player.

We've reached the top.  In through the window we go.  Into the bedroom, where she is asleep.  I'm the highest level ninja here, so I do the honours and grab hold of her, covering her mouth.  She still manages to get out a startled yelp though.  Damn, the guards might be alerted.  With my hand still over her mouth, I motion for her to stay silent by doing the whole finger-over-the-mouth-and-saying-"Shhhh" thing.  It seems to work for the moment at least.  I pick her up in my arms and we flee into the next room, which happens to be the bathroom.  Hiding is an important skill for ninjas, and we all activate it now.

My captive and I lay down in the bathtub.  Only now, by the moonlight shining through the window, do I have a chance to see the girl.  She is quite beautiful, about my age, with honey blonde hair, and dark brown eyes that look quite large and scared right now.  She is wearing soft red and blue plaid pyjamas.

Two guards burst into the room, and look around with their flashlights.  They whisper to each other for a moment, and then leave the room.  I am thankful for two things right now: that my ninja friends and I have high level hiding skillz, and that the artificial intelligence of enemies is never very well programmed.  Oh, and a third thing: that there is a beautiful girl wearing pyjamas laying on top of me.  We share a few breaths of relief once they are gone.  I look my quarry in the eyes, once again motion for her to keep silent, and then take my hand off her mouth.

"What do you want with me?" she whispers.  One of the few answers I can't give her.  But without an answer, she may not come easily.  I look to both of my comrades, and then lie to her.

"We're here to take you back to your parents," I say.  Lemon looks at me and shakes his head helplessly.  I half smile and wink back.  I know what I'm doing.  "We have to get out of here," I say.  "Hold on to me," I tell her.

Back outside to the outer walls of the skyscraper, we descend into the darkness.  I hold her tight in my arms, so she doesn't fear falling.

As usual, descending takes less time than ascending.  Once we are safe on the ground, we head for our final checkpoint to end this mission.  It is in a large, flat building; like a mall, but with apartments and hotels and things too.  Like a city inside a building.  It is dark in here, and the walkways are deserted, so we assume that most everyone is sound asleep.  We get to our room.  There are three beds.  The captive Russian girl is asleep in my arms now, so I take her to my bed.  Being a good ninja, and not wanting to be a creep, I decide that I'll stay awake near the window until morning and watch for potential pursuers. 

I awake in my bed.  I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but I'm sure that I did.  I look up from under my blankets.  The room is bright, and the Russian girl is standing at the foot of the bed.  She is wearing a short red and black dress, and she looks even more beautiful in the morning light.  She smiles at me and then abruptly turns and leaves the room.

I get up, and change my black ninja suit for the clothes that are laid out for me.  The programmers have made the arrangements for us, and we have everything we need.  I leave the room and go to the kitchen, where we all sit down and have breakfast.  Afterwards, the girl asks me if we can take her somewhere.  Not wanting to upset her, and not quite knowing what we're supposed to do with her now, I say yes.  Off we go.

She walks close beside me.  I put my arm around her waist.  She puts her head on my shoulder.  I love feeling close to someone like this.  I temporarily languish in bliss, until suddenly Witt calls for me from behind.  Since it's probably something work-related, I tell Lemon to watch our friend while I find out what's up.

Once we are far enough away to transfer potentially secret information, he tells me what's up, and this is where it all started to go wrong.  It wasn't work related.  Rather, he had a joint to smoke. And I, being a pothead myself, just couldn't refuse.  We smoked it.  Now theres something you should know about intoxicating substances in the game world: they don't actually get you high.  Rather, they just change the game somewhat.  This joint changed the game for the worst.

I looked ahead, only to see Lemon starting to put the moves on my girl.  He had his arm around her. So I headed up to them, and gave Lemon the evil eye.  Thankfully, he backed off and she came over to me.  We continued our walk the same way we had before Witt interrupted, except I was having a hard time focusing because of the weed.

