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Green Sunday Chapter 10 ‘Romeo is bleeding’ (Raw)

Latest chapter of GS proofread, as usual rough as shit, still having it edited, I should have chapter 3 back by next week. So hold your breath for that haha.
As usual you can check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt, which I will link to at the top and bottom. I do that because you can’t copy and paste any of that and it’s easier to read on tablets and stuff and you can read it in order.

Green Sunday Chapter 10

~

“There he is!” Dave said as he pointed over his Sikh billionaire boss’s shoulder. Standing erect with a pair of expensive looking binoculars.

“You littal cant!” Pete said as he cranked the pressure gauge in his custom air arrow launcher. He narrowed his eyes to keep track of a wiley moving target.

The scope flitted around trying to keep track of ragged green form as it darted from cover to cover dipping. “Keep still you little barstard!” Pete spat.

“Think you can outrun me you little facka!”

“He’s over there!” Dave screeched as he leaned on the raised lip of the gunstore roof.

Pete tried to steady his breathing as he tunnelled his vision down the scope of the rifle. He tried to hone his concentration on this vagrant target eluding his gaze. A quick flicker of light and a sharp piercing feeling of murderous intent. Pete was sent reeling off his makeshift perch on the roof.

“What was that” Dave said.

Pete looked over himself patting down for injuries “Something came right at me”. Pete readied himself again at his perch. “There!” Dave screamed. A lithe figure slipped through a gap in a wall of milling living corpses. Completely oblivious to this quick witted sewer rat of a man breezing past them.

“You fuckin what!’” Pete said as he gritted his teeth pulling hard on the trigger of the arrow launcher. A quick bolt and satisfying release of pressure. An arrow was thrust into the crowd as the figure disappeared.

“Did you get ‘im?” Dave said.

“I dunno” Pete said as he lifted the rifle up and rested it against the wall.

“Who the fuck was that?” Dave said standing in an awkward pose. Feeling a little buzzed and drained from the excitement. As if for a fleeting moment the shoe was on the other foot. He glanced back over to the spot the cornered animal was last seen with his binoculars. he had to catch his breath despite not having moved an inch. “Hah does that one kinda look like Burt Reynolds to you?” he said as he looked out over the shambling corpses on the other side of the street.

“Another c’ant like us, I reckon. Didn’t get a good look at ‘im.” Pete said as he leant against the lip of the roof. He took out a hunting pipe and filled it with tobacco. He lit it and took some measured pulls on the horn lip piece with a faraway look on his face. Listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. As he put pressure on the wall, the other side cracked a little and little pieces of mortar and brick crumbled. Following the cracks in the what was now seen as a hastily and shoddily built raised wall around the roof. The owner probably used for his own late night target practice. Lodged a good four or five inches into the mortar was a shiney and very sharp looking butterfly knife

~

A sickly light trickled through the gaps in the shutters of an upmarket house on the more affluent side of town. The house was still and looked vacant in the bluing light of the evening. The night on its way bringing a much needed stillness to the ‘busy’ town. The house was old looking, reminiscent of some older new England town houses. A two storey affair made of retouched white wood and roofed with grey tiles. The windows were partitioned with the same white wood. All with drawn curtains and shutters.

Inside the house a deathly cold gripped the anterooms and the hall. A musty smell the owners must have gotten used to living in such an old house permeated the rooms. And the floorboards creaked like an old haunted house.

The stairs were fairly grand, made of an elegant hardwood. Leaving them cold as century old bone to the touch. The faded blue light gave them a dreamlike quality, still as if out of time entirely. Like the whole house were some sort of display or diorama meant for looking but not touching.

Nevertheless something was living there. Something stirred in the dull blue light that probed the dank house. Little feet slapped the icy staircase as they descended the large steps. Creating the slightest creaking noises on the old steps.

A little girl, maybe five or six in a frilly night gown descended the stairs like a ghost. She held a stuffed iguana close to her little chest. She peered into the inky blue stillness of her home and saw a spark of light. There was a warm glow building in the furthest corner of her house. Followed by whispers and hissing sounds through gritted teeth and a strange smell.

She tiptoed down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible. As she got closer the angered hissing noises continued. She could hear a few choice words and laboured breathing as she approached the light source.

The light was coming from her living room. A small fire stoked in the old wood burning fireplace. There was a man sat down in front of the fire talking to himself angrily.

“I’ll get you, you asshole, you just wait, I know where you are! I’ll get you and I’ll-ergh!“ The man muttered to himself as he nursed a wound in his shoulder. A bloody arrow tossed on the hardwood floor by the fireside. He sat on a large green army coat in front of the fire rocking back and forth like caged animal. A blood stained kitchen knife clutched in his hand as he held his arm, pressing it against himself.

“Santa is that you?” The little girl said as she saw his scraggly beard and long hair. “It’s a little early, where are all the presents?”

“Presents?” Carpenter said furrowing his brow in a confused daze. Caught off guard by the little girl in her pyjamas, he gripped the knife tighter. “I don’t have any presents”

“Oh” The girl said, taking it surprisingly well. “Well could you help me?” She said as she tightened her face a little. “My mommy and daddy are sick” Her voice raising slightly at the end catching herself.

“Shhhhh” Carpenter said as he smiled and put his finger up to his mouth. “Take me to them” He smiled broadly exposing his yellowed teeth. “Santa has something for them” He said as he stood up shakily, sliding the knife underneath his belt.

~

If you like what you read so far of this excerpt go check out the full chapter on inkitt completely free.

Green Sunday Chapter 10

Cheers.

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Green Sunday Chapter 9 Cobra Clutch (Raw)

Ok here’s the latest chapter straight from proofreading, it’s just the first proofread, still rough as shit but it’s a fun chapter, lots of action and fucked up shit.If you wanna read the full chapter and all previous chapters head on over to my inkitt page and read it for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

TJ squirmed on the back of the bike trying to lock his pudgy fingers around Sunday’s lithe frame. Fear overpowering his natural inclinations for tact and subtlety.

