Archive for English

Untitled Zombie Story – Chapter 1

Posted in Novels with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 29, 2012 by Kinetic Orochi

Thanks to my brother for the idea, hopefully I can make this into a nice, sweet, long, horror story.

Chapter 1

Michael Grey exited the CVS pharmacy on June 1st, 2019 at 9:30a.m. Though summer was barely arriving the warm days had already made their appearance. At 75 degrees this morning, it was a day good enough for a nice short-sleeve shirt and some shorts. Yet Michael was wearing a jacket and jeans. He felt so cold, and found it strange for him to get sick on warm days. It was usually in the winter that he would have a runny nose, and get a cold once or twice at most. He was usually a healthy man, but had recently caught some bug from who knows where. He was feeling so bad today that he had to call in sick at his Lawyer firm. “I feel like shit, man. I’m sorry.” He told his colleague, who by hearing Michael’s voice knew he wasn’t kidding. He sounded like a long time heavy smoker that was never wise enough to quit altogether.  “It’s okay, go buy some medicine and rest, we’ll reschedule the appointments for next week.” He let him off and that’s exactly what Michael did. Except the Michael he knew would be no more in a couple of hours.

Michael had a terrible headache; he felt his head constantly pulsating as if his brain would be exploding any minute now. His nose wouldn’t stop running no matter how many times he cleared it. He felt weak, light headed, his eyes were sunken in. His hands and legs sometimes started shaking out of the nowhere.

He got on his 2014 Mustang, and headed out to airport dr. He was feeling very hungry even though he was sick. I guess a nice breakfast wouldn’t hurt; no cold or flu is going to stop my stomach. Once at Williamsburg Rd, he made a right to the Waffle House he was so accustomed too. He started coughing as he drove in. Then he started coughing as he parked. The coughing had been going on for a while, since this morning. He found this cold weird, he had no previous symptoms and he doesn’t remember having had contact with anyone that had it. He was a very clean person, always washed his hands and even usually held the door knob with a paper towel to cover his hands.

He sneezed and coughed again. He turned the car off and looked at himself in the mirror while clearing his nose with a tissue, he looked like shit. “Damn if I could recall all the colds in my life, this is the fucking worst of them all.” He said in his car. He got out and closed the door, and then with his control remote key, he locked and set the alarm on. He opened the door to the Waffle House and went inside.

“Morning Mikie, how are you doing today?” One of the servers asked, a thin lady in her 50’s. In this restaurant, Michael was a usual customer who would usually joke around with the workers and brighten up their mornings.

“As you can see, terrible. I’m hoping some food will cheer me up.” He replied and started coughing again. Even talking was now too hard for him. He stood behind some of the stools, looking down at the menus. The letters seemed to move around. He started to misunderstand words and the images started to make no sense.

“Well, sit down; I will get you your drink, Pepsi right?” The lady asked to confirm Michael’s usual drink. Michael still stood behind the cash register blocking the way for other people. He looked at the menu, filling dizzy, realizing this was a bad idea, he was losing his mind, he needed a doctor but wondered if he should say anything.

“Yes” he said. Still standing, blocking the way for the other customers that were coming in, they were also wondering what was wrong with him, annoyed that this man was blocking their way. Michael finally managed to get some sense and moved to a table. He sat down and ordered his favorite meal; an egg and sausage Texas melt with large hash browns. After ordering he took a napkin and cleared his nose again. This time he found blood on the napkin. He got up and walked towards the bathroom.

A few minutes later, the server lady, Mrs. Ruth, put Michael’s meal on the table. Mikie she had always called him since he was a little kid. She had known Michael for most of his life. She met him on his birthday party when she was invited to a friend’s friend birthday party to talk about a job. Mrs. Ruth had high expectations of herself back then, planning on becoming a nurse for one of the top hospitals in the region. She became great friends with Michael’s mother, often going out with them to restaurants and shopping. After years she wasn’t able to fulfill her dreams, her husband died and her will started diminishing. She got a job at the current waffle house and had been working in it for the last 8 years, often taking Michael’s order and chatting with him about his job and how his mother was doing. Today would be different though.

