One of my goals for 2017 is to write at least one short story a month, and here’s the first one! It was the fourth one I started in the new year but the first one I’ve finished.

I wrote it for the record-breaking challenge on TheProse.com:

Together, we are going to break the world record for longest book. 100 word minimum. When this challenge gets 15,000 entries, it will expire, and we will turn it into a book. Each entry will be its own chapter. The plot? It’s the first day of a zombie apocalypse, write a diary entry. Each contributor should share this challenge prompt with as many people as possible. If we break the world record, this will be read by people for generations to come.

If you like what you read, feel free to like it on TheProse as well!


 

Lonely Road
(x)

Dear Diary

Words: 747

There’s not really much point in saying “fuck my life” now that zombies have started happening. Zombies are exponential. One bites someone and make two, two bite two and make four, four bite four and make sixteen… So yeah.

Fuck my eventual, inevitable, and probably painful death. Because of all the people to be stuck with, I drew my dad’s awful friends whom I was picking up from the airport when the world ended.

Jane and her husband Steve have been my dad’s friends since high school. They have cats, not kids. They are Not Kid People. They are the worst. Setting aside the fact that over the past few years Steve has decided that even being in the same house as gluten might kill him and he’s become an outright dick about it to my parents whenever they come over… I’ll never understand how they put up with that. To be clear, I’m setting it aside because Steve’s dead. And it wasn’t the gluten that did it. As far as I could tell at the time, it was a TSA officer.

I’m not going to lie, Jane is not the worst part of the zombie apocalypse. So far, I’d say that watching a group of the undead catching up to a young mother pushing a stroller has been the worst. But let me put some things in perspective for you because oh my god, if I don’t get to vent about something stupid I’m going to have to start venting about some of the things I’ve seen in the past few hours. I’m pretty sure it would all come out in screams and I’d rather not do that now that we’ve finally found a safe-ish hiding place for the night.

Anyway, Jane has been a “my way or the highway” bitch for as long as I can remember.

Once, we were all sitting around the dining room table “being sociable” at their house, which seemed way too big for just two people and two cats, and Jane made cups of chai for everyone. When I asked for sugar to add to mine she gave me a look dripping with disdain and snapped that “you’re not supposed to add sugar to chai.” She made it very clear that asking that question proved I knew very little and didn’t even deserve to be drinking her tea. Is it really necessary to humiliate a nine year old like that, in front of everybody?

Another during college, they came over for dinner. I was in charge of making an apple pie for dessert. A few years before Jane had, with some trepidation, shared her pie crust recipe with me. So while I was in the middle of rolling out the dough she just went off on me about how I was doing everything wrong. What had I been thinking refrigerating the dough in a disc shape instead of a perfect sphere, insuring that it would turn into a soggy, lumpy mess? First she harassed me relentlessly until I cried, then she demanded why I was crying over something as inconsequential as pie.

This is the bitch I am now stuck with, and if we can’t get back to the house soon I might have to kick her out of the car and leave her behind. My family is there. My partner is there, meeting my family for the first time. I am getting back to them, dammit, and I don’t need any more pointed comments about my driving when I’m trying to weave through a minefield of re-animated corpses that are all drawn to noise and movement.

On second thought, if I can’t put enough distance between us and the surrounding horde, I might have to use Jane as a diversion. Better that than trailing all the zombies in town behind me and basically painting a great big target across our front door and boarded up windows. At least, I hope they had time to board things up before everything went completely to hell…

The thing is, I think I’m going to die out here. I’m going to die without seeing any of the people I love most in the world ever again. On a normal day I wouldn’t seriously consider sacrificing someone else’s life to save my own, but this is not a normal day. This is so, so far from a normal day, and I already have plenty of horrifying new things to live with.

What’s one more?

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One thought on “Short Story #01, January — Dear Diary

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