The engine of the Harley continental coughed and spluttered. It roared like a rambunctious kitten. It was no huge feat for the bikers to catch up to them after finding their dead friend. Their bikes engine noises rolled over the hills like thunder. It sounded like a storm coming that no one could get out of the way of.

TJ looked back and saw only a cloud of smoke and dust. He half expected a haunted pirate ships to emerge from it with jet black sails. Crewed by stop motion skeletons. But as it cleared, only a parade of shiney chrome and black leather remained. A tide of ill fitting pants and boots with lots of buckles on them moving gradually closer.

“Can we out run them?” TJ yelped.

“No” Sunday said without even looking back.

“Then what are we gonna do?”

“This” Sunday said almost whispering. She stopped the bike with a sudden anguished screeching of the continental’s tires.

“What the fuck are you doing?? They’ll kill us!” TJ squealed.

“They might” Sunday said. She propped the bike up with the kickstand and dismounted with the grace of a duchess.

TJ dismounted almost falling as she dismounted first. This brought back horrible memories of riding in a bike seat with his Mom when he was a kid.

“We’ve gotta hide” TJ said breathelessly clinging to one of his sweaty moobs. His sword in his other hand shaking in its cheap faux lacquer sheathe.

“Where?” Sunday said as she took up a batting stance squeezing the grip of the bat in both hands. She took a few practice swings at that mean old air.

TJ looked around a full three sixty and realised they were on the edge of town. They were on an open street with no cover.

“Looks like we’ll have to reason with them” Sunday said. A wry smirk peeling across her face as she walked past TJ with the bat across her shoulder.

The bikers didn’t speed up or slow down, they kept their solid droning pace. They knew there was nowhere for them to run. And the building sounds of the engines would fill the entire town with a primal dread.

They were on them like vultures, two at first, circling, the rest hung back a little to see what they’d do. The bikers were armed with pipes and chains and anything they could get their hands on. They dragged the chains behind their bikes and the scraped the ground with their pipes. Which in a different situation TJ would find pretty cool. It kind of reminded him of the opening scene of Akira. But that was beside the point because they were probably trying to kill him.

Sunday breathed out slowly, closing her eyes, digging her feet into the cold dry tarmac. She squeezed and released the grip of the bat as they circled, laughing and whooping inaudibly.

One of them tore in front of her as the other watched. His tires screeched in pain as they turned to face her head on but she didn’t move. He charged screaming for her but she remained still. He raised his pipe above his head as he angled his bike to give him a good swing. With an instant ferocious finesse, she stepped forward into the arch of his strike. Sinking her bat straight across his chest he bounced off his bike. The bike came to a stop scraping along the concrete.

Sunday breathed in calmly closing her eyes again. Squeezing and releasing the handle of the bat as it hummed in her hands. Sending shivers of pain all through her arms and down her back.

“You fucking bitch!” The bikers friend screeched pulling down the bandana covering his mouth. “I’m gonna fuck you up!”

Sunday wasn’t paying attention. She picked up the other bikers discarded pipe without looking at him as he circled back to strafe her.

She looked it over, as he closed the distance. Tears and snot streamed from his eyes, rage pounding on the accelerator.

She idly tossed the pipe and the biker was too angry to notice it fall right in his path of destruction. By the time he wiped the snot out of his face it was too late. He ran over the mangled pipe and it got caught up in the front tire. The front wheel twisted bringing the bike veering to one side and down into the concrete. It squealed to a stop and Sunday walked towards the downed biker. The bike stopped a good few feet away from where she was already standing.

He was pinned under the bike. Both of his legs broken for sure, coughing up blood, screaming “You bitch, you fucking bitch!”

She was slower for some reason, she dragged the bat now with one hand squeezed her arm with her other hand. She brought the bat up and split his head effortless. It made a mundane wet imploding noise like a watermelon dropped on concrete. His mouth went slack and his eyes rolled back in his head.  She pulled the spiked monstrosity out of his head with a soggy sucking noise.

Then silence, a slow deafening silence. Then a thunderous clap breaking the silence apart like thor’s hammer on the clouds. A man on an enormous bucket seat Harley sat as if on a throne watching. Surrounded by his cronies, a fine looking biker chick on the back of his bike clinging to him. He slowly clapped with his huge gloved hands.

“That was cute, I really dug that” He said as he leaned forward across his custom handlebars. There was a cobra design on the front of his bike and his breaks and clutch were ornate snake heads with a brass finish. “Oh you’re finished, allow me to introduce myself” the man said as he stroked his fu Manchu moustache. A large latin man with tattoos covering most if not all his arms. He was adorned with mayan tribal art mixed with a tinge of Japanese rip offs. He wore a loosely cut denim waist coat the back of which was emblazoned with their insignia. An angel in a straight jacket with the words ‘los ángeles locos’ written below it. Completed by a pair dark red leather pants and agressive looking combat boots.

“My name is Mojang, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” before he finished talking the bikes fired up again. Before she knew it Sunday was surrounded by ten maybe twelve bikers. Clouds of smoke encircled her, a maelstrom of twisted metal surrounded her. Her hair sweeping across her face. She raised he bat with a bitter defiance ready to swing at the next one that came close. She hoped to take them one at a time like balls in a batting cage.

