Monday, October 31, 2011

Guest Post: Jenkins, With a Call to Reason


     It’s hard to remember my past life. It’s as if I have woken up from a twenty-something year long dream and it disappeared back into the mists of my mind the second I awoke. Sometimes, in my wanderings, I stop and catch myself staring blankly into space, trying to recall just who I was.
     Speaking of waking up, I came to in this life in a strange school’s boarded-up cafeteria. Mega-spooky. The woman that was there must have known me and not been a huge fan, because my earliest memory is her looking into my opening eyes and crying. I tried to ask what was happening and where I was, but I was so tired (God, I felt like I was dead for awhile), only a gurgle or mumble came out.
     It didn’t seem to improve her spirits. The woman started crying and pulled a gun on me. I sat up slowly, trying not to make any sudden moves. On the ground, I saw another man laying facedown, in a pool of blood, dead. This woman had killed him with that revolver she was holding. The gun was so hefty it looked like it would do just as much damage to her slender shoulder as any of its bullets would do to me. I urged her to put down the gun, but once again, only a mumble.
     It must have been something I said. She sniffed once, and cocked the hammer on the revolver back. Now, I’m not a violent guy, but I’d much prefer to stay alive, so I pounced on her. I tried grabbing the gun, but she was uncommonly strong, as if she was panicking. Her hand mashed into my face, and reflexively I bit it. All the fight went out of her, and she simply stopped and looked at her hand. I tried to apologize, but my words hadn’t had the best effect on her mood, so instead I lamely got up and left. I should have taken the revolver away from her, but guns make me uncomfortable.
     Occasionally, I see her wandering out with the rest of us. She must still hold a grudge, because she won’t acknowledge me. I’m not going to be the one to patch things over either, I mean, she’s the one who pulled a gun on me.
     People have gone crazy all over, it seems. A couple days ago I walked over to a nearby mall in order to pick up a new shirt. The one I’ve been wearing for awhile until I get home has a huge stain on my collar bone, which has been sore for awhile. But first of all, the mall was packed. Didn’t these people have jobs? The economy must have really tanked. That must be why nobody was driving. Well, except for those crazy Hummer owners that seem not to care about anything. Gas prices, mufflers, open carry laws, whether or not they were about to run me over, those sort of things.
     Sorry, I’m shambling. I mean, rambling. I got to the packed mall and finally fought the aimless crowd till I found a nice clothing store. A guy was there already, so I asked if I could get some help shopping. I must have startled him with that damn gurgle mumble thing, because he jumped and spun around.
     Naturally, he had a shotgun in his hands. You know, as you do. I tried being the calm one, slowly walking at him, trying to be non-offensive. He said some one liner I don’t care to repeat here, and pumped a round into the chamber. Luckily, a fellow shopper of mine popped up behind him to save me. Unluckily for my good taste, he chomped onto the man’s neck instead of just hitting him in the back of the head. I shouldn’t judge, he saved me.
     Perturbed, I forgot about my shirt purchase, and fought the curious crowd streaming into the store in order to get out and into some fresh air. Once I got there, I saw a bus with chainsaws sticking out of the windows drive by. There must have been a heavy metal show in town or something.
     I don’t know why some people hate my friends and wandering buddies. All we want to do is enjoy the fresh air and get some exercise. Sometimes we want to go to the mall or pay our respects to the fully dead in graveyards. You people do that all the time, too.
     I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say you people. That’s the intolerance I’m fighting against. But when others call my people derogatory names like “zombie” and “undead” it really hurts my feelings. I prefer things like Dead American. We’re not evil, we’re just different! Even though you may be Homo Sapien and I am Homo Decomposiae, we still have much more in common than you’d think. If you see me staring off into space or into the sky, please, just let me be. Isn’t a rose by any other name smell as sweet? I mean, I know I smell rotting, but you’ve boarded up all the pharmacies and I can’t get deodorant. Do I not have a heart that beats like… well, bad example. Just please, learn how to live with us. Those that get close enough come to like us and even join us! It’s a pretty great life. Thanks for your time.

-Jenkins the Dead American

"Are you okay, man? You took a nasty fall!"

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