We finally came near her destination.  We went down a very short, unused side corridor, and through a rusted door.  We found stairs leading down to a dank cellar.  We descended the stairs, but the problem was that the stairs were getting increasingly smaller and further down.  Since I was still wearing my ninja sandals, and since I had lost my ninja skills when I got stoned, I couldn't make it any further without falling.  So, in my dazy mind, I decided to have Witt and Lemon escort her to her destination while I went back to get some shoes.

I kissed her on the forehead goodbye, and left for my journey for shoes.  Two things happened to me on the way back: I forgot the way back, and then I forgot what I was doing.  Confused but undaunted, I decided to wander around aimlessly.  I stopped at a street vendor and bought a watch strap.  I'm not sure why.

I continued wandering, and eventually I came upon the Russian girl.  There was something odd going on though, because she looked slightly different, and she wasn't with Witt and Lemon.  She was with another girl.  I felt a glowing swell of love for the Russian girl, so I didn't make a big deal of the situation.

"I'm lost," I admitted to her.

"Well, I think I know the way back," she said. "Just follow me."

I did.  It turned out that she didn't know the way back to our place.  It turned out, however, that she knew the way back to some sort of old run down motel place.  We went inside.

"You want any?" she asked me.

Still dazed from the weed, I nevertheless caught on to what kind of place this was.  "Yeah..." I said, reaching for my wallet.  I'd never done coke before, but I wasn't afraid to try new things.

Just as we were about to make the exchange, an old, fat, ugly, troll woman burst in the room.  To distract her from what was really going on, the girls each lit up a smoke.

"No smoking in here. Take it outside," she said.  We took it outside.

Outside was nice, despite being surrounded by tall brick walls; the sun was bright and the sky was blue.  There was a perfect groves of trees with a small stream running through.  Flowers were scattered throughout the grass, and birds were singing in the trees.  It was as if someone stole a block out of urban Eden.

I noticed that the other girl was nowhere to be seen.  It was only me and my captive.  I put my arm around her waist, and she put her head on my shoulder.  We walked up a small stone path and came to a little picnic table.

She took out the cocaine.  Something amazing occured to me.  I took out the block of hash that I had thought was a watch strap.  She smiled at me, and I smiled back.  Life was good.  We started the session.

We do all of the drugs; time stops; I realize one thing: I love this girl.  I'll never even know her name, and I love her more than anything in the world.

I realize another: she's parts of the game.  She's not real.  Neither am I.  Programmers like things to be stable and predictable.  Love and drugs are chaotic.  Programmers don't like them, or else they simply can't program them.  But they can delete the parts of the game which use them.

I hate this game that I'm a part of.  I hate it to hell!  It's a game that I've never wanted to be a part of.  I can't make my own game.  Neither of us can...  So, in a haze of cocaine and hashish, my love and I sit here, at a picnic table, waiting for the end.  Because we know it will come.  We can only hope that, when it does come, we can be together forever, through the endless oblivion that awaits.  That's all that matters.

I walked this trail

Dew from dark cloud sky

Tickled my wet eyes

I felt safe on my lit trail

But I looked behind anyways

I didn't want to lose it all 

Anyways

Walked this trail alone

Plant, tree,

Snails beneath feet

Peaceful sensations

Cool drips across my temple

Abnormal sounds ring my ears 

From a device

All this was perceived as contentment

Yet I know

You're a peaceless silence

You're a desolate wasteland

All traces of my midnight walk

All memories of the things I've done

All things I love

All traces gone

Once, in an age long past

And, in an age to come

All traces gone

No me, love, eyes, peace

There, only dust blows on the wind swept plains

No eyes to see it, ever again

This isn't real

Just a lapse of judgement by an indifferent non-master

Just a crushing, futile burden to fall flat beneath

I saw the skunk, intent on digging the cool night earth, just off my trail

I announced myself clearly by clicking my name:

Click

Click

Click

I decided on our mutual indifference

I decided to walk on by

But it disagreed; it noticed me

Tail raised as I walked on by

I don't think my pace quickened on by

Came towards me

I quickly shuffled along on by

Looking small and unassuming on by

Was my pace any quicker?

