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Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Night of the Living Dead
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Shorts
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| Night of the Living Dead | |
| By alamo | ||||||||||||||||
| 22 March 2007 | ||||||||||||||||
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Firstly, apologies to George A Romero for nicking his title. Secondly, please note this contains some naughty words. Lastly, let me know what you think. Cheers “She’s dying. She’s dying. She’s dead.” Am I dead? The Girl thinks. Can you think if you’re dead? “Fuck, dude, what do we do?” They’re on a beach; pebbles crunch in that high-pitched way as the three guys crowd around The Girl, trying to make her out by the moonlight. They are revellers, here on the beach at the death of a party. The Girl’s thinking, what’s going on? “Listen,” says Colin. “Are we sure she’s actually dead?” “Yes, Colon, we’re sure. She’s not fucking breathing is she?” Colin looks down, squinting through the darkness. A few nearly burnt-out bonfires littered the beach, none giving much light. The Girl opens her eyes, looks upwards. She can’t see anything. “Dude,” says Dave. “Breathin’ don’t mean shit. You can still be alive and not be breathin’.” “Yeah, it’s true. Saw it on that Casualty.” Marlon kneels down. “So what, I should fucking find a pulse?” he says. The Girl’s vision fades back in. Slowly, she makes out a few stars, a deep blue sky, the moon, a face. She looks at the guy, his hand on her neck. Get off me, she thinks. Why can’t I speak? “Dude, what is it? She got a pulse?” “Nah, you got to count it for a minute.” “Not, Colon, if there isn’t one to fucking count,” says Marlon. “Shit,” says Colin. Shit, thinks The Girl. How can I have no pulse? She can see, can hear, even feel the pebbles underneath her. But no pulse? “OK, so she’s dead,” says Colin. “Someone’s got to call an ambulance.” “Why call an ambulance if she’s fucking dead? “’Cos sometimes you can still be alive without a pulse or breathin’,” says Dave. The Girl’s ankle starts to hurt. Really bad like she’s sprained it or worse. So I can feel pain, she thinks, but am dead? “How am I supposed to know that? Not a fucking Doctor,” says Marlon. The Girl thinks, how did I get here? She remembers being at this party in a club. It was a friend of a friend’s birthday. She felt a little out of place. Music played: a great thumping of bass, weird keyboards playing repetitive tunes, abstract sounds layered on top. It was loud. She made her way over to the packed bar. People jostled for position. One song evolved into another similar one. She gave up waiting, elbowed her way in. She screamed her order to the barman. He frowned, putting a hand to his ear. What? She leaned over the bar, mouth right to his ear, and screamed louder. When she got her drink she wandered to the edge of the dancefloor. She stood drinking for a while, then a figure approached her. He was dressed all in black, had black hair, and really dark eyes. He nodded his head in vague time to the music. He was smiling. She smiled back. His mouth moved. “What?” she shouted. His mouth moved again, but this time he heard him. As if the music had been turned down. “You having a good night?” he said. “Yeah, it’s not bad.” “Who do you know?” “No one really. The birthday girl’s a friend of a friend.” “Really? Same as.” “So, what’s your name?” He told her. “OK,” she said. “Whatever.” “I just want to tell you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and I am enchanted. I want to be with you forever.” The memory stops. “So you gonna fucking call, Dave?” “Why can’t you, Marlon?” “Got no credit. Colon, you fucking call.” The Girl looks around. Everything comes clearer, she sees the beach, the three guys. She can hear waves breaking gently. Then she hears steps on the pebbles. She sits up, looking. It is him. “Hi,” he says, looking awkward. “Care to shed some light on what’s going on?” “Yeah, tad embarrassing, actually.” “I can imagine.” “What I said, you know, I really meant it.” “Which part? The enchanted bit or the fact that you’re Death?” “Well, both really.” “I see,” The Girl says. “But back to my current situation.” “Yeah,” says Death. “Well, as per our conversation, I decided to kill you. You know, so we could get together. Be together.” “Forever?” “Yeah, basically.” “So, I’m now dead.” “Well yeah, kind of. I killed you. But, well, my superiors got wind of it and brought me in for a little chat. It was felt that it was a little unethical. You know, killing out of personal preference, in the manner in which I intended. Romantic notions of eternal love are apparently frowned upon in my line of work.” “Poor you,” she says. “So I’m alive again?” “Not yet, I have to re-give you the Gift of Life.” “And how does that work?” “Well, if I kiss you I can literally breathe Life into you.” “Piss off.” “OK, worth a try. Nah I can do it, just like that.” “Right. Before you do though?” “What?” says Death. “How did I die? How did you kill me?” “Sprained your ankle.” “Sprained my ankle? That’s supposed to kill me.” “Yeah, I know. That was another concern of my superiors. Was seen as a tad unrealistic. Plus it would set a new precedent, and then think of how many sportspeople I’d have to kill. It could upset the balance.” “This is true,” she says. “So you ready to get reborn?” “Don’t see why not. See you later, Death.” “Yeah, see you soon,” he says, walking off. Suddenly, The Girl sits bolt upright. “Fuck me,” says Marlon.
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