I Wrote A Short Story!

I have always loved short stories.  I love the bite-sized-ness of them and how they were always sort of dark or had an interesting twist ending (at least the ones that I read).

Today, I was riding in my car listening to The Paper Chase (as I am wont to do), and I picked up a line that had something to do with animals being drawn to the scent of rotting meat.  I can't recall the exact song - or even the exact album - but that line really jumped at me and I quickly filled in around it.  I may revisit it later and flesh it out a little more.  I intentionally left it a bit rough, with a few ideas on the cutting room floor.

Let me know what you think.

I'd like to present:

Squeeze

"Don't pull the trigger.  Squeeze."

It was one of the more helpul things Dave taught me before he left.  We had been trying to thin out the crowd of zombies around the house.  From the second floor windows, we had a better angle to hit headshots, but I was still wasting a lot of ammo.  Moving targets - even slow-moving targets - are pretty hard to hit.  "Squeeze" helped me conserve some of our precious ammo and reduce the shambling horrors by a few extra.  Of course, that was before we realized that the few that we were able to drop was more than made up for by the noise we were making.  Silence doesn't draw a crowd. We were surprised at how many animals were drawn to the smell of rotting meat.  Dogs (wild and [formerly] domesticated), cats, clouds of crows.  Interestingly, while the crows got fat from eating the zombie carcasses, the dogs and cats would only occasionally try to eat them, drawn as they were by the smell.

Dave is gone now.  He was convinced that he'd do better on his motorcycle, out in the open.  He thought that he could get far enough away from civilization that he'd be able to set up and ride this mess out.  Ann and I tried to argue with him but, in the end, he had made his choice.  He didn't even take much food - just his pistol and some water.  

The worst part was giving up the garage.  When you're barricaded in a house, regardless of size, space is at a premium.  The smaller your available space gets, the more imprisoned you feel.  When you are trying to hold onto your sanity, not feeling caged is very important.

We had sort of mapped the place out into sections and had contingency plans to block off breached areas.  We made a diversion on the other side of the house so that Dave could get the garage door open, but we weren't able to get it closed again in time.  Not with the roar of the bike firing up and him speeding off.  So, the loss of square footage hurt.  Knowing that Dave was leaving gave us time to clear the garage out and bar the interior door before he opened the exterior one - quite a luxury.

Ann and I spent the following days quietly talking and watching from the upstairs windows.  For obvious reasons, the first floor windows were all boarded up.  We would just sit, keeping each other sane, taking turns sleeping, listening and watching for help or trouble.  I know that in some of the zombie stories, they make a big deal about moaning.  Not so, in actuality.  The zombies don't seem to have a need to vocalize.  What really got under my skin was the scratching.  Being inside a zombie-sieged house is a lot like having the world's worst mouse infestation.  They all know that you're inside, and they all want to get to you.  Lacking fine muscle control, they just push and scratch, and scratch, and scratch.  Eventually, we were able to just tune it out, like radio static.  That constant scratching became the soundtrack for our lives.  

It is the new sound - the cracking - that wakes me up.  Ann screams my name and, by the time I am on my feet, she is already halfway downstairs.  They have gotten into the kitchen.  When we barricaded, we thought the locks on the doors would hold.  Not true for this one, I guess.  When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see Ann.  She is swinging her aluminum baseball bat (axes stick in bone) at the intruders when they get a hold of her.  One manages to grab her arm.  I see it bite her, and she turns around, eyes wide, silently pleading at me to help.  I kick her further into the kitchen and slam the door.  I immediately shove the furniture we had set by the door into place and grab the hammer.  She stops screaming before I finish pounding the first nail into the door frame.  When I finish securing the door (scratching, so much scratching), I vomit.

I come upstairs.  I never want to go down there again.  I lock myself in the master bedroom.  I find some earplugs in the nightstand and put them in.  I don't care about listening for them anymore, I just don't want to listen to that constant scratching.  I grab the gun off of the dresser and sit on the bed.

I wonder how Dave's doing, and how far he made it.  I wonder if I should have gone with him.

As I put the gun in my mouth, I think:

"Don't pull the trigger.  Squeeze."

I Love My (yes, it's mine) Beer Store

I have the very great fortune to live in Germany, right next to the border with the Netherlands.  It's a very narrow strip of the Netherlands, which means that, in about 15 minutes of my house, I can be in Belgium.

You may not know this, but Belgium is responsible for the best beer in the world.

I have discovered a wonderful beer store in Maaseik, Belgium.  It's called Dranken Corstjens.  The staff speaks English (not a certainty over here), and is friendly, helpful, knowledgeable, and generous.  Wow.  It sounds like I should just sign them up for the Boy Scouts, doesn't it?

The store is family-friendly, too.  Because Europe isn't as hung up on enforcing its own morality on everyone, children are welcome in the store, and are treated quite well, in order to give parents the most relaxing shopping experience possible.  The last time I took my girls, they were given a candy, a promotional hat, and a real leather football (soccer ball).  They were also smiled at and encouraged as they explored the area.

The store has a loose policy of giving a free beer glass with every six bottles purchased.  For you Americans,  the concept of the beer glass may be foreign to you, but it's a vital part of properly enjoying a beer.  Each beer company makes their own glass (or glasses), each best suited to their beer (or beers).  I've been starting a bit of a collection so, for the most part, I can serve each beer with its own glass.

But I digress.  I say "loose policy" because it's certainly not hard and fast.  For example, yesterday, I purchased 12 bottles of beer - a light haul as I still have a decent number left from my last trip - and was cheerfully given three glasses, just because I asked.

I was also recommended a tasty, new beer and given a sample to try, in-store.  By sample, I mean entire bottle.  As my friend and I were checking out, the young employee dropped half a crate of assorted bottles on its side.  Luckily, none of them broke, and only one - a LaTrappe Quadruppel, popped open.  The young employee then offered us a glass so that we could drink the injured beer, as he would have to throw it away, otherwise.  The LaTrappe Quad is one of my favorites so, passing the keys to my friend, I agreed to not waste such a delicious beverage.  (un)Fortunately, it was closing time for them, so I had to polish it off pretty quickly.  As a result, I "had to" finish off two beers, on an empty stomach, in the space of about 15 minutes.  The first beer had an alcohol content of 6.5%.  The Quad is 12%.  By the time I left the store, I was three sheets.

This is already bordering on tl;dr, but I just want to add that I desperately wish that my friend, Dennis, was here to go with me.  He would crazy-go-nuts for this place.  My family misses he and his a lot, and it would be great to have them over to share some food, fun, and companionship (and beer!) with.  Especially when our weather is so entirely clement (highs in the mid- to upper-60s) and they live in Alabama (mid- to upper-OMGs).  Hopefully, they'll find their way to Germany while we're still here.

It's been a long time, it seems

I've missed writing.  I used to keep a blog of sorts on MySpace that I enjoyed visiting, but I haven't touched it in years.  The MySpace account was closed years ago.  Life got in the way.  It seemed like I was always too busy to sit and write anything that was even interesting to me.  I'm taking a bit of a hiatus from videogaming, so this seems as good a time as any to pick a blog back up.

I don't really have a theme in mind yet so, for now, this will just be someplace for me to write things down.  Topics will vary.  I'm a little curious to see if anyone will find this.  We shall see.