Kandi finally made it to her bathroom and scratched at the wall for the light-switch. It took her a minute to focus. She couldn't have slept that bad! But there it was, in the too-bright light. Bloody rings encircled her eyes and dark pink veins leaked towards her pupils. Her normally perfectly moisturizer skin had turned a ghostly pallor, and almost looked as if, yes, it was true- her once coveted face, was falling apart in chaotic, flaky chunks.
What the...
Her cell phone interrupted her train of thought. Marissa was on the other line; she was in hysterics. "What the hell!! Are you..., I mean is your skin..." her voice trained off. Kandi tried to think of a clear answer that made sense. She tried to process what she was seeing and feeling, but realized that she was incapable of any type of in-depth thought at all, though that wasn't much of a change from her pre-nap self.
"Marissa, I think I'm dead."
"Oh, my, god. This really puts a damper on tonight." Marissa's tone shifted to a shade of acceptance.
"Yeah."
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Zombie Housewives
Everyone thought that the apocalypse would bring spiritual elation, fanatical regret and repentance, and the apathetic acceptance of a fate of eternal damnation.
But no one predicted the zombies.
It turns out that God had the best publicist out of all the heavenly publicists. The sell was flawless with all of the love, forgiveness, miracles and promise of infinite whateveryouwanted in heaven. But the truth was, that God was kind of an ass. He was more Eddie Haskell that Beaver, and loved a great joke at the expense of others. In fact, he lived for that shit.
So he planned for a few thousand years, and the set up was painstakingly perfect. He left the clues in his biography and etched in stone for the people to figure out with their little mathematical equations. He made the warning signs evident for those who chose to notice. And as the eve of his "big show" as he called it, drew close, he had his favorite little seraphim pour him a tall goblet of heavenly nectar, and made himself comfortable to watch the funniest damn joke of the past five thousand years.
The Apocalypse? What a crock of shit! Kandi thought as she clicked off her flat screen and drew her curtains tightly closed. Her girlfriends would be picking her up in the limo around 9pm so she set her alarm for 7pm. An hour would be just enough beauty sleep to prepare for the evening's festivities. Donning only a sheer black teddy, she slipped between the sheets and snuggled down into her feather bed and comforter. She loved her bed more than her husband.
A melodic ringing of church bells slowly awakened Kandi from her beauty sleep. She coughed. Her throat was dry. Really dry. She reached for the glass of water by her bedside and tried to take a sip. Ugggh! She spit put the water. What the fuck? She was dying of thirst but water was repulsive. She craved something else. Walking to the bathroom she felt stiff; I fact, she noticed her normal runway gait seemed to be hampered by stiffened joints. Was she limping? Was there a slight dragging of her right leg? She must have slept funny, she decided.
But no one predicted the zombies.
It turns out that God had the best publicist out of all the heavenly publicists. The sell was flawless with all of the love, forgiveness, miracles and promise of infinite whateveryouwanted in heaven. But the truth was, that God was kind of an ass. He was more Eddie Haskell that Beaver, and loved a great joke at the expense of others. In fact, he lived for that shit.
So he planned for a few thousand years, and the set up was painstakingly perfect. He left the clues in his biography and etched in stone for the people to figure out with their little mathematical equations. He made the warning signs evident for those who chose to notice. And as the eve of his "big show" as he called it, drew close, he had his favorite little seraphim pour him a tall goblet of heavenly nectar, and made himself comfortable to watch the funniest damn joke of the past five thousand years.
The Apocalypse? What a crock of shit! Kandi thought as she clicked off her flat screen and drew her curtains tightly closed. Her girlfriends would be picking her up in the limo around 9pm so she set her alarm for 7pm. An hour would be just enough beauty sleep to prepare for the evening's festivities. Donning only a sheer black teddy, she slipped between the sheets and snuggled down into her feather bed and comforter. She loved her bed more than her husband.
