So I'm not 100% sure if I said any of this but I'd like to start fresh (sort of). To begin, some background.
I started this work as part of an assignment for my fiction writing class in the Spring semester of my sophomore year of college. I forget what the assignment was (probably short fiction), but somewhere in my inevitable procrastination, I decided it was a good idea to write some zombie fiction. The original piece, about 3 pages long, consisted of much of what you see in the first post. It was originally meant to be a satirical short story, more humorous than anything. My professor and classmates really enjoyed it (I have the emails to prove it) and my professor encouraged me to expand it. The second entry was a few more pages but I soon moved on to other endeavors. I picked the piece back up and begin expanding it, adding up to a quarter of the narrative by the following January. At some point I realized that I was writing the novel in present tense when most of it had already been written in past tense. Oops. And it's kind of hard to to a CRTL+F for past tense verbs so I did a pretty terrible job doing some patch-work editing and moved on.
Fast forward to January 2013 when I finally finish the manuscript (that's about 3 years later) and it has unarguably taken a different tone and direction than it had originally. Call it the brilliance of the story telling itself (I'm merely a vessel or whatever). Anyways, the first few chapters are pretty rough as far as the writing goes and I understand that. Below is the re-written prologue and chapter based on revised version (still mostly different from the original) in the first and second post. This version, however, is different in nearly every conceivable way. I actually like it a lot more.
The point is, there's a long way to go but I appreciate the work that everyone has done for me thus far. Hopefully you guys will enjoy these rewritten chapters a lot more (I know I do) and hopefully we can get the ball rolling even faster.
For those who would like to give input, I appreciate it. Content notes are more useful than grammar notes but if you must, you must. I can live with a few typos or misused words, because that's what an editor is for and I don't want to get bogged down with niceties unless it severely hinders the experience. With that...
Survivor: The Novel
Prologue. Last Wednesday.
The sound of the calamity reaches me from nearly across campus. The shouting floats on a cool breeze, past the red-brick class buildings and through the pink flowers of blooming trees, all the way down the sidewalk, until it reaches me as nearly a whisper. A crowd has formed in the main plaza in the heart of the university. Usually a serene place for studying, napping, or the occasional bros playing Frisbee, the plaza from time to time becomes more of a wrestling ring when the differing opinions of students clash.
My stomach growls angrily as I take a moment to hang on the outskirts of the crowed that’s gathered for today’s spectacle. Standing on the tips of my toes, I can just see the blue milk crate underneath the lanky legs of the man in the eye of it all. Another growl from the depths of me serves as a reminder of why I bothered to leave the quiet sanctuary of my dorm. Got to say though, watching these guys when they come to campus gives me a sick sort of pleasure.
The man clicks on his megaphone with a screech and thrusts his free arm in the air. Clutched in his hands is a black book, its gilded edges glistening in the sun.
He pauses a moment before addressing the crowd. “The good Lord has this day, given me the strength to attend to you supposed scholars and deliver his message.” The implied insult to the intelligence of his audience causes many to throw a few Fuck You’s back at him, though he seems not to notice.
“The End of Days is upon us. Yea, even now, unto this very moment, the Lord’s plan for salvation is in motion,” he says, his voice drowning out the shouting. How far off can it be heard? “The plan is a machine greater than any you could hope to understand.” This time, there are no replies, only silence. Are they waiting for ammunition, or are they genuinely curious?
“I stand amongst sinners. Atheists. Practitioners of false religion. Whores. Homosexuals.” The crowd resumes their shouts. A few students step out, launching into distressed tirades, stepping up to the milk crate to address the preacher directly. Trying to use their college logic on a man of faith. Good luck. He ignores them. You’re giving him an audience! I clench my fists and keep my mouth shut.
“There are those of you who would harm your bodies, God’s perfect creations, with substances and piercings, ink, and sex out of wedlock.” He flicks his tongue against his lips as if to rid them of the taste of the words. Some girl points a tattooed arm at the preacher and shouts at the crowd, her speech a little screwed up from the big, glistening stud in her tongue.
“You will all find yourselves on a long, painful road to hell, unless you heed my words carefully.”
The preacher pauses as a few gay couples gather around him and begin kissing each other. I look away. It’s not that I’m offended, I would just rather not look at two dudes kissing. The preacher only shakes his head, smiling, and continues.
“Your actions do not fill me with rage, sinners; only strength. Only the strength to find those among you worth saving. For I feel God’s love, and am guided by the Spirit to pure souls. Few as there may be,” he added. “Who among you desires salvation?”
The megaphone hangs by his side as he thrusts his book towards the audience. His face becomes expressionless as he studies each face in the audience in turn, ignoring the taunts, curses, and retorts being thrown his way. It’s hard to tell at my distance from him, but I could swear that the preacher and I make eye contact for a brief moment. A wave of discomfort rushes through me. His eyes turn elsewhere and I begin to walk away, rubbing the goosebumps off my arms. Guess I failed the test.
A student pushes his way towards the preacher, and falls to his knees in front of him.