Michael took a good look at himself, stood there alone in the bathroom in front of the mirror, “What am I?” he asked himself, in a distorted, barely understandable voice. He stood there looking at the strange figure in the mirror. He looked pale; his eyes were sunk in his eye pockets, with dark circles under his eyes. His nose was running, his mouth was drooling, but he did not care about this anymore. Michael sneezed and coughed a few times in the bathroom. Then there was a sudden urge to go back to his table.

He finally went out the door back to his table, hungrier than ever. He sat at his table and stared at his food. Ignoring forks and knives, he started eating like a starving man, with his hands. He ate fast and swallowed a bunch of food at a time, he would start to choke and cough the food out at times. People started to notice this and looked at him in disgust, some even left. Michael ignored this and ate and ate, suddenly he stopped. He realized this was repugnant food, it made him feel sick. This wasn’t the type of food he should be eating, the thought made his stomach turn upside down and he started vomiting over his food.

“Sir, you seem very sick, I think you ought to go to a hospital.” One lady said who had taken notice of Michael since he got out of the bathroom.

“Mikie, I’m going to call an ambulance okay, you seem really sick.” Mrs. Ruth told him, she was worried for Mikie, and she had never seen him look so bad before.

But Michael just sat at his table, he could no longer distinguish voices, faces had changed, his blood started to boil. If someone were to take Michael’s temperature they would find out that it was much higher than what was necessary to live, Michael should have died a couple of minutes ago.

He started making growling noises, like a dog does when its meal is disturbed. He looked up, his eyes were red, he made quick precise movements with his head, looking up, left, right, around the restaurant with his new vision. His vision was different, he saw everything in a red shade, and people for some reason looked very appetizing. This was the food he really wanted, the food that would satisfy his craving, especially that old lady that he once played toys with, held hands with, smiled with.

Michael stood up and then jumped on the table, his head making quick movements, his nose and mouth running with blood, his eyes red, his veins popping. He made a loud shriek that scared some people out of the restaurant, other stood in awe. It was something you would only see in horror movies. He started running and jumped from the table over the counter aiming for Mrs. Ruth, who scared to her soon death put her hands in front of her for protection, but that wouldn’t be any help. Michael grabbed her below her arms and carried her forward about 10 feet before hitting her against the counter. Both fell to the ground and Michael fell on top of her, he started biting off her neck, her arms, and her breasts. This happened so fast that the other workers had little chance to react; finally when one reacted he tried to help her. A tall male cook grabbed a big cutting knife and started running towards Michael, stabbing the knife in the back. Michael felt the sharp pain and started shrieking again, he looked back and smacked the cook with great force, the cook fell back and hit a stove. He moved his arms back trying to reach the knife stuck to his back, but it was in such a way he couldn’t reach it.

People ran out of the place, the ambulance finally got to the scene and luckily also a few cops. Meanwhile inside Michael was still in pain, the cook was getting back up after that hit, and Mrs. Ruth was on the ground convulsing and bleeding to death. Michael noticed the cook and went right after him, the cook got up, stepped his foot forward and tripped Michael into the stove, he was knocked out. The cook got up, breathing fast trying to catch some breath. “You crazy son of a bitch, I’m going to kill you now!” He yelled. He grabbed another knife from the counter, held it up and started stabbing Michael who couldn’t do much the way he was being held.

Mrs. Ruth stood behind the cook, twitching, bleeding, drooling, just as Michael did before. “Oh My God…” one of the scared customers said from behind. Mrs. Ruth led a loud shriek and jumped on the cook, holding onto his shoulders with her arms and started biting his neck; this peaceful Waffle House had turned into a deadly nightmare.