If you enjoyed this excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

 

 

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Green Sunday review by Waywardknight3

Got a nice review from a really nice guy on Inkitt I did a review or, a little nepotism never hurt anyone haha. I mean it’s not great getting these back scratching reviews but it’s better than nothing.
So check it out and if you want to read Green Sunday you know where to go. http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507

I don't want to put too many spoilers in this but here it goes.
I love the story so far. You have done an excellent job at building tension and mystery pertaining to what is going on in the story. True its a zombie story but its light years beyond an average one. Its obvious that something dark and sinister is taking place behind the scenes that seems far worse than your average toxic chemical spill or passing meteor. Its so nice to get a refreshing taste of the zombie genre. The relationship between Tj and Sunday is perfectly written so far. Him with that bumbling never touched a woman quality, and her with a brooding level of confidence that would shake the most steady of men. You have been able to convey the tough girl in a believe none heartless @#&% sort of way. I also like how you where able to capture the essence of the pseudo-zombie apocalypse experts in Zed and his gang. I loved that to my very core. I have to agree with you that we do write very similar to one another. I admire it when someone does what I do and throws their passions into their writing despite who might find it offensive, But I also have a feeling that we could have quite a long rant together about things that piss us off in the world. Now I guess I will tell you what you already know, as you are working on getting your chapters professionally edited, the later chapters are simply longer than the should be by an editors standards. Let me be clear I still love them... They are great... But often times editors often strip things down quite a bit. Good writing and please keep it up I can't wait to read the rest.
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Green Sunday Chapter 8 Motorpsycho Nitemare (Raw)

Proofread the latest chapter of GS, as usual it’s just an excerpt for copyright reasons so if you want to read the rest of the chapter and previous chapters in a better format head on over to inkitt. 

GS Chapter 8
The stillness of the early morning was deafening. cold and brittle like the morning before, shattered by hurried footsteps and the sound of frantic panting. A red haired man in sweats jogged with a limping gate, taking cold and wet heaves of terrified breathes. He choked as much of the damp morning air down as he could to keep his limbs moving. Lactic acid got into every joint and muscle as he tried frantically to make his body work how it was supposed to.

A bright light pierced the mist of the ambivalent early morning. Accompanied by an obnoxiously loud and slightly tinny harley continental engine tearing into life. a black gloved hand revved it for the pleasure of the vibration in his gut. He grabbed his leather clad crouch with his gloved hand to rearrange the furniture. The sound and smell of creaking leather bringing a smile to his greasy stubbly face.

“Let’s go fuck shit up”

He pulled his denim waistcoat tighter across his skinny frame. The name “Lamchop” embossed above the left breast pocket. The biker dragged a chain across his lap. The end of which had a barbed hook that he hung over the side. He nudged the kickstand with his leather boot and screeched off down the suburban street.

The town was so still, dead and dying. The red headed jogger could’ve heard the engine on the other side of town. but he was sure it was closer, his eyes widened and his pupils shrank as he looed into the mist. He doubled his pace, his muscles crying out with pain with every terrified step.

The biker let out some slack into the chain, one hand on the handles of his bike, he let it swing idly at his side as he drove. Noticing a shape form in the mist he took control of it’s swinging motion. With the strength of his wrist alone he began to spin the chain at his side. Building up speed, keeping full control of the bike as he did so.

Reaching terminal velocity on the chain. The shape was within striking distance. He released it as if launching a dog at an unsuspecting rabbit from the barrel of a gun. All the force from his wrist snapping it at the shape coming at him from the mist.

The chain struck with snake-like snapping precision. It tangled around the feet of it’s victim locking it in place at the ankle. The savage biting barbs rending flesh from the bone and sticking stalwart in the calf of the bait.

No noise was heard over the thunderous engine, no screams, no pleas for help, just cold early morning dimness. The chain stopped for a brief moment slack as it was. Then it took on life once again as the bike pulled away. The chain snaked up with a vicious snapping sound. Yanking it’s victim off it’s feet and dragging them across the the neatly tarmacked suburban roadway.

The meatsack hit the ground with a sad wet trumping sound, bones in a bag of wet flower colliding awkwardly. Wrenched out the mist with a hiss and a slick grinding sound. The biker stopped, clearer as the surroundings were now and lifting his goggles he looked back at the zombie he’d caught on the hook. A proud fisherman, the biker smiled and pulled his goggled back down. The creature writhed with a mouth full of ground down teeth falling from it’s mouth like popcorn. Its face hot and slick from its date with the smooth tarmac, most of it’s features ground down. It reached its arm up and to him seemed reminiscent of the canteen scene from Oliver twist “More? Ok well why didn’t you say?” He laughed to himself and revved his engine once more.

The red haired man in sweats reached his front door. His breath burning his lungs, every recycling of air felt like sandpaper going in and coming out. His sweats drenched and cold tugging at him as he propped himself up against the door. He quietly tapped at the door “Sheila it’s me, let me in, they’re coming, for gods sake lemme’ in”. He whispered in a low raspy voice as he tapped the glass viewing window of the door.

He looked back into the mist as he heard the engines noises carried by the empty streets. “Sheila open the fucking door, or god help me I wil-“ an abrupt unlatching noise cut him off. He shapeshifted through the small crack in the door his wife opened like osmosis.

“Will- are you ok?- Did you find any?” A slight woman with mousey brown hair stood in front of him bunching up a plaid dress in her two skinny fists.

“I couldn’t, they were on me, these guys, they were staking out the pharmacy. They knew people would come for supplies, it was a trap, I barely got away!” His voice was hoarse and he rasped taking in large gulping breaths as he spoke. Feelings of shame and guilt and terror fighting for space in his brain. All thoughts barged out of the way for the singular desire for all the stale oxygen in the landing.

“I can’t last much longer without my insulin” She said almost whispering into her dress. A maudlin expression projecting onto her pale face “if you were a real man you’d get it”.

“Yeah and if you weren’t a total retard you’d have stocked up before the zombie apocalypse. But we can’t all be perfect!”

“It’s not the apocalypse, the army’ll come, they will. We just have to last a little longer, I don’t know how much longer I can-“

“It’ll be ok I promise” He said softly as he collapsed on the stairs “We’ll find a way”.

Just as he got a little comfortable and the air started forming an orderly queue to his lungs, a sharp tapping taxman knock set the couples teeth on edge.

“Who… who is it?” Sheila said.