“You! Have you come to me to be saved?” he says, beaming like a proud father. With a groan, the student rises on uneasy feet and trips into the preacher, grabbing him tightly around the waist. The preacher screams as the protester sinks his teeth deep into his forearm and repeatedly whacks the student on the head with his book in order to break free. Two more people get bitten by the student before a campus cop tackles him. Despite the cop’s particular robustness, the student struggles against him, his head twisted around in an attempt to bite. It takes two more cops to haul the student away. Some of the crowd turns their anger towards the cops, shouting about police brutality or some crap, briefly ignoring the preacher. Holy shit, I get to witness a real live college riot. Is that bad that I’m excited?
Despite my excitement, I briefly consider the consequences of being a bystander and continue on my way.
Screech.
At the sound of the megaphone coming back to life, I steal a glance back at the crowd.
The preacher’s white button-up is turning red and his once-expressionless face is twisted in pain, yet he manages to get back up on his crate for a few final words.
“The end… is here!” he says.
Well, that was easily the most fun I’ll have all day. Now, what am I hungry for?
CHAPTER 1- MICHAEL CLARK. Thursday, the next week.
I register the groaning somewhere deep in my subconscious. It’s full of pain and sorrow, of emptiness and despair. My body goes into panic mode as I struggle to find the source.
ho could be in that much pain?
Wait…
“God dammit! Turn it off, Greg!”
My roommate writhes about in his sheets and punches his pillows, groaning like a dying man.
“No, no, no, no…” he says. “I don’t wanna…”
“Just please turn the fucking alarm off,” I say.
Greg flings a limp arm towards his wailing alarm clock and misses, knocking papers and garbage off his bedside table. With another pained groan, he musters all his humanly strength and flings himself out of bed, flicking the alarm as his feet touch the ground. He stretches loudly, his toes curling into the dirty rug on his side of the room. Yawning and scratching himself, he seems not to notice the papers now strewn about the space, many of them now on my side.
“What’s your problem, man?” I ask “It’s nine in the morning.”
“You know I have an early class,” Greg says, adjusting himself in his briefs. Who wears briefs anymore?
“Yeah, but you could be a lot more quiet when I’m trying to sleep.”
Greg ignores that. “I’m just so tired.”
“You were up all night playing video games.”
“Homework,” he says.
“You’re a video game major.”
“Video game design major. So video games are my homework. Man, I love my life,” he says with another stretch as he grabs his towel from his open closet door. As it comes down, the stink of it wafts over to me. I hide under the comforter, preferring to smell my own odors rather than Greg’s.
“Except when it’s nine in the fucking morning.”
“Actually,” he says, “I’m feeling pretty awake now.” He flings the bedroom door open and struts into the hallway towards the communal showers. He closes it behind him with a thunderous slam.
I lie there for a moment with my eyes squeezed shut. Please sleep. Sleep. More sleep. Nope. Greg’s going to be done with that shower in 20 minutes and he’ll just wake me up again.
My relationship with Greg was an unfortunate accident. I tried freshman year to have a roommate but I found that I absolutely cannot live in such close proximity to someone. It drives me insane. I was supposed to have a room to myself this year, but when I got to campus and saw bright-faced Greg unpacking his stuff in my room that was only supposed to have one bed…
The housing director was doing a lot of typing, her long, glittery nails clacking loudly on the keyboard. She studied the screen for a moment. Looked at me. Back to the screen. Back to me.
“Well…” she said, her face twisted in a manner that I think was meant to look sympathetic, “it seems as though we had to over-book this year. We’ll let you know if anything opens up.”
And that was the end of that discussion. She had turned back to her computer and ignored my continued presence for a full minute before I left. When I came back, Greg was fully unpacked and playing his noise loudly.
“It’s Japanese electro-funk,” he explained.
“Right…” After a moment of searching through my unpacked things, I found my noise-cancelling headphones. I loved them before, and my love for them has continued to grow over the past year as they seem to block out most of Greg’s Japanese electro-funk and allowed me to watch my movies in peace. Does Greg know this was supposed to be a single-occupant room? For a moment, I felt kind of bad, thinking that if he knew that, he might feel unwanted. Well he is unwanted. I hope he feels awful.
Greg walks back into the room. I’m at my desk--which I turned towards the wall in the second week of school--though in my laptop’s screen, his naked body is reflected back at me.
“Have you no shame?” I ask. My headphones cancel out his reply. Instead of trying to reclaim the two hours of sleep I lost over Greg’s drama this morning, I decide to watch a low-budget horror that I’ve been saving for a shitty mood. A poorly-animated seagull flies across the screen with rigid wings, swooping low over the movie’s protagonist, who is struggling to look afraid. The seagull dives for an attack, supposedly striking the character, though the actor under-reacts, making the reveal of a life-threatening injury (complete with cheap-looking blood) much less convincing. Are you really dying? You sure aren’t acting like it. A smile creeps onto my face as I watch every element of terrible movie-making unfold before me. It’s a colossal failure but it’s fun to watch. I forget all about Greg and this shitty room.