“What the hell’s going on here?” A cop said as he opened the door and went in the Waffle House. Mrs. Ruth noticed him and let go off the cook, she let another loud cry and went for the cop this time. “Shoot her!” someone told the cop. The cop reached for the gun, scared, shaking. This was taking him by surprise and Mrs. Ruth’s speed was a little too much for him. She jumped on him and started punching him in the face and biting it.

“John!” another cop yelled from outside and rushed towards the Waffle House, he took out his gun and aimed at Mrs. Ruth, who looked up, opened her mouth and showed her teeth while growling one last time before being shot in the head.

 


First Job as a Freelancer

Posted in Journals with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 27, 2012 by Kinetic Orochi

A month or so ago I applied to a freelance site called http://www.elance.com I had been out of school for about half a year and out of work for even longer. After applying and failing to get any jobs for the past 6 months I couldn’t take it any longer and decided to look for “something” online. My girlfriend suggested http://www.snagajob.com, which seemed good at the time, until no one ever called me back. I filled out every single position I could: Manager, Assistant Manager, Cashier, Server, Dishwasher, Cook, Bathroom Cleaner and when I never got hired in one of these jobs, I realized that the lack of jobs in this country really is bad.

So I looked online, and call it greedy but this blog is also one of the works in progress. Don’t get me wrong I love writing, but I also want to make a living out of it. My dad has always told me throughout my life “Whatever you do chino (I’ll tell you the story of my nickname another time), do what you like. There’s nothing worse than a man going to work and do something he doesn’t love. If you do what you love, you’ll be successful”. It was until lately that I had really started to do what I like, because I wasn’t quite sure of what it was.

But because it’s little hard to get recognized by writing, there’s just so many people that do it because its right there, in your room, you just need to get the will to do it, a will I lacked the last couple of days.

It’s not unexcused though, I frankly had no time to write. Last Wednesday I started my work at the bank, and Monday I went back to work. When I first started this blog I was out of a job. I started strong, with so many words. The everyday practice of journals and stories were keeping me together in writing, and then I also got my first freelancer job.

For those of you who don’t know how some of these freelancing websites work I’ll tell you. A client posts a job they need done. A contractor “bids” on the job and submits his proposal, completion time, and price. But wait, it’s not just one contractor… IT’S MANY. Any freelancer will tell you the mean competition there’s for online jobs nowadays just like regular jobs. So I offer my services as a translator, I speak Spanish perfectly and can write it well. I thought it was the best chance. However it’s not a guaranteed job, English-Spanish-English translations are one of the most bids jobs on freelancing websites. There’s literally people, refreshing the page waiting for a translating job to be posted, after a while you know who are going to be your main competition.

Signing on this site wasn’t easy though. Its not like I signed up and applied right away, no sir. There was a procedure to go through, I had to edit my profile, create sample work, confirm my telephone number, add where my funds would go, take a test understanding the terms of agreements in the jobs, i had to take a translating test! And on top of that I didn’t have the job guaranteed, it really was a long process.

So after a month of bidding for jobs I finally got one, my first online job as a freelance translator. $80.00 for a simple job that would take a day or so. It’s not so bad, to do it from the comfort of your home, taking breaks when you want, working on Microsoft Word. It’s as close to writing to get paid as it gets. The problem was, The job was due on Thursday, and I only had Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday to do it. Any other day this would’ve been fine, but I had just got my job. So I had to work from 7-4p.m. get home at 5p.m. then work for about 4 hours on my translating job.

I ended sleeping at 12 a.m. and getting up at 6a.m. to get ready for the bank again. This was really affecting my health. Lack of sleep, headaches, the turnaround was a little too brisk for me. I went from not working for months to working nonstop for days… No good. AND on top of that I got a cold on Tuesday morning. I felt like lightheaded, cold, with a runny nose which wouldn’t stop running. And I still had to get home and work, there was no break. During this time many things happened, ideas for stories came, from real life too. Things like a drunk man on drugs yelling outside in the neighborhood at 12.a.m. saying how he was going to kill himself and reciting the Declaration of independence word for word. The cold also gave me awesome new ideas for my Zombie story, which I’m editing, which is a mess at the moment but I’ll get around to it. I also got to hear how surgeons talk, what a hospital cafeteria is like, I imagined the hospital empty and I sitting by myself and I got another idea…

Oh another reason why I haven’t been writing much on here is that I have a little project going on writing the quest line for a videogame someone is in the process of making, however since it’s top secret I can’t let loose of them on public, not like many would read it anyway. But it’s cool, I like that part, I want to write this text and look back someday at this game, if it ever makes it on the market, and say: “Hey, I wrote the quest line for that game” That would be awesome.