A melodic ringing of church bells slowly awakened Kandi from her beauty sleep. She coughed. Her throat was dry. Really dry. She reached for the glass of water by her bedside and tried to take a sip. Ugggh! She spit put the water. What the fuck? She was dying of thirst but water was repulsive. She craved something else. Walking to the bathroom she felt stiff; I fact, she noticed her normal runway gait seemed to be hampered by stiffened joints. Was she limping? Was there a slight dragging of her right leg? She must have slept funny, she decided.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Rapture Disaster
He lay still in the shadow of the shut blinds in the dusky afternoon, eyes closed, waiting. Anytime now, he thought. The muffled sounds of horns blaring, engines humming, and the combined whispers of the masses moving from block to block slowing filtered through his windows to his quite sanctuary. He expected the sounds to stop any minute. Any minute.
God would take most of them. New York was full of sinners; unclean souls just begging to be cleansed. Few would remain. The thought of the cleansing of one of the dirtiest cities in America excited him, and he began clinching his eyelids tighter. Any minute now...
He began dreaming of the glorious moment that was almost here. He had prepared so thoroughly! The bills were paid, the apartment was only in his name for a few more hours, and he had given away all his worldly possessions. There was no need for an iPad in heaven. His apartment was spotless, his bed neatly made, and his body scrubbed and adorned in clean white linens- he was ready. Any minute now...
His family had failed to understand his logic but had not banished him from the family. They simply smiled and nodded with a look of pity when he attempted to convince them of the coming event. He wished they wouldn't make that face. They looked at him as if he was a child, silly, as if he had fallen for an obvious email scam to send thousands of dollars to Africa. They would be sorry. They would be the ones suffering for months during Satan's reign before the end of the world came in a few months. He would be the one to pity them, from heaven, where he would share in the light God gave. He tightened his fists and prepared himself. Any minute now...
The sounds of the city continued to pulse and throb into his ears. It seemed like such a normal Saturday afternoon.
Afternoon slowly blended into dusk. Night fell on the city.
Midnight.
One time a child had asked him, "If you believe in something long enough, and deeply enough, doesn't that make it true?"
He had responded with a resounding "Yes", and told him that belief was what made faith real.
He was still here.
He was hungry.
He feared to open his eyes. What would he do? This could not be. He would be a mockery. He indeed, would be just a silly man, with a silly dream, part of a silly religion.
Tears fell on his white pillow sheet, and at last, he opened his eyes on to the saddest scene of his life- a tiny apartment in New York City, alone, without possessions or money. A fool.
God would take most of them. New York was full of sinners; unclean souls just begging to be cleansed. Few would remain. The thought of the cleansing of one of the dirtiest cities in America excited him, and he began clinching his eyelids tighter. Any minute now...
He began dreaming of the glorious moment that was almost here. He had prepared so thoroughly! The bills were paid, the apartment was only in his name for a few more hours, and he had given away all his worldly possessions. There was no need for an iPad in heaven. His apartment was spotless, his bed neatly made, and his body scrubbed and adorned in clean white linens- he was ready. Any minute now...
His family had failed to understand his logic but had not banished him from the family. They simply smiled and nodded with a look of pity when he attempted to convince them of the coming event. He wished they wouldn't make that face. They looked at him as if he was a child, silly, as if he had fallen for an obvious email scam to send thousands of dollars to Africa. They would be sorry. They would be the ones suffering for months during Satan's reign before the end of the world came in a few months. He would be the one to pity them, from heaven, where he would share in the light God gave. He tightened his fists and prepared himself. Any minute now...
The sounds of the city continued to pulse and throb into his ears. It seemed like such a normal Saturday afternoon.
Afternoon slowly blended into dusk. Night fell on the city.
Midnight.
One time a child had asked him, "If you believe in something long enough, and deeply enough, doesn't that make it true?"
He had responded with a resounding "Yes", and told him that belief was what made faith real.
He was still here.
He was hungry.
He feared to open his eyes. What would he do? This could not be. He would be a mockery. He indeed, would be just a silly man, with a silly dream, part of a silly religion.
Tears fell on his white pillow sheet, and at last, he opened his eyes on to the saddest scene of his life- a tiny apartment in New York City, alone, without possessions or money. A fool.
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