It kept on a comin'

Into the forest trail I went on by

And I couldn't see it anymore

And my thoughts said a skunk ain't gonna pursue you dude

But I kept lookin' behind anyways

And my pace was under strict control

Drunkey monkey, makin' bacon at night

I think I told those other people to follow their dreams
Don't spend another year waiting
Another month or another week
Waiting
But I kept waiting
I didn't feel that vibe from any dreams
Anymore

I drank beer alone
And tried to eat bacon at night
I took a metal shape
It was from the earth
Smelt from ore
I placed it on different hot metal
Hot because I touched a piece of plastic on a piece of metal
And I grabbed a different piece of plastic
From the drawer
From the dollar store
Maybe built through the toiling of a kid like me
Split from me and my lineage generations ago
Maybe mixed with me a bit
Just not enough for me to really care
Or maybe it was built by mindless robots

A plastic piece
Made from the remnants of an ancient swamp
Anoxic
Trees fell over
A dinosaur fell in
Drowning in tar
The first pang of regret ever
And the universe realized its kids wouldn't eat from now on
Would die
But no concept of this fact:
They wouldn't get to become plastic

A cold box of mostly metal
Inside, a plastic film containing
Tightly wrapped hunk of carcass
Very slowly rotting meat
Chopped to slices
Echoes of a last thought
Thoughts of a present moment:
A pig ahead gushing
The smell of fear
Moments before, momentary relief at the end of the terrifying truck ride
But he didn't know what a truck is
Didn't know it's a metal thing
No concept of metal
Smelt from ore
Ore from the earth
Earth dug up by monkeys
He just knew it's another place those wicked monkeys lead him onto
It moves and it shakes

Final thoughts might have been:
Terror, anticipation.

But probably not the time he pranced
A piglet between bars
Too small to feel them
To notice the tightening grip
Or cognize where they would lead him
A stun gun
And a warm, wet knife pressed into his neck, unbeknownst
Just him pressed up against a warm, soft belly
Full of food
Mum laying
Nipples swollen
Didn't understand she was trapped
Or that she forgot about that time she felt that same way
Cause now she's just trapped
A bacon factory
Making little bundles for plastic film
For drunkey monkeys
Makin' bacon at night

I closed my eyes
I closed the door to the refridgerator
I turned off the stove
But the pig was still silent, dead.

Zombies, but maybe things will be alright..

I clamour down the rickety wooden stairs. It was a bad move, a panicked decision, but here I am; a dark basement with cold concrete walls, deep freezers, crates, one way in, and one way out. I hear the creeeeeaky sound of the top stair. Zombies are coming. And suddenly there is no way out.

Frantic, I look around for a weapon, but find none. Only a maze of crates and freezers. Well then, my best option will be to get them to chase me around the room. I know I can outrun their slow but steady pace, but with the room set up like a maze I will have to ensure that I don't get caught with zombies coming at me from both ways. After scanning the room for what seems like a mere moment, I turn back towards the staircase and see that three zombies have already made their way into the basement, and have spread throughout the room in less time than should be possible with their shambling gait. No time left to worry, just time left to play with these knuckleheads.

I swiftly run towards the closest zombie, which is approaching a three way fork in the paths between the basement's obstacles. It lurches forwards, but I slide past untouched and avoid becoming trapped in the place that I was. But looking up, I'm already face to face with another zombie. It's face, once beautiful no doubt, now ravaged by fuzzy green splotches of mold, one juicy pus-filled eyeball dangling from the socket, swaying back and forth, all traces of humanity scoured away. A low and hungry moan whispers as it opens its mouth, which gapes impossibly wide until the jaw literally breaks off and falls to the ground, punctuating the horrible sound with a crumbling pop. Bony hand longingly reaching out towards me, I do the sensible thing and hoist myself up onto the nearby freezer.

Ummmm, why didn't I think of this before? Perched atop the freezer, I'm free to skip around the room, avoiding the rules of the basement maze that confine my pursuers. I hop along the freezers, one, two, three, down to the end of the line, and wait for the shuffling brutes to slowly make their way towards me before hopping back to the other end. I wait again, three sets of hands reaching closer and closer, haunting moans from their tortured stomachs testify that they will not be giving up. A meter away, now just a foot from me. I hop before it becomes an inch.