However back to the freelancing job. Thursday morning came, when my client sent their review and loved my job and I got my $80.00, oh man did that feel good. I felt like doing it all over again. I guess the lesson is after trying hard enough things will come to you. And sometimes they will come out altogether at you, and this tests you if you can take the pressure or if you’re going to break out and fail. But you don’t want to fail, you want to succeed and you do everything in your hands, give away your sanity, your sleep, your time in order to do so… Sometimes it’s the only way.

Anyways I wrote this because I feel to let out of somethings, to let my writing flow because I need my practice back, to be able to move on with my stories and quests and jobs. I shall get back to this blog good this weekend, of course unless I get another job, which I hope I will, because I’m really into the whole freelancing too. So many things it’s very exciting, the only thing that’s not so much is this cold, I can’t wait for that one to go away.

– Zogyark

January 21, 2012 – Mr. Dr. Professor Landon

Posted in Journals with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 21, 2012 by Kinetic Orochi

When I turned in one of my first papers in my English Class. Mr. Landon looked at it, then made into a little paper ball and threw it in the trash basket. Then he said “Write it again, this time go straight to the point.” so I did, and the story suddenly was more readable after skipping boring introductions and pointless descriptions. “See how better that looks?” he said.

I guess this is my theme when I write nowadays. In whatever I write, I try to go straight to the point, avoiding details and descriptions of the characters. It’s not just about going to the point, but if you can describe and give details as the story moves along it kind of flows more nicely. I hate when I’m reading a book and in the beginning I’m being thrown different, irrelevant things such as the shape of some building, the color skin of some people, the background or fictional background of someone much irrelevant to the plot. It seems that many writers do this to fill up space and add words to their count. I remember I won a book in an English Contest for top 3 writings of the college. The book choice was minimal, about five books, with authors I didn’t know. I don’t blame them though I know few authors, I’m more of a writer than a reader.

It’s hard to draw some people in the story, specially if you’re not very popular like Stephen King or James Patterson. I read the book, I tried my best, but after the 30th page I thought. I think I’m done with this story, whatever it is about. I closed the book and never read it again. It’s still gathering dust in one of my shelves, it had a nice cover that’s how I picked it. Make sure your book has an interesting cover and people might pick it.

Jeff Landon was my English II teacher, and he was good at what he did, and probably still does. The man would give you English puzzles, writing scenarios to work with, random stuff. He threw three words at you and said “Write me a story about these three things.” Some stories came around good, some not, others were funny, I liked the funny ones. But to me funny stories are just two or three pages long. The man had a good sense of humor, he was funny and could come up with some funny stuff, something I’m not so great at.

Landon published a few stories and poems. He wasn’t no one, he had some skill, he was good. There was this guy in this class, funny dude. He would always call him “Mr. Dr. Professor Landon” Sort of as to make him seem like some godly teacher. He asked Landon if he ever wrote a novel. Landon said he had tried, many times, but at could not get past a point. I remember this well and hope that this curse doesn’t stay with me, since after some point I want to move on.

I got three stories I’m working on now, and I think that should be plenty to keep the creativeness going. Now I just need to fill in the gaps and whichever I’m in the mood in I could work on. I like variety because when I stick to continuing only one, i sometimes get bored and can’t come up with anything goo.

I haven’t seen Landon in years, but let’s hope that this post helps me get in contact with him again, he’s a good teacher to have.

Pizza and Movie time for now, a break is sometimes necessary.

– Zogyark