Before I know it, it’s time for class. General education requirements need to burn in hell. It’s easy to understand that we’re supposed to come out of our college education as “well-rounded” individuals, but I don’t think that spending an hour and a half with a bunch of idiots from every different kind of major is very useful for my “well-roundedness.” Sorry, let me correct myself. Only half of the class are actual idiots. The other half are better described as… well someone once said to me, “Mike, it’s better to shut up and let people think you’re stupid than open your trap and remove all doubt.” My dad told me that. I think it was Lincoln first. Or Mark Twain. Either way, most of my classmates have clearly never heard the phrase.
“Well I can understand how you might think that when you read the text the wrong way…” one begins, cutting off another.
“Actually, if you did more than just read the Wikipedia page…” one says.
“Excuse me, can I finish?” the first one says. “Professor? Professor?!”
“Huh?” The professor hardly stirs. He’s been staring at the desk, twiddling his thumbs for the last 30 minutes, certainly not preparing to step in or moderate the discussion that has quickly escalated from reasonable arguments and irrelevant anecdotes to unintelligible shouting. WHAT IS THIS CONTRIBUTING TO MY EDUCATION? The thoughts nearly turn into words that I can hardly keep to myself.
It doesn’t seem that more than half the class even read the assigned reading (I know I sure didn’t) since there are only five voices going back and forth. I turn in my seat and accidentally catch the gaze of the guy behind me. I mutter an apology but I don’t think he hears me. In fact, when I turn back around I actually keep his gaze for a moment, realizing that he doesn’t even see me. He’s completely spaced out. That’s incredible. I envy his ability to tune out the din of the argument and wonder how no one else can possibly be getting as irritated as I am. Watching the minute hand on the clock spin, which it now seems to be doing at a most tedious pace, doesn’t do much to alleviate the headache that’s beginning to pound underneath my temples. My mind beings to wander. What if my classmates were to suddenly and unfortunately… I realize have to leave.
The fresh air and warm spring sun do help a little to calm my mood. I just need be away from people right now. Well, that’s usually the case. I find a bench in a shady part of the quad. Ahead of me is the swelling throng of students milling about the main plaza, although this week there is no group of protestors or other sights to be seen other than the students going about their business. They are smoking, talking, laughing, walking, running, studying, and overall just enjoying life. Suburban university life—isn’t it just precious?
Before I get a moment to enjoy the birds singing above me, a girl sits down next to me. Her chest bounces as she yells at the poor soul on the other end of her cell phone.
“No way. I can’t even believe that. Shut up. OMG STOP!” As much as I’d love to sit there watching the Greek letters on her pink tank top go up and down, her shrieks of delight as she soaks in the latest gossip almost make me wish I was back in class. At least that conversation was slightly intellectual. Plus, she’s making my headache worse. I rummage through my bag and pull out my trusty noise-cancelling headphones. Remarkably, I can still hear her talking. Awesome. I vacate my choice spot, now only wanting to lie in bed and be left alone.
No one is in the common area of the floor so I’m able to sneak in undetected and, most importantly, without having to talk to anyone. The door is locked so I know Greg isn’t there, another unexpected treat.
There’s a rush of cool air when my head hits the pillow. With my face buried, my lungs fill up with the cold, musky air trapped in the cheap sheets. Thank you, industrial air conditioner, you’re the sweetest thing to come home to.
After maybe an hour, there’s a knock on the door.
“What?” I say into the pillow. There’s a pause. Did they hear me? I hear the door open. I can’t see who it is. “Is Greg here?” the voice says. I think it’s the nerdy girl from down the hall that Greg’s been trying to get with all semester, but I can’t be sure.
“Take a look around,” I say, motioning lazily towards Greg’s side, a mere two feet away. “Do you see him?”
“Uh… no,” she says. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No idea.”
“Okay…” The door closes. I drift off again.
Another knock, louder and more urgent.
“WHAT?” I shout.
“Hey Mike,” Matt says as he opens the door. He’s staring at his black Converse as he walks in. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you…”
“It’s fine, Matt. Don’t worry about it,” I say. Matt is always a little sheepish. Maybe never had many friends in high school. Since move-in he’s been under the impression that we’re best friends because our names start with “M.” Not the case, as I’ve constantly hinted. But I certainly didn’t mean to yell at him and I feel kind of bad. “What’s going on?”
“Oh nothing. I was just wondering if you wanted to get dinner later.”
I pause to look at my phone for a moment, trying to buy time to come up with another excuse. “Oh look at the time,” I say. “I don’t know, I was thinking of staying in tonight. I’m not feeling too great.”
“Finals?” Matt asks.
“Yeah, I’m real stressed out. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah I hear you,” he says.
Awkward pause. “Well…” I begin.
“Oh, I’ll let you get back to sleep. I catch up with you later!”
“Sure thing.”
Even Greg’s Japanese electro-funk wouldn’t be able to wake me from the sleep that follows. Maybe I just needed to recharge my batteries. I try not to be too irritable but some days are harder than others.
