The Zombie Hunters Forum: WE GO THERE.

Art Discussion => Writing => Topic started by: ZKLuvikas on October 29, 2010, 02:01:22 pm

Title: The Journals Of Alaister (Memoirs of a zombie hunter)
Post by: ZKLuvikas on October 29, 2010, 02:01:22 pm
Before I continue I'd like to beg all of you to PLEASE not steal or share this anywhere but here. After I've compiled a year of entries I'm planning to publish this work I just wanted a good test audience and some useful critique. I'm writing this up as an actual journal, one post per day so in 1 year the first 365 entries will be done. Thanks in advance!

Entry One.

January 19th, 2014 (I think, hard to keep track any more.)

It's been more than a week since I've had opportunity to speak with another living being. Hard to say what the numbers are but it would seem that almost every fucking person on this diseased little planet is now a rotting corpse wandering the ruins of our own delusions of grandeur. I've decided to begin keeping a journal if for nothing else than to keep myself sane and in continuous use of language skills. At least that's what I'm telling myself though I'm sure it has it's roots in egotism and an overdeveloped sense of self, at least I'm sure that's what my sister the shrink would say. That is if I hadn't been forced to blow her head off when she came at me with a blank stare and human flesh hanging out of her mouth. There's something about being forced to kill your entire family that'll put you off of people for a while. Shooting your mom, sister and three nephews in the face may be a traumatizing experience but at the same time it get's you prepared to deal with whatever comes along and at this point I doubt anyone that I've ever given a fuck about is likely to pop up around the next corner. My name's Alaister by the way, in case you come across this journal lying next to my half eaten corpse. You never know. I used to have a last name but I don't see much use for it any more, everyone else who has is either in the ground or wandering the earth in search of human flesh so... Only thing I have now is survival, that and my tools and weapons and of course the hunt. I love the feeling of taking one of those ugly fucks down, it's like scoring a touchdown with no audience to cheer for me. But you know? I think I actually like things better this way now that I've adjusted, I mean it HAS been a few months since the initial onslaught, can't mope around forever. Gotta keep on keepin' on like my dad always used to say, before he died. Of liver disease, lucky fucker. I stopped the truck today at a fairly well abandoned gas station to fuel up and gather some supplies. Did a routine sweep when I stepped out and not a zombie in sight so I made my way to the convenience store part of the place and kicked in the door then stepped back to wait for the zombie onslaught. None came, to my utter amazement, so I stepped inside. The place was in shambles, as per usual but still no zombies, though it stunk like em. So I made my way through with a flashlight gathering anything that seemed useful and/or edible. After a few moments my pack was full so I decided to find some gasoline. With no electricity the pumps obviously weren't going to start so I found myself a little car parked around back and got to work with my siphon and my gas can. I was nearly done when I saw her shambling her way toward me. She must have been a hot little thing before the change, you could tell despite the rotting flesh and lobotomy eyes. "Oh well" I thought to myself as I pulled my trusty aluminum bat from my back and wound up like a major league slugger. Only took one good swing to bring her down. I figured there wasn't much in that skull to resist being crushed. She was a blonde after all. I wiped the blackish blood from my trusty sidearm and replaced it in the custom holder I had designed, finished up my refuel job and got on the road, disappointed that there were no more local skulls to crush. It's been a lazy day. Well, it's getting late and I need to find my way out into the country for a secure place to park, lock it up and get some sleep. I found a case of cheap liquor today and some bags of jerky so it ought to be a good night. Cheers! Let's hope a few more of those flesh eating fuck bags come and test me tonight, I've got something for em all. Till tomorrow I bid you, or is that me? farewell.