I get halfway back to the end of the line, when suddenly a robotic forklift bursts through a secret compartment in the wall, pulling the next freezer into a dark delivery chute. And suddenly I'm trapped, hungry hands outstretched and wails of ravenous glee welcoming me to the other side of life. How could I fall to the zombie apocalypse so quickly? I pass through the 7 stages of guilt with appalling speed and find acceptance...

Then suddenly hope. Companions burst down the stairs, wearing puffy green bite-proof armour, armed with machetes. A fancy wave of a sword, and two of the zombies rush off towards this distracting duo, following them back up the stairs. Now I'm just left with one zombie to deal with. Lucky break, but if I get eaten now, I'll never live it down. After all, when it's one on one, the human is supposed to win.

A creepy hand claws at my boot, and I fall on my butt. This zombie has a blubbery face, with glazed over eyes and sparse whisps of hair stuck to the side of its head with yellow slime. I lash out with my left foot. Rationally, I know that a hard blow to the head should cave the rotting skull, but deep inside I know it is futile and, what's more, puts my foot at risk of being gobbled up instantly. The hit barely registers against the zombie, but the force propels me backwards, and I land hard on the concrete floor. Sucking up the pain, I take my second lucky break, get up, and run for the stairs. One of the deep freezers opens and zombies begin pouring out, as if a stairway from hell is contained within it. Up I go.

Fellow humans meet me when I reach the top. I don't know them, but it is as if they were expecting me. We dash down a hallway, through what seems like an office building. I follow a woman wearing glasses and a lab coat as she ducks left into an alcove where regular people once heated lunch and brewed coffee in their attempts to make it through the banality of the workday. Holding our breaths, we silently count our heartbeats as the first wave of zombies emerges from the stairs. From the sounds of the scraping bones and plopping flesh of their feet moving in the opposite direction, it seems they failed to notice us which direction we escaped. With the coast clear for a moment, we dash back down the hallway, turn right, and meet up with three more people in a room full of empty glass cases.

We catch our breath, but nobody says much. It seems clear that we can't stay here, and if the zombies see or hear us, an entire army of them will make of us their snack. I follow the survivors as they try to circle back around, avoiding the hallway where we risk exposing ourself to the eyes of the undead still pouring from the stairwell.

As we pause to listen for movement, I take the opportunity to rifle through a nearby desk. Pencils, staplers, a rifle... I take the rifle. Looking up with a dumbass grin to display my find to the party, I see that I'm alone. Shit! I hear footsteps ahead of me. I rush towards them.

I round the corner and see the woman in the lab coat ahead of me, in the alcove with the coffee makers and microwaves we hid in before. Moving forwards, I fail to notice that I've crossed the hallway until the wide eyes of the woman reveal my mistake. Terrible squeals from the zombie hordes down the hall. She turns and bolts, through the alcove and beyond. I follow.

We cross an indoor bridge that passes over a busy road, huge glass windows revealing the pristine city under a calm blue sky outside. I only catch a few glimpses of the outside as we run for our lives. To the right, business as usual, so many people unaware of the horror that is happening. To the left, the first zombie bursts through a door into the outside world, into a throng of people. I reach the end of the bridge and go through.

I'm in a huge indoor area, a mix between an airport and a subway station. Crowds of nicely dressed business people flock between kiosks, purchasing coffee or magazines, chatting with colleagues like it's any other day. Ahead of me looms a wide escalator, and I push through the milling people. It occurs to me to warn them, but I can't seem to catch my breath enough to call out. I just push through.

As I near the entrance to the escalator, screams erupt behind me, but I don't look. I only look forwads and upwards, seeing the glasses lab coat lady, halfway up the escalator already, making fast progress by elbowing and slipping between the unaware. I try to emulate her, but the crowd starts to press in, packing me tightly against terrified men in light brown trench coats. The stairs carry me up.

I get spat out onto the street, among tall white buildings and more crowds of people cheerfully going about their daily business. They are like milk mixed with flaming oil against the screaming, fleeing people coming up from the subway.

