Wednesday
Picture 2
Kimmydon's Choice: both
Title:
I stand ready, my guard up. I know the attack could come from either side, but will most likely come from behind. They love biting into the back of a neck, breaking it if possible. That way the kill stays fresh while they feed. Disgusting creatures. I wasn’t about to have my blood taint the snow.
crunch
I whirl to meet my opponent, blade raised. He’s fast and ugly as sin, but he’ll be much prettier without that head. His black-red blood stains the snow, not mine, and I turn for his friend, adding another kill to my tally. Heph will be pissed when I pass him again. I grin with satisfaction.
My cockiness is my demise. A third bites into the side of my neck and I scream in pain and rage. My glasses are knocked from my head and I fall to my knees, everything becoming dark.
My legs are wet. Why are my legs wet? And I smell salt, feel a breeze. Are there breezes in hell? I suppose I could be in heaven, but I doubt they’d take me. Opening my eyes, I prepare for the worst.
Wait a minute. I’ve been here before. A year ago, before the incident, before the virus turned most of us into monsters. Why am I here?
I start to get up and realize I’m wearing the same dress I wore a year ago, and my hair is long. I’m also wearing my contact lenses. How long since I had a pair of those? This is some dream. Heading back down the path that had brought me here so long ago, I find my parents — my dead parents
“Mom?” I ask in a choke. “Dad?” I run to them and hug my mother tightly. Maybe I am in heaven.
“Cindy? What’s wrong, honey? Weren’t you having fun?” she asks smoothing my hair.
“Fun?” I ask, incredulous. “Yeah, lots of fun. It’s great watching monsters tear apart everyone you love.” The tears that started at the sight of them multiply and roll down my cheeks. “Really riotous.”
“Cindy?” my father asks in a serious tone. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m obviously dead and I didn’t manage to find anything to help anyone.”
My parents look at each other and I can see the questions they’re asking each other.
“I’m not insane,” I argue pulling away from them. “This place stinks,” I claim, storming off.
“Cindy, wait!” my mom calls chasing after me. “Talk to us. Tell us what happened.”
“You both died, okay? You were infected and turned into... them.” My voice is still cracking, and I am still stomping. My stupid hair will not stay out of my mouth. “Bleh, and why give me back this?” I complain, fighting it into a knot on my head.
“You love your hair, honey. You’ve been growing it out since you were four.” My mother tugs on a lock.
“Yeah, well, it’s a pain in the ass when you don’t have reliable water and it gets caught in everything. That’s why I cut it off six months ago.”
“Six months ago you were still in class,” my father argues.
“Yeah, if this really was July of ‘fifteen.” 2015, the year everything ended. 2016, the year those of us left tried to make a beginning.
“But... it is,” my father tells me. “You were just walking into the surf and then sat on the shore. You were so happy a moment ago.” He rubs my shoulder, too.
“Shut up,” I say, my mouth sagging a little. “It’s really July tenth? Manson is still in business? There haven’t been any... accidents?” I ask, trying to lead them.
“No, honey. Manson? Since when are you interested in pharmaceuticals?”
“Just since they bred a super virus,” I mumble. “It’s really July tenth and I really just graduated a week ago?”
“Yes, Cindy. Your tassel is still hanging from the mirror of the car.”
“We still have the old Ford!” I shout with glee, remembering how important a vehicle that was simple to fix became. “I can do something! Maybe I can stop the whole damn thing.” I gave my each of my parents another hug. “Call a cab. I need the car. Trust me. Bye!”
“Cindy? Cindy!” My mother’s shout is lost behind me as my hair falls out of its knot. My legs tangle in my skirt and I yank it higher, hoping there’s a knife or scissors in the glove box. I need to lose this hair and then I need to kill a very bad doctor.
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