Title: Re: The Journals Of Alaister (Memoirs of a zombie hunter)
Post by: ZKLuvikas on October 29, 2010, 02:02:54 pm
Entry 2

January 20th 2014 (Based on the assumption that my last post was correctly dated)

Sadly last night was uneventful. I suppose I should be glad that I was able to get a good night's sleep without the irritation of the stinking corpses wandering up on me to investigate but it's godawful boring to be able to sleep through the night in peace. I woke up to a blanket of snow this morning, but my sleeping bag held strong through the night because I wasn't shivering when my eyes opened. Dammit all, I thought driving south into Georgia would have helped stave off the snow, I guess I didn't travel far enough south. I'm considering heading on in to Florida. It's a bit more heavily populated but I figure with the high number of old people formerly living there the zombies might be on the slower side. Like shooting fish in a barrel. At any rate I decided to head into a more populated area for the day, get some action. I rolled out to Athens in hopes of finding some former cheerleaders to knock off. Never liked that whole crowd before and them all being zombies now gives me a good reason to kill them with no questions asked. It didn't take long on my way in to town to find some decent targets. I saw an aimlessly wandering crowd of flesh eaters moping around one of the far too abundant bars on the outskirts of town. It's impossible to drive anywhere in a decent sized city on account of the pile ups and traffic jams left over from all the idiots who thought that they could somehow drive to safety away from the plague of undead and rapidly newly dead undead swarming over like a plague of flies on a dead hookers ass so I parked it a good distance out of town, put on my leather jacket and gloves, pulled on my carhart coveralls and leather gloves and then topped it off with the motorcycle helmet I 'd salvaged from some poor idiot who'd become a grease spot during the mad dash. It fit well once I scraped what was left of him off of it. I find that equally important to a good set of weaponry is a good set of protective gear. Leather and plastic and heavy, heavy fabric are mush harder to bite through than an exposed piece of flesh, but I digress. Anyway, when I was fully suited I grabbed my trusty old bat and my shotgun which I prefer to use only when things get hairy, never waste shells and never trust a gun not to jam, that's my motto. All set I left my truck and wandered toward the crowd tapping my bat on the cement to draw some attention. Here they came lumbering like a plethora of lumber jacks. It always makes me laugh to see the variety of zombie types pouring out of the woodwork when they come. I swear one of the ugly fuckers had on a bowler hat. A bowler hat! In this day and age! Pretentious fuck, I'm glad I got an opportunity to bash his rotting cranium even if he was already dead. Served him right for that stupid looking hat. So on they came and I just stood and wound up. Smash! Down went a hairdresser, still clutching a plastic comb as though she had reason for it. Splat! This one was a cowboy wannabe. Fucker even had a bolo tie. One after another I swung and they fell, brains and gore flying like wood chips out of a gas powered chipper. When I get going it's like a piranha swarm in a feeding frenzy, focused and lethal but at the same time rapid and unstoppable. I swear this is what I was born for. There must have been 15 or twenty of em, at my best guess. Once I had a good pile of em lying there twitching out the last impulses that their rotted brains were sending to their now defunct nervous systems I headed on in to the bar. I used to take pause to rifle through their pockets but it never lead to anything worth while. What am I going to do with a collection of loose change and pocket lint anyway? So I did my customary door kick and waited for the stragglers to come running out. There were only a couple of em and I dispatched em with characteristic glee, one was a good ol' boy, well over 300 ponds by first glance and wearing a shirt emblazoned with skulls and flames. Probably a fan of newer Metallica, I took him down with extra enjoyment, I only like old Metallica personally. The other was your average looking bar slut, too much makeup still caked on her rotting face, I wiped it off for her. All was clear inside the bar. Zombies are funny like that, when one goes the whole crowd likes to follow. They make it too easy sometimes. I dug around through the back of the bar, stepping over the few corpses that someone already had dispatched before being swarmed on and turned or torn asunder. Having plenty of food to last I decided to fill my pack with booze this time around. I'm careful not to drink to excess, gotta have your wits about you in days like these, but it does a body good to carry a nice buzz throughout the days. Helps to keep you loose and limbered up. I was packing in my last bottle, an expensive looking Gin (my personal favorite) when I almost was had. Somehow in my booze grabbing rapture I had neglected to notice the cocktail waitress rounding about on me. She actually got a hand on me before I was able to turn, kick her in the stomach spilling out some rotted innards and then smash her face into oblivion with a few well placed strokes of my signature weapon. I gave her a little extra fervor just for good measure and also to imbed the memory more firmly in my head. Can't be slipping like that. It never ends well when zombies are afoot. Satisfied with my findings for the day I made my way back to the truck, taking extra care not to be snuck up on again. I hopped in, took off my helmet and fired it up to head back out to the country. I find that being in a city doesn't do you well for relaxing time, too many corpses to ward off. Now I'm sitting back, listening to one of my old mix cd's made before the zombie takeover and sipping on that hard earned bottle of gin, slowly and softly mind you. No drunkards to impress with my tolerance level any more. So until tomorrow I bid myself ado. Talk to me again in the morning.

