A story by Allen Wolfie Simpson
The sun was slowly turning in for the night. The western blue sky was replaced by an art piece in shades of red with a few hints of yellow and purple. The sun was a sad orange and looked as miserable as the world was feeling that day. Ben and I just sat there on the roof of my mother’s house…
“Hey Mia?” he said softly.
“Yes?” I asked
“Do you think things will ever get better? I mean, the world has gone to sh… to the gutters” his voice had a slight bitterness to it.
I sighed and looked at my dirty clothes as if trying to find the answer there. “I don’t know, Ben. The world changed so quickly. It has become something that is so unreal. If this is the reality, then surely things can get better…”
A drop of sweat flowed from his temple and fell on his pale neck. He scratched his leg almost absentmindedly. There where his wound was… The wound that I tried my best to nurse, not that a female mechanic (yes, I was a female mechanic, don’t judge) knew anything about fixing the human body.
“Maybe not for me…” he said sadly.
I started to speak up to console him. “Maybe we…”
Ben glared at me. “No Mia, there is no hope for me.” He swallowed. He grabbed the axe beside him, held it out to me, handle first. “You know what to do!”
I stood up. For a moment I look at the street. There was a man in a suit. His face was half-bitten off. One of the undead.
“Who says you will become an undead monster. The woman that bit you looked alive!” I pushed the axe back towards him gently.
“Mia, she had a small hole above her heart. She was moaning. She was dead. I think she shot herself when the world realized the dead are coming alive again. She was one of those that gave up. You just did not see the bullet hole because she wore a black blouse.” He stammered, his eyes started to brim with tears. “I am fucked.”
“I cannot kill you Ben, even after you die, I cannot hack off your head with an axe. I’d rather jump off this roof.” I said, my voice tearing up.
Ben sat the axe down. Walked over to me and gently took my shoulders in his hands. “Mia, listen to me. You are the strongest person I know. You spannered that woman that bit me in the head. You grabbed my hand and led me out of that undead-infested shop. And remember when we were small and other boys teased me because I did not want to play soccer, you defended me, defended me from the bullies. When your dad died, you looked after your mom.” He sighed. “When I die, you can hack off my head.”
I felt resigned. “Ben”, I said angrily
“Screw you…” I hugged him.
We stood there arm in arm for a while…
Two nights later he turned. Somehow I gave him his wish.
The world has gone sour. The dead now rule the streets. But for Ben I will try to live. Maybe I am strong…
© 2018 Allen Wolfie Simpson
Yes, this is the whole story. It was inspired not by TV Series likeThe Walking Dead or Z Nation, but by a recurring dream I had in the early 2000s. This story is not about the undead. It is about choices, it is about inner strength, and it is about a little hope that we can survive anything if we find the strength. I did not want to have blood and gore in this story, yes, my story has a horror element, but it is not a horror story. It is something else… A post-apocalyptic life story. I hope you will get the message I have crafted in my story. I hope you; my dear reader will learn something light in this darkness because as in some of my poems, the dark clouds have silver linings…
I did the cover art myself off a photo I took of an abandoned house in Swartruggens