If you want to read the rest of the chapter check it out on inkitt.
GS Chapter 8

Cheers.

 

 

 

 

 

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Green Sunday Chapter 7 ‘Take up space’ (Raw)

Latest unedited chapter of Green Sunday for your reading pleasure, well an excerpt of the first proofread anyway. Things been been going pretty well since I launched my author page, lots of like, few new reviews on inkitt, can’t complain.
As always if you want to read the rest of this chapter you’ll have to go on inkitt which I’m sure is compatible with tablets and all that stuff, completely free, I just do this dirty trick to get more clicks, aint I nefarious?

Green Sunday Chapter 7

~

The sun rolled down the hill faster than usual. Candlelight lit Tj’s mom’s little dining room. The sounds of knives and forks scratching plates, filled the silence of the dimly lit room.

“So how did you and TJ meet” Tj’s mom asked. Cutting through the awkward silence of this intimate little meal. The table consisting of her and her son and a strange green haired girl he’d brought in off the streets. Smelling faintly of dried blood.

“We met at the mall actually” The girl said turning a wry smile up at TJ. Who was sweating into his food as he kept his gaze locked on his plate.

“I’m sorry, did you tell me your name? I get a little ditzy sometimes.” His mother said feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Like she’d walked out of one dream and into another unannounced.

“Sunday” She said.

“Well that’s a pretty name, TJ, don’t you think that’s a pretty name?” His mother said turning the heat up on TJ.

“Err yeah.” TJ said looking up from his plate of macaroni and cheese to glance across the table and back to his plate again.

“Do you live around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before, I mean I think I’d- I mean-“

“Ah no, I just got here, err my… Dad travels a lot for work” Sunday said, choosing her words surgically.

“Well I think the candles were a nice touch. We don’t get to use the dining room much these days, it’s just been the two of us for a while now”

“Yeah well it was Tj’s idea, he said it would give the room some atmosphere, right?” Sunday said, sticking her oar in enjoying watching TJ squirm.

“TJ and I aren’t used to entertaining. After his father left, we mostly kept to ourselves.” Tj’s mom said, stirring her pasta with a fork in a maudlin fashion.

“Mom” TJ whined

“That’s right TJ hates me telling everyone our life story.” His mom smiled with a melancholy intake of breath “Oh you’re finished?”

Sunday looked down at her plate and then back at TJ’s mom, “Yes, thank you, it was lovely”

“What a polite girl” Tj’s mom said as she collected the plate in front of Sunday, a warm smile on her face. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest bedroom across from me if you’re too tired to make it home”. His mother said as she fluttered out of the room with the dirty plates.

“No that’s ok I think I’m just gonna bunk with TJ and fuck his brains out all night”

TJ’s perfectly timed sip of milk sprayed all down his shirt as what she said worked it’s way through the gears of his head.

“That’s nice” Tj’s mom said from the kitchen clearly not hearing anything she said.

Sunday handed TJ a napkin and smiled trollishly. He snatched it from between her two fingers and began to dab his shirt with the tiny napkin.

“Do you think we should tell her?” He whispered.

“Why worry her? Nothing should happen tonight as long as we don’t light the house up like a Christmas tree. Or make too much noise, I thought the candlelight thing would be cute.” She said reclining in her dining chair.

“But she has to know”

“She’ll find out.” She said as she closed her eyes for a moment, putting her hands behind her head in a relaxed position.

“You know something, tell me-“TJ said a hint of anger in his hushed voice.

TJ’s mom barrelled into the room with some sort of lopsided cake and plonked it down in between the two. Completely oblivious to the mounting tension she just crudely carved in half.

“Desert”.

~
The door to TJ’s bathroom opened like a sealed vault door. Or an alien craft bellowing steam from the door that had been sealed for a good hour and a half. Sunday walked out barefoot wearing an old xxxl walking dead t-shirt that went down to her knees. Rubbing her whole head with a towel like she was trying to polish a lamp.

Her legs clean, were surprisingly dainty looking, little cuts and plasters but her skin looked soft and smooth. TJ stopped dead on his made up futon on the floor of his room. She opened one eye underneath the towel and saw he was looking at her. She dropped the towel on the floor and crossed the room to the window.

“Thanks for the shirt”

“Err no problem”

“Let me guess, you wanna know if the curtains match the drapes?” She smiled as she turned back towards TJ.

“Err, wut no! I wasn’t!” TJ’s face turned a purply red colour and his tongue swelled up in his head.

She perched on the windowsill and looked out at the cool quiet trees swaying in the dark. There were fires burning in the distance, muffled screams carried by the shiftless night. The smell of the smoke was almost sweet and homely to her. She sighed after taking in a lungful through the small crack in the window.

She cocked one of her legs up on the sill and TJ almost burst a blood vessel.

“Err I made up the bed, I’m fine here” He said motioning to his crude futon.

“Ok” She said dreamily staring out the window.

“What’s happening?” He bit his bottom lip as he said it, almost not wanting to know.

He could see her blank expression reflected in the black window.“It’s a game.”

~

If you like what you read so far, read the conclusion of this chapter on inkitt;
Green Sunday Chapter 7

Cheers!

 

 

5

Green Sunday Chapter 2; This Charming man (Edited reupload)

Here it is finally, after much faffing about over the holidays I finally managed to sort this out and get back on track with the editing and continuous writing of this literary monstrosity. I’m already about 40k into it and I see no end in sight, it’s almost beaten my first secret novel which will never be revealed except for exclusive rights to the movie and merchandise haha. I can dream.

 

As always if you liked this chapter or you’re new to the story and want to go back to the start head on over to my inkitt page for the complete story in a neat order and in a format that I’m sure can be read on all manner of magical devices, wiggets and wablets and magic hats and scrolls I’m sure.