Confusion and panic. Not my allies. I do a quick scan to confirm that I'm not in immediate danger. So many people surrounding me will surely act as a buffer if the zombies get close, their slaughter buying me time to escape. Now that I'm alone, with nobody to lead me, I take a moment to figure out what to do next.

My mind glazes over; nothing comes to me. A hysterically scared looking elderly man, packed tightly amidst rising others, nears the top of the escalator. He will be helpless to flee when the zombies arrive, becoming one more vector for the plague of undeath. With solipsistic apathy, I reach out with my rifle, the barrel resting momentarily against his head before I put a plug into it. He slumps forwards, is expelled from the escalator, and is trampled. The people already above stare at me in shock; the people coming from below seem not to notice. I look at the gun in my hand, it drops to the ground with a clank, unaudible in the rising frenzy of escape. I run.

I run along streets lined with shiny white buildings, filled with people, some recognizing their dire situation, others confusedly unaware. Zombies burst from a building ahead, pulling down everyone nearby into a pile of writhing flesh. I push forwards against others who are now running in the opposite direction. I look up towards the crystal clear sky, the pile of zombies mostly blocked from my sight by half a tear welling up in my left eye.

My legs are burning, but they push me forwards. As I head down a ramp, the buildings fall away and reveal the city stretching out to my right. Between the towering white skyscrapers are thousands of people, jammed up in the fleeing frenzy. In some areas, the zombie hordes are tearing through the streets like an unsatiable meatgrinder, biting and chomping on people and converting them into more zombies. Ahead of me, at the bottom of the ramp, is a shallow decorative pool in the center of a huge open courtyard. On the other side of the pool is a crowd of people, standing silently, some holding tightly to their loved ones, ultimately waiting for what they have decided is an inevitable fate. I splash through the knee-deep water towards them, and hear the horde emerging from the buildings behind me. The crowd seems to flinch as a unit, yet they stand their ground, hypnotized with morose fascination by the impending onslaught. Nearing the other side of the pool, I scan the crowd for an opening to pass through the people, but my eyes stop on a pretty woman with sad eyes and long, straight, brown hair. Emboldened and liberated by impending doom, I delay my escape for a moment to stop in front of her.

"You are too beautiful," I tell her. She breaks her gaze into nothingness and focuses her sad eyes on me as I wrap my arms around and deliver a quick but gentle kiss. I pull away to leave and start pushing my way into the crowd, and she follows me with a hand on my sleeve. A burst of something between hope and happiness fills me, as if human connection could somehow foretell that everything might turn out ok. Well, it's nice to have some company at the end of the world.

I get through the crowd with my companion still attached to me and, finding ourselves up against another building, we creep along the side until we reach a revolving door. We burst inside, and I frantically look around for the nearest staircase. We have to get to the roof; it's the only place left to hide, and maybe there is a chance that helicopters will come to rescue us. Although, that never happens in the movies... but there's no time to think. We run up several flights and arrive on a floor where we are confronted by rows upon rows of cubicles and flimsy dividers. We flee through the aisle, but find that it ends in a wall. I notice that the wall is of the same material as the dividers separating the cubicles, so I kick with all my might, breaking through to the other side. I stick my head through first and, finding no zombies on the other side, we both plunge through into a kitchen area. On the countertop directly ahead there is a wooden block filled with knives. I am eager to arm myself, but I let her choose first. She pulls a large straight blade out of the block. I grab the next biggest looking knife, seeing a serrated edge as I pull it out. I imagine stabbing a zombie in the forehead, but notice in my imagination how tough it is to remove from its skull. Best not to push my luck like that if more than one zombie is attacking or I could find myself unarmed once again.

Studying the wavy edge of the blade, I wonder how sharp it is. I softly, barely even touch it to the palm of my hand, yet it opens a deep gash across my hand. I wince as sharp pain shoots up my arm, and open my eyes to see blood gushing out. Embarrassed of self-inflicting my own wound in this scenario of already overwhelming danger, I look over to see the reaction of my friend, but she doesn't notice; her head is turned towards the huge windows, sad eyes staring into the blankly serene cerulean sky.