Title: Re: The Journals Of Alaister (Memoirs of a zombie hunter)
Post by: sok on October 30, 2010, 03:10:24 am
hey, thats cool, i like the way you write, though some sentences are a bit too long, which makes them hard to read. apart from that, its good to me, stylized and all.

Title: Re: The Journals Of Alaister (Memoirs of a zombie hunter)
Post by: ZKLuvikas on October 30, 2010, 03:25:15 pm
Thanks for the enjoyment and the advice. I'll work on making my sentences a bit shorter. I do tend to let them run on.

Entry 3

January 21st 2014

I've made up my mind to push further south into Florida in search of sun and sand and the zombies of people who were already near death anyway. You may think that it's a short shot to get down into the big droopy dick shaped state but things are slower going now that zombies rule the earth. Can't take the highways, they're clogged like the arteries of a doughnut addicted fat man. It's all dirt road travel and most of those bi-ways aren't on a map anywhere. I like it that way though, I've always had a good sense of direction and an urge for adventure. There's plenty of adventure around, that's for damn sure. What with the walking dead, the traveling gangs of raiders and the various doomsday cults who've sprung up around various televangelists who somehow have survived to this point, most likely with the support of the dim witted and all too eager God freaks who've made it through in equally astounding fashion. Like they say though, or used to say, cockroaches will out-survive anything. I made it close to the border before pulling off to a quiet stretch and calling it a night. With a full tank of gas and a plentiful supply of food i didn't feel the need for any pit stops, save to take a piss once. That went well in that nobody attempted to eat or rob me during it. As I mentioned in my first entry it's been over a week now since last I made human contact and even that wasn't worth the time I spent on it. Half the fucks who have survived are too crazy to carry on a meaningful dialogue and the other half either want to rob you or leech off of you because despite the fact that they didn't succumb to the original massacre (usually by sheer luck or a parasitic relationship they shared with someone who is now dead) they have no ability to care for themselves and need someone like you to do it for them. I'm just not that guy. Other people are too much of a hassle. Shit, even before the takeover I wasn't big on long term relationships. Caring too much will get you killed. That's why when I hear screams of terror I turn up the radio and keep on truckin'. Odds are that the issuer of said scream is either about to be zombie food or is being used as a decoy. I'm not a hero, I just enjoy killing zombies. I figure by tomorrow I should be in to Florida and up for some more action. The only rot sacks I've seen thus far today were the few lone wanderers that I plowed down in my path. It's a fun little game to pass the time but it's no substitute for an up close face crushing. Nothing beats beating on a zombie skull like a salvation army drum.

Quick note to myself:
Don't forget to pick up some duct tape next time you get a chance. That shit is invaluable and my supply is running low. You can never have enough duct tape. Also, do some laundry you smelly fuck. Sure you've got nobody to impress but your odor is even starting to offend yourself.

Well, I guess with that I'll go ahead and close this entry. More action and adventure awaits around the bend, I hope. Details at 11.