Green Sunday Chapter 2

An old TV, sitting on a greasy-looking shelf, played in the background in a local greasy spoon diner on the edge of town. The diner was alive with the sounds of knives and forks sword-fighting; people taking deluxe bites out of reasonably priced burgers, and washing them down with complementary milkshakes.

“The Pudgiwara Corporation today said they were very sorry for dumping the one thousand tonnes of toxic waste in the bay and they said they’d never do it again.” The news anchor furrowed his brow sincerely before moving on to the next segment. “In other local news, a young boy of fourteen was arrested after a prank backfired outside his suburban home. The boy, who is yet to be named for legal reasons, was tricked by his friends into believing that another biological outbreak, similar to that of the one in Arkham, Louisiana, was underway. Police state that the boys school friends wore make-up and ragged clothing and pretended to be the undead. The boy fearing for his life retrieved his 22. Calibre rifle he received for his third birthday and slaughtered them all in his back yard”

“Hahahahahahahahahaha!” Incongruous laughter broke out. It seemed that all the knife and fork sword fights ended abruptly. But the laughter went on regardless as the story played out.

“The fourteen year old boy then, fearing for the fate of his family, went into his suburban home and strangled his entire family to death with a draught excluder”

“Hahahahahahahahahahaahahahaha!” A dirty hand, topped with dirty, chipped nails, scooped up a clod of hamburger meat from a steel bowl as he laughed.

“What’s going on out here?” A fat sweaty man in an apron, and not a lot else, came out of the back. A confused look on his face, he stood next to a middle-aged redhead waitress with a face like a leather riding saddle.

“Some crazy guy. All he ordered was a bowl of raw hamburger meat. He’s just been sitting there eating it. Then he just started laughing,” the middle-aged woman said, her face wrinkling up in places never before thought possible.

The fat man’s sweat patches grew under his apron. He started to look like he belonged in a sauna or in a tropical plant house as he breathed heavily.

“The boy is currently under observation at Hellspass psychiatric hospital.” The man’s laughter began to run down like the motor of a car sliding into park. A greasy hand touched the arm of his salvation army coat and the slow come-down took a sudden bump.

“Hey, buddy, you’re freakin’ people out. Can ya keep it down? People are trying to eat,” the fat chef said, in an apologetic tone, as he furrowed his brow into painful ‘v’s, which seemed to stretch all over his slippery bald head.

“What’s that?” the man said without turning his head. A chunk of unchewed hamburger meat fell from his mouth onto the semi-clean counter. He turned his bloodshot eyes in his skull.

“I said-”

“I heard what you said.”

“Huh?”

“I just can’t tell what I’m looking at.” He picked his teeth with a dirty nail and sucked his gums, dislodging raw meat.

“Look, buddy, we aint looking for no trouble. I think you better just pick your sorry ass up and leave – right now!”

“Did you make this?” The strange, homeless guy squeezed the hamburger meat in his hands, letting it ooze through his bony fingers. He had shoulder-length mousey brown hair, with a long beard completing the homeless chic. His features were thin and gaunt, dark eyes hidden under heavy lids. He wore a long, olive drab army jacket that went all the way down to his ankles, hiding the fact that he was wearing plastic bags tied with string around his feet instead of shoes. To complete the ensemble: a threadbare shirt and pair of pants that looked like they’d gone missing from an old people’s home washing line. Printed across the front of the jacket was a name written in bold dark green lettering. ‘CARPENTER’.

“What’cha talking about, buddy? That’s raw hamburger meat. Aint nobody ‘made’ it. Drifters like you don’t belong here; it’s time for you to move on now!”

“You know, I used to be just like you”

“Get ou-!” A glob of hamburger meat cut off the chef mid-sentence. The slimy, gelatinous meat by-product got into his eyes and nose. It felt like a fist made of lumpy snot hitting his sinus wall. He felt disorientated, giving the dishevelled man ample time to kick a bar stool. The chef fell forward as the stool hit his shins, tripping him. Carpenter rose like a jack-in-the-box on angel dust from his stool to slam the chef’s dirty face into the counter.

He pressed the chef’s face into the off-colour lime green diner counter, spreading blood and raw meat and spit all over it. The chef strained as he began to get light-headed, his skull pressed against the hard surface.

“You know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re eating.” Carpenter squeezed the chef’s head with his forearm against the counter. The veins on the chef’s head stuck out like rail-road tracks, pumping hot kitchen grease. Carpenter took his other hand and ran his finger up from his face taking up some of the hamburger meat. Getting under his nails, he sucked his finger.

He took the pressure off and sat back on his stool like he got up to get the salt. The chef stuck to the counter with blood and sweat and hamburger meat. Peeling off, his unconscious body hit the linoleum floor of the diner like a sack of dried hams. He parted stools and chairs and brows as he fell. The diner fell silent. Food went unchewed in open mouths; coffee cups shook; babies continued crying; the dishevelled man went back to watching the news and laughing.

…

If you liked what you read of this excerpt, follow the link below to read the rest of the chapter on inkitt.

Cheers.

Green Sunday Chapter 2

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Chapter 6 Smooth Sailing (Raw)

Apologies for the people that follow this blog religiously (all 2 of you I imagine) my ‘internet girlfriend’ came to visit me over christmas (Yeah I met her online and that makes me a loser but I’m getting laid over christmas so fuck you buddy) so I’ve been busy living life like a fucking happy douche in between episodes of Jessica Jones. So I haven’t had time to dream up any misanthropic rants or do anything really creatively destructive, so I thought I’d just post another raw chapter of my fun zombie novel while the next chapter is being edited.
I hope you enjoy this excerpt of the sixth chapter of Green Sunday and as always you can check out the full chapter and the other chapters on inkitt http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507/chapters/6
Roy held the camera low trying to be discreet. Creating a shaky cam low shot of TJ’s front door. A doorbell ringing sound; a cool morning mist starting to creep up on them.

“Who’s there?” TJ’s mom said from an upstairs window, the camera panned to the window as she leaned out in her yoga gear.

