Zombie Weekend 

Monday, August 29, 2005

Apparently, zombie walking is the new thing.

I couldn't join in. For all my interest in zombies, I haven't really seen any zombie movies. There was that Shaun of the Dead, but it doesn't count because I felt really lousy at the time. Then there was 28 Days Later and that didn't count because I am too aghast with Cillian Murphy's comedic routine in Red Eye to properly remember it. Really, I just didn't know what wear.

The coffin girl's idea was a hoot yet it is too Martha Stewart for me. I can't even glue popsicle sticks together. Nail in the head's look was stunning, though, again, glue and me are incompatible.

But I got a lot of ideas now.

For example, the lady zombie who attacked me was dropdead gorgeous. It just takes glasses and some flour paste. Or, I could adorn myself with that most zombielicious of accessories, a chunk of meat on a leash.

I was kind of jealous of all the zombies who took over the streets and attacked bewildered bystanders.


(More Zombie Walk 2005 photos here.)


Two days later, I dreamed I was caught in a real zombie invasion. This dream followed my Old West dream, the one where I wear sexy Gone with the Wind frocks and get swept off my feet by some train bandit - he got lost on the way to his hideout (while he was kidnapping me) when I found myself on Orchard Street (near Delancey Street) in New York.

I knew there were zombie behind me, quite a way behind and giving me just enough time to find a hiding place. I went up the stairs into a cafe on the east side of the street. The proprietors appeared to be Chinese and the clientele was mixed Chinese and white.

In a panic, I explained the situation and that we had to board up the doors. They did lock the doors, a sorry defense. I struggled with some cabinets, moving them a few centimetres toward the front door, then gave up.

Everyone moved to the south of the room to watch me pushing the cabinet. That meant no one was securing the back door.

The building had an attached garage with flimsy doors and lots of glass. The back door opened on a lot with tall, unmowed grass. I made sure the weak lock was in place. I thought about pushing another tool cabinet over this door but realized the noise would wake the dead. Better to ignore it, not rub my living scent all over the place and better secure the door leading to this garage.

Just as I was about to step back into the building, I noticed one of the customers did follow me.

He was a midget, white, and staring southwards to the fence separating the backlot.

I walked over to warn him that the garage provided few defenses.

Then I saw it.

From a crack in the fence, a zombie child rushed out toward the garage.

The opening under the garage door, where the sun shined as if it was just any beautiful summer day, was large enough to admit a groping child's hand.

Immediately I turned and ran into the building, forgetting to even warn the midget, and locked the door behind me.

So there you go. Turns out in an emergency I am a coward and a double-crosser. I not only left the midget to his death, I also didn't tell the others in the diner - they might want to go back and try to rescue him, opening the door to the garage and thereby exposing everyone to danger. Besides, no one would notice him missing.

And no one did.

I didn't go back into the diner part of the building right away. I needed to find an alternate escape route. The stairs that led to the roof finished off in a tight room with a roof exit that with plaster over it. I considered using an axe and hacking the way out. Then only problem is, if we kept quiet, perhaps we could ride out the zombie invasion. Maybe they would pass us without noticing that inside this converted tenement building was a cornucopia of live humanity, ranging from the elderly to cute little five-year-old girls.

Downstairs, the clientele and owners stood at open windows looking onto Orchard Street.

"What are you doing?" I whispered in even more panic. "They'll see us."

No one answered me. They kept looking onto the street.

A parade of zombies ambled down the road, from the north, some on motorcycles, most walking. There were some zombies in the back seats of cars and the drivers appeared to be living humans - or maybe they were zombies too but less decayed or less mauled.

Across Orchard Street, others looked down from their second storey windows, dangerously close to the swarm below.

I woke up suddenly because of a construction noise somewhere on my street.

Before I awoke fully, I mistook it for the zombie mass drilling a hole into my house.
I asked myself how I wanted to die. Disembowelled or self-inflicted? I tallied up all the pills in the house, the speed at which I could access them, the time lapse until I slipped into a coma, and the pain I would miss as the zombies zeroed in for the kill. I would possibly still be awake at the rate those zombies were drilling into my house.

Well, I am here now. I thought about puppy dogs and kittens all day. I want to dream of puppies and kittens drilling into my house next.

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