luni, 20 iunie 2011

Zombie dream


I am at home, watching the street from the window. They are there, in front of the house. Lurking under my bedroom window, looking quite dreadful. And I'm thinking: 'God, thank you for giving me an apartment on the second floor. What ugly faces, Dear Lord!' I am a fat believer in my dream.
Suddenly I remember something and yell at my tomcat boyfriend: 'Oh, the door! We forgot about the door!'

Why do we have such a thin door? If we ever escape from this I promise I will invest in a proper door made of iron. Or better yet, I will seal the door and learn to fly over the window. I could do that.
Then we are suddenly in a small car, a fucking Mini, as if this is what you want when you are chased by dead freaks! And again I promise myself that I will get a proper SUV with a shotgun for each passenger sit. The American style is resilience oriented.

The idea is to get to the country and we have big hopes. Flemish villages! Who the fuck lives there beside the Flemish? And they are the most decent of people, they would never unexpectedly turn into monsters. They would at least let you know about it in advance. They would actually say: Go now, save yourselves dear boys, we are doomed but there is still hope for you! Then they would through some cans with meat and with beens at us and we'd pick them in a hurry and we'd get in the car and decide to go to the lands of the ultimate escape: The Netherlands. Think about how it sounds, there must be a prophecy in this name. We enter The Netherlands, the last ground of human kind, the citadel that will never fall. Here are green fields and quick rivers and you can still hear people laughing. They are tripping and they're looking at us kind of amazed while we tell them about the zombies. They're saying: You smoke good stuff, man!

But we are all agitated and that makes them think it must be something different we're on, definitely not weed. They start complaining we're spoiling the good vibes. We just have to let them be for the moment and we hurry into a hotel, we ask at the reception for a room on the top floor. We get into the room and we move the furniture in front of the door.

We stay in the middle of the room and I go to the window to have a look outside. And guess what, I am again at home. And the monsters are lurking under my bedroom window, looking quite dreadful. We never made it to Nederland. There are terrible noises coming through from the hallway so we decide there is nothing to do but to hide in the kitchen. We get there with all the cans with meat and beans from the Flemish people. Apparently we still have those, even though it seems we never managed to run away to the country.

We stay in the kitchen for days. We listen to every sound and we have huge fearful eyes and we cry and we eat our beans. But then, some three weeks later, I decide I cannot take this anymore, I have to go to the toilet. I manage to get there and happily start peeing and exactly when I feel the peek of the relief a zombie grabs me from behind.
I am now a zombie. I lurk in front of my lover's kitchen door, looking quite dreadful. And it's a matter of time. Time I have. I will get him.
 

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