“Oh hey Mr’s Kincaid, a lovely morning am I right?” Zed said with a tinny laugh at the end like he was selling Jehova.

“Oh you’re those nice neighbour boys. TJ’s not home right now, he’s out getting milk; he can’t come out to play.”

“Err, yeah, you see… TJ kinda said we could come and borrow some of his stuff for our show, for the internet”. Roy stumbled over his words, his frantic nerves stripping all charm from his voice.

“Oh well he didn’t say anything to me about it. But I suppose since you only live next door, and it’s for the internet you said?” Tjs mom ditzilly mused on what that might mean as she leant out the window.

“Err yeah” Roy said a tired indifference climbing into his voice as he realised he’d been up all night. Was he holding up the camera or was it holding him up?

“The door’s open, his room is at the top of the stairs, Hows your mother doing Teddy? You boys want some green tea and rice cakes?”

“Err no, we’re good, thanks, she’s fine” Zed said, surprised how easy that was.

A brief cut and it was a shot of TJ’s stairs as they climbed up towards his room. All we could see was a POV shot of the back of Zed’s legs as he went up the stairs followed by Roy.

Zed stopped on the stairs and turned to Roy with an odd smile on his face, the camera uncomfortably close to his face.

“Dude why’d you stop?” Roy said behind the camera.

“How much you wanna bet the fat fuck’s a bronnie?” Zed sniggered childishly forgetting the blood under his fingernails.

Another brief cut and we’re elbow deep in TJ’s draws “Where the fuck is it?”.

“Dude I found it” The camera panned impatiently to Zed who stood in front of the closet smirking.

“Friendship is fucking magic” Zed chortled as he spoke. Holding open the closet. Parting the clothes, Zed revealed a secret my little pony poster on the back of the wardrobe. “I fucking knew it”.

“Yeah that’s great, the dude’s a fucking faggot who wants to fuck a horse. Can we get back to finding the weapons now, so you know, we can fucking live through the night?” Roy snapped, gripping the camera harder, audibly creaking.  He span the camera around and it fell on the red toy box at the bottom of TJ’s bed. “Here we go”.

“Yeah I’m betting porn and an inflatable pony”. Zed chuckled in the background as Roy lay the camera down on TJ’s bed. From the angle of the bed we could see Roy kneeling in front of the box. Zed going through his action figures and miscellaneous cosplay, giggling fecklessly in the background.

Roy opened the box looking under the hood “Look at this shit, fucking mall crap, gotta bag this shit up”.

“Then what?” Zed said, some ice closing in on his voice.

“We gotta deal with Gil, if he’s bit, we gotta cut his head off, that bitch too, just to make sure.”

“I don’t know-“

“It’s fucked. It’s so different from how I thought it would be”. Roy sighed as he started to pack the weapons into a naruto duffel bag “Fucking otaku pussy”.

He put his hand on his knee and eased himself off the ground.

Zed sighed, the character he created had crumbled and he felt like a kid. His skin sticky and dry from where he washed off Christie’s blood. “I don’t know if I can do it”.

Roy fumbled the camera as he picked it up the bed and turned it off.

Another cut, the camera seemed to be resting on the edge of a sink, turned on by mistake as if placed there in a hurry.

Scuffling sounds, sounds of muffled whimpering. The camera was out of focus, a blurred figure came in and snatched up the camera. Fumbling sounds of plastic creaking. It was still held low around waist height, there was nothing to see just yet.

“You’ve got to do it”

“Why do I have to do it”

“Because I’m holding the camera” Roy said, a cold smile in his voice as he spoke what he knew was the truth.

Roy raised the camera like a shield in front of his face to put the spotlight on Zed’s pale and drawn face. He sat on the bed in his room, he knew it had to be him. His swallowed hard. Took TJ’s crappy mall sword in both his hands and unsheathed it a little to check it didn’t stick. He hesitated a little “Oh fuck it” he said as he unsheathed the sword all the way. He threw the cheap scabbard across the room and held the handle like it was a machete. The sword wasn’t quite a katana, it was one of those cheap ninja swords with a straight blade and no guard. He grabbed at his knee a little and rose with a jerky jolt of energy and began to march out of his room. Roy struggling to follow him out into the hall.

“Wait up dude”

They got to the inner door of the garage and Zed stood sullen with his hand on the doorknob.

“I thought he locked himself in?”

“He did, but I’ll try the door and then we can go around the front and open the garage door. He might be ok, garage door makes a lot of noise” Zed said, a little steel clacked in his voice.

“Yeah, best episode of zombie stump fuckers yet”.

Zed sneered and a sickly smirked passed over his face. He swallowed hard again and twisted the nob and the door popped opened a crack, with a an uneasy jerk. Zed froze. He stopped breathing and then breathed out. Then in again with a low shallow silent breath.

He began to open the door wider inch by inch, praying for it not to creak. it did, he took a deep breath and almost launched himself into the garage. Roy followed him three or four seconds behind. The camera fell on zed as he swung the sword awkwardly. Nerves and adrenaline making the sword shake in his hands. Creating an annoying rattling sound.

“What the fuck?” Roy said as he panned the camera up with a tense close up on the garage lined with black bin bags. He zoomed out and saw nothing but Zed in his uneven warrior stance, a small pool of congealed blood on the floor. “Where’d he go?”

Just at that moment a clichéd woman’s scream rang out and they both knew where he was.

“Mom?” Zed’s voice broke a he spoke, the sword shaking in his loose grip.

The camera cut again, he must have pressed the button by mistake. He saw that it was on and picked it up with one hand. His grip loose and shaking, Roy breathed in, his breath ragged and forced.

