Monday, January 28, 2013

Excerpt from 'Parts of Noah' (12): Walking Back Through Third Cemetery

Walking back through Third Cemetery, I couldn’t find Dizzy and the only evidence of Zeus’ car was the blue paint left on the smashed up dumptruck. I didn’t wonder why she left me and was in no way surprised when a hand burst through the dirt beside my shoe. Donald Mayor. A bullet through and through. His name scratched into the cement slab like all the other names, but his was the only hand escaping from its grave, clutching and grabbing at the air. You might have ran, or you might have stomped it, but I just watched. The zombie behind the hand was making no progress and my mind was just about to wander again when Jonny Jacks’ hand, just dirt-stained bone, burst up across the cemetery.
 
I sat down, cross-legged, and pulled out my own sack of pills. I dry swallowed a puke-coloured one. Robert May’s hand, exposed, maybe clawing its way out to once again hold Mary May’s, grasping at air like all the others that had risen. Sitting as a witness to this, Donna Jean’s skeleton hand bursting up, I thought about the worst thing I could imagine happening to me. You’ll stop, take a moment to think about it, but I didn’t have to. Harley Wilby’s hand, then Martin Lillet’s, and so many others that Dizzy never sang for but must have known about, it all made me terrified of the thought that I would be dead one day and may not rise.
 
I stayed exactly where I was and Donald Mayor’s hand was now an arm, a shoulder, a head. I didn’t for a moment believe this was actually happening and planned to ask Zeus if he fucked up the recipe, if I ever saw him again. I stood and tossed a rainbow coloured pill at Donald Mayor, who seemed harmless and confused, not quite ready for re-entry to this world. More of the hands became arms and the half-decayed and not yet rested mortals were rising for one more shot at it. Good luck. I popped a scab coloured one and walked through the mess of dirt and bones as the silent dead stumbled around, just rotten skin and broken parts. I made it to the gate and from behind the dumptruck appeared Cash and his shotgun, still with his bee-sting, still divine. His eyes glowed and he walked by me completely, aiming the weapon and firing, one by one shattering the undead who only wanted to try one more time. I just stared at the dumptruck and thought of Dizzy, balancing on the curb. I knew I couldn’t stop Cash, and I knew he understood that these beings weren’t going to hurt anybody. But we both knew what had to be done.

(End of Excerpt)

This is original writing from the short story titled 'Parts of Noah'. Please credit this work to the creator, Chessterr Hollowberry. Thanks!

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