Hanging Out

Killing time in a bathroom from... a different perspective.

The floor of the bathroom  has exactly 123 gray tiles, 97 dull green ones, and 19 missing ones.  I know that because I've been here for about three and a half hours.  I wish I could say it was the burrito I had for lunch.  It probably has more to do with the rope I'm swinging from.  Yup.  I committed suicide... well I tried anyway.  Doesn't work so well for... for people like me.  I wish I could untie the knot... hell I wish I could move!  I can't breath.  Can't speak.  Can't move anything but my eyes.  All I can do is hang around and count stuff...  hrm...  I haven't counted the dead spiders in the corner yet...

"AKUJI!" someone yells.  Hrm...  someone's looking for me.  Hope they find me.  Anything to relieve the monotony.  "You in here dude?"  He was closer now...  hang on is that-?  "DAVE!"  Yeah.  Its Tucker.  The door opens.  Finally. "Oh there you are.  D****t Dave, I could have told you that wouldn't work."  I heard the sound of a knife being flicked open, and I felt him sawing at the rope.  With a snap I crumpled to the floor, and I found myself staring up at a mottled green face.  His hair was falling out in patches, and some of his cheek had torn away, revealing eerily white and shiny teeth.  "That looked painful dude," He said, carefully outlining the brutally obvious. " Can you move?"  I rolled my eyes.  "All right, just wait a while.  You should be coming out of rigor mortise in an hour or two."  He groaned as he heaved my petrified corpse off the ground.  "I'll drag you (oof) in front of (yerg) the TV dude."  He said as he dragged me out of the bathroom.  "Let me (huff) know when (whew) you get hungry."  He let me drop, leaning on two points of the couch cushions.  Luckily my neck was pointed down from the hanging, or I would have been staring at the ceiling.  Tucker flipped on the TV to one of the Bond flicks with Sean Connery in it.  Figures.  The un-killable man.

Sean Connery was using the last of the gadgets in Q's grab bag (Does anyone else notice that this guy is freaking psychic?) when I finally got some feeling back in my face.  I groaned, experimentally flexing my jaw.  It was sore, like someone had given me a good right hook, but functional.  "Urgh"  I managed to cough out.  My voice was as rough as gravel.  Unsurprisingly, hanging myself hadn't been exactly healthy for my vocal cords.  Tucker poked me, experimentally.  Apparently he'd been sitting next to me, watching the movie.

"Can you move yet?" he asked.  "Try an arm."  I did so.   With no little amount of effort,  I raised my arm about an inch.  It felt like I was trying to move in some bizarre hybrid of Jell-o and steel.  I had a feeling that this was going to be a very long day.

It turned out to be a Bond movie marathon.  I sat through You Only Live Twice, Live and Let Die, and Tomorrow Never Dies before I could actually move all my limbs.   I nearly overdosed on the irony.  I turned to Tucker.  He had dozed off... or died.  Its hard to tell with zombies.  His shaggy hippy hair draped over his green tinged face, hiding the hole in his cheek.  He was lean, as most zombies are, completely devoid of body fat.  His clothes were secondhand, tattered, and dirty.  I poked him in the forehead.  "Dude,"  I said.  "Are you alive?"  I sounded like I had been chain smoking for fifty years.
"No."  he replied groggily.  "Awake though.  Want food?"  I nodded, secretly dreading my first meal as a zombie.

Reviews

[torments_scribe]

This was awesomely entertaining. I loved the sarcasm and attitude of your characters. Even though they were zombies, they still spoke and acted like real people. Very interesting premise and whether intentional or not, oddly funny. I'll be back to read some more :) The chapter title was ingenious by the way. Very witty!!!

[Alskar]

This is truly excellent. I love the engagement of the opening paragraph, and this really grips you with the unusual yet brilliant idea that zombies are coherent, intelligent creatures who sit around watching Bond marathons, versus the insane blood-thirsty type so often seen. The idea of terrorists sending infected mail to the government was unique and plausible. I only have a tiny complaint- the email to his family was too dismissive, I'd imagine if this was a guy in real life it would be a bit more emotional, given that he will never see his family again.

[Tasha]

Wow even though I'm not into the whole zombie thing, this kept me reading the whole way through. I liked it a lot and you couldn't have picked a better title. Great work.
♥ Ta'Shandra