“It didn’t go well, err, he, err, well it’s fucked. It got bit, I took it off”. His voice was quiet and his words fell over each other in a lightheaded daze. The camera jerked to his arm which was missing from the elbow, hacked off unevenly by a blunt knife. “I did it myself with one of those turkey carvers. I think it turned out ok, well I guess if anyone finds this tape I err, oh fuck it-“

The video ended and TJ took the view finder away from his eye and felt naked. Like he was watching a movie and now he he’d woken up on set. All the monsters sleeping in the next room for another big day.

He paused and put the camera down on the side table in the hall. A shiver ran up his spine and he licked his lips swallowing a little warm bile. He inhaled through his nose and began to sheepishly move around and check the lower level of the house. Everything seemed still, the lounge was empty. A little lived in but otherwise normal. A big tv on the wall, a leather couch, pretty minimalist, glass and wood coffee table.

The dining room looked unused, a slight film of dust on everything and the room was cold. The room was sealed off with flimsy glass and wood doors that looked like they’d make a noise if he opened them. So he didn’t. He moved on towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was a different story. The back door was wide open and the wind banged the door ominously like an old horror movie. The wind was cool, the day was getting a little brighter. A warm light coming in from the east, touching the linoleum floor of the kitchen. It stretched over the semi-dry blood stains and turned them a noxious orange colour.

TJ followed the blood, cold fingers crawling up his spine. He saw the turkey carver Roy mentioned placed neatly on the counter. Bits of ragged flesh still clinging to the flimsy blade.

He approached it slow, picking it up like it was a strange artefact from a day time tv show. He looked it over and thought about it, he swallowed hard and depressed the button. It jolted into life making a vicious whirring sound. TJ jumped out of his skin and pulled the plug out of the wall. He tossed it back onto the counter and edged out of the kitchen.

In the hall again he heard movement upstairs. Feet creaking a wood floor. Slow then quick thudding footsteps. An odd scraping metal sound that went right through him like nails on a chalk board. Then the pressure came off the floor boards with a slight inflection and TJ’s heart stopped in the hall. A crash of glass rang out like in an old 1940’s monster movie and the sounds stopped. TJ paused a good five minutes keeping his breath shallow to make sure the sounds stopped. Then exhaled as soon as the coast seemed clear.

Since he hadn’t found any of his weapons and the turkey carver didn’t turn out that well. TJ knew his only option was to investigate the next level. That or take his chances with found garden implements and ramshackle sportswear. No, he’d prepared too long to have all his shit taken at the last minute and it be for nothing. All those mowed lawns and all those chores for were going to mean something. He was going to get it back and put his personal apocalypse back on track. It hadn’t gone to plan so far but it wasn’t over just yet.

He took the first step on the flight of stairs. And of course it made a tremulous creaking sound. One which forced TJ to tense his sphincter like he was trying to create nuclear fusion in his underwear. He stopped to make sure he hadn’t created any dark matter. When he was sure nothing was reacting to the noise he took another step. And then another and then another and he thought he was getting the hang of it. He reached the top and looked back and got a little dizzy, braced himself against the wall. He put his hand against the dry wall and felt something slimy. He put his hand out and he could see it was blood and there was a trail on the wall he hadn’t noticed leading up the stairs.

TJ held his breathe again. He was becoming accustomed to the sight of blood now but this was different. This was still warm.

~

 

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Green Sunday Chapter 5 Little man, what now? (Raw)

I’m having the second chapter of this edited as we speak so I should be releasing that shortly, been falling behind recently on actually writing it because of you know what 4 so I’ve almost run out of content from this book to post, ‘almost’.
Let me know what you think and as always you can check out the full chapter here http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507/chapters/5.

~

“MOOOOOOMMMMMM!?!?” Tj screamed frustration and a hopeless terror filling the emptiness in his chest. He heard the shower turning off and waited a few seconds, breathing restlessly through his mouth, his throat burning, child tears queuing at the corners of his eyes.

“WHAT?” He heard as the bathroom door opened.

“WHERE’S MY STUFF???” He shouted to stop from bursting into a tearful downward spiral of self loathing and impending doom, inflated his chest to keep his lungs from collapsing.

“YOUR LITTLE FRIEND FROM NEXT DOOR CAME OVER WHEN YOU LEFT, HE SAID; YOU SAID HE COULD BORROW SOMETHING FROM YOUR ROOM, IS EVERYTHING OK?” Her voice trailed off at the end and Tj felt pricks of looming dread on the back of his neck.

“YEAH MOM, JUST STAY INSIDE, I’M GOING NEXT DOOR!”

“OK”.

He picked himself off his bedroom floor, he felt like throwing up, his legs were hollow and he struggled to stand, but he had no choice. He swallowed hard and put his hand on the knob of his bedroom door, he closed his eyes and whispered a pathetic prayer to himself to any god that would listen and when he opened his eyes he was outside the door of his neighbour’s house.

Their house was almost identical, they were built at the same time but apparently everything was the opposite way around, Tj had never been there before because his neighbours were massive douchebags and he had hated them since childhood when they would pour lemonade on his head and roll him in the sand pit. He got a really good look at the interior purely because the door swung wide open as he put his hand on the knob.

The hallway was a crime scene, pictures smashed on the floor, furniture looking off kilter, shoes tossed aside, small drops and telling trails of blood. It looked staged, fake, like the set of some cheesy rural crime drama.

He stepped in through the door frame gingerly trying not to touch anything or make a sound but instantly his visions of a silent entry were broken by the distinct sound of glass crunching under the rubber soul of a dora the explorer slipper. Why he didn’t change into some more practical shoes he wondered to himself, but his reflection was distracted by a flashing battery light shining through a bloody shirt.

He pinched the corner of the shirt bending at the knee awkwardly leaning over a turned over wardrobe at the bottom of the stairs, he pulled the damp shirt towards him and it drew across the device with a slow stickyness, the damp blood throwing up a musty copper smell as he pulled it closer to him.

He pulled the shirt all the way off revealing a small digital handycam, the same one they used in the backyard to record their show. He picked it up gracefully by the handle strap and turned it around to look at the viewfinder.

~

Thanks for reading, don’t forget to check out the rest of the chapter and the previous chapters at http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507

Cheers!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Green Sunday; Ramblings of a Zombie Apologist

I know the first instinct you have when you hear ‘zombie horror’ to the most cynical of hipsters is to utter a collective angsty yawn. But give me a break. I’m writing a zombie story, Green Sunday is a for lack of a better term, coined by Shaun of the Dead a RomZomCom. Just give me a chance, come back! Hey! It’s nothing like Walking Dead!… Hmm that may have backfired.
Well for the people that got through that and are still reading which is probably all of three people, I thank you and now I shall begin my zombie apologetics.

The reason I wrote this story is two-fold, I wanted to write a zombie story, but every motherfucker wants to write a zombie story, especially every crazy motherfucker like me that wants it to actually happen. But I wanted to write it from the perspective of someone like me, someone who wants it to happen. I thought this might help me understand why I want that and why that’s crazy. I realise it’s a state of cognitive dissonance, I want the zombie apocalypse to happen so I can use my collection of sharp pointy things and have a blast but I also don’t want it to happen because I like not having to cut my friends and family into bits because they’re trying to eat me and more importantly Fallout 4 is coming out next month. Maybe next year.

Zombie stories are tricky because essentially they’re too easy, you can’t write a story just about zombies. Zombies are just an inciting incident, they’re just a framing device for what is essentially a disaster movie and overall a character drama. It’s not about the zombies it’s about how the characters react to the zombies. The zombies aren’t characters, they don’t have back stories or motivation, they’re just flesh eating monsters that could be replaced by nearly anything; Aliens, flesh eating penguins, fish men, the world’s worse case of herpes.

They’re not important to the story except as an obstacle and to be honest people like watching people kill people, they don’t really want to see people killing animals and with aliens that’s sort of a grey area. There must be something in our brains that just prefers to watch people die, harking back to the coliseums.

So why choose zombies if they’re so overdone? For that exact reason. I wanted to write a story satirises the oversaturation of zombies into our culture and to mock from the inside people like me. Nutters that are preparing or at least fantasising about it really happening. Saying something is overdone is just a way of trying to lower the market value so you can do it when no one’s paying attention and come out the omega hipster, like me ha-ha. No.

I’m a writer nothing is overdone if it’s done well, everything can be turned on its head, when someone has an expectation that’s when they’re the most vulnerable to have their expectation completely levelled and you have them by the seat of their pants.

I wanted to write a zombie apocalypse story that wasn’t really about a zombie apocalypse and to mock zombie apocalypses and this spate of summer teen movies like Hunger Games just a bit. So I thought instead of making a straight up zombie apocalypse story or a post apocalyptic story, I’d write a post-post-apocalyptic story.

It’s always been the case that the most far-fetched thing about a zombie apocalypse is the idea of it actually happening or indeed ending the world. Even an air born virus probably wouldn’t end the world, it could kill 80% of the worlds’ population and would definitely change the world but it wouldn’t end it. So how could a virus spread by touch/bite spread so quickly, and how could it overcome every army/police force/pmc of the world? Or indeed happen in a country like America where ‘There would be a rifle behind every blade of grass’ as Isoroku Yamamoto Fleet Admiral and Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) during World War II is according to wikiquote is misquoted as saying.

But obviously I don’t live in America, I live in England, but we still have armed police and despite what you may here about our gun laws, we still have guns, knives, cricket bats. I set it in America essentially to mock America and open it up a wider audience. America is always rife for parody as it has the delightful habit of taking everything to its greatest extreme. Although this ‘prepper culture’ has spread to the UK, it started and it lives in the US. And really for the story to work it needed an isolated are and although there are small villages (like the one I’m from) and lots of open spaces and countryside. I wanted a small mountain town to really capture the isolation possible even in a semi-thriving small town.

Ok I realised I’ve been waffling around the point, the story is I suppose a little more like Dead Rising the videogame. I.e. This shit is done on purpose, it’s not an accident or a virus, this is an isolated incident done for a specific reason. Not as a test but for fun.

Green Sunday is named for the main character, Sunday is sort of a modern homage to Red Sonja, and before I start pandering telling you how she’s a ‘bad ass/asskicking’ woman and the quintessential and much sort after ‘strong female character’, I posed her as more sort of a Don Quixote character or a Sherlock Holmes. She’s the main character but as a whole She is left a mystery and the story is told through the eyes of her cohort, her Dr. Watson; TJ.

That way I felt that she could remain a mystery and through TJ she could be this tough character but waves of softness could be intermittently shone on him from time to time for a potential romance (I say potential because I’m in the process of writing it and I’m not sure Sunday really likes him, sometimes I have a scene planned out and it goes down a completely different path which better fits the character themselves).

Waffle fit yet again, tangents, tangents everywhere! The story is about a zombie game show, I got it out, there it is. Beautiful isn’t it? Not really *Shakes head*.

Ok so the generic ‘Sinister Corporation with ties to the government’ moves into town and seals it off to play their own little internet zombie game show. So it’s basically Battle Royale meets Dead Rising or Resident Evil. I’m trying to capture the irony of the main characters being zombie obsessed Youtubers caught in what is essentially a zombie internet reality show. And they have to fight for their lives over three gruelling days of bloody violence.

That’s it in a nutshell.

I’m having a hell of a lot of fun writing it, the zombie stuff is always good fun, with a feckless neckbeard fanboy character propelling the story and lots of crazy people brought into the town to fight and rich assholes paying to hunt zombies, it’s a delicious clusterfuck of gore and black humour.

The first ‘beta’ chapter is up for you to read on inkitt, I’ve proofread it but it’s still away with my editor, so hopefully within the month I can re-upload it after it’s been professionally edited and then move onto the next chapter.

Follow this link Green Sunday to read the first chapter and review it and tell me it sucks ass just read it ha-ha.

See ya.

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