tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21484778057906634862024-02-02T11:14:50.884-06:00Zombie FrenzyOne writer's attempt to warn you of the zombie plague spreading in April.Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-80424153083325787242009-07-28T08:40:00.000-05:002009-07-28T08:40:40.230-05:00Zombie HaikuBelow you will find a collection of the zombie-themed haiku (zomku) tweeted by <a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a> on Twitter. This post will be updated as more haiku come about.<br /><br />16.3.09<br /><br />alone, still, quiet<br />sharpened axe gripped in my hand<br />fifteen days remain<br /><br />17.3.09<br /><br />tattered note hangs, says<br />where were you when the world changed?<br />they come in two weeks<br /><br />19.3.09<br /><br />kids roam in darkness<br />chase fireflies in graveyard<br />below, the dead sleep<br /><br />clouds drift past full moon<br />breath of wind rattles tree limbs<br />figure stalks by, groans<br /><br />20.3.09<br /><br />inside the dark shed<br />a girl cried, a man held her<br />outside, they closed in<br /><br />21.3.09<br /><br />pen moves on paper<br />scratches out fond memories<br />no one's left to read<br /><br />23.3.09<br /><br />do the walking dead<br />deserve to be feared more than<br />our own lethargy?<br /><br />25.3.09<br /><br />simple man watches<br />eyes on the town, overrun<br />hero, he'll become<br /><br />26.3.09<br /><br />feet shuffle, they groan<br />move en masse, through the motions<br />corporate zombies<br /><br />boarded windows, doors<br />keeping out a world gone mad<br />temporarily<br /><br />27.3.09<br /><br />man cries, gun in hand<br />tears on metal, he resists<br />bullets for april<br /><br />a slippery floor<br />bloody traces of undeath<br />gun cocked, he moves on<br /><br />in fear, we forget<br />inside all of us, there's hope<br />a light through dark days<br /><br />28.3.09<br /><br />poor zachariah<br />his warnings called dementia<br />they should have listened<br /><br />smiling crescent moon<br />weak light drips, creates shadows<br />for the sad to hide<br /><br />31.3.09<br /><br />breaking through the walls<br />boredom, procrastination<br />or just a zombie<br /><br />the nightmares rouse him<br />rattled, he pours coffee, waits<br />the undead sunrise<br /><br />1.4.09<br /><br />teeth sink into flesh<br />infection reigns, heartbeat fades<br />zombie creation<br /><br />2.4.09<br /><br />cursor blinks, taunts him<br />unused keys rise and shamble<br />writer's block zombies<br /><br />4.4.09<br /><br />Rain runs off the roof<br />collects in puddles below<br />mixing with the blood<br /><br />8.4.09<br /><br />pulled by undead strings<br />the still wake, rise, walk again<br />reanimation<br /><br />10.4.09<br /><br />a bloodthirsty horde<br />relentless in its pursuit<br />friday followers<br /><br />t-shirt said: jesus<br />the original zombie<br />but he didn't bite<br /><br />12.4.09<br /><br />procrastinators<br />stalked by lazy zombie horde<br />better get moving<br /><br />15.4.09<br /><br />flashlight beam searches<br />unnatural sounds close in<br />dead in the darkness<br /><br />16.4.09<br /><br />digital traces<br />scattered throughout cyberspace<br />stalked by net zombies<br /><br />17.4.09<br /><br />tv station warns<br />not safe outside, stay indoors<br />the curious die<br /><br />21.4.09<br /><br />cleaning up the streets<br />one zombie at a time, but<br />don't believe the lies<br /><br />22.4.09<br /><br />stayed up late writing<br />thoughts leaking, zombies waiting<br />where my brain puddles<br /><br />23.4.09<br /><br />i shamble, he runs<br />enters a bread factory<br />yum, brain sandwich time<br /><br />24.4.09<br /><br />the ones waving hands<br />saying me, me, look at me<br />first zombie targets<br /><br />27.4.09<br /><br />walked out to escape<br />but even the spring stalks me<br />above, zombie cloud<br /><br />28.4.09<br /><br />bite the undead back<br />eat your zombie-o's today<br />nutritious breakfast<br /><br />30.4.09<br /><br />for twenty-nine days<br />he stalked the long, winding road<br />and finally, brains<br /><br />thirty days running<br />words spilled out like intestines<br />sleep until I rise<br /><br />4.5.09<br /><br />rise, said the rooster<br />the zombie and sun obeyed<br />brains over easy<br /><br />5.5.09<br /><br />gray fingers claw dirt<br />water pools in parted earth<br />clouds swallow the dead<br /><br />blanket of undead<br />parachutes, falls, covers, spreads<br />no warmth in its threads<br /><br />7.5.09<br /><br />post lunar landing<br />astronaut sees a strange sign<br />undead pigs in space<br /><br />10.5.09<br /><br />bodies puzzle him<br />checkered light streams through the blinds<br />then one stirs, rises<br /><br />19.5.09<br /><br />they attack, she screams<br />watches through parted fingers<br />flinches, spills popcorn<br /><br />25.5.09<br /><br />between the pillars<br />a man cried out, stumbled, spilled<br />teeth marks on his flesh<br /><br />28.5.09<br /><br />limbs sway overhead<br />shadows play tricks on gravestones<br />wind like undead breath<br /><br />3.6.09<br /><br />cheap, store-bought makeup<br />tattered clothes, unused latex<br />undead halloween<br /><br />8.6.09<br /><br />her terror, her screams<br />break the silence of snowfall<br />red melts away white<br /><br />17.6.09<br /><br />he's surrounded, trapped<br />just one left in the chamber<br />he prays, cries, fires, slumps<br /><br />25.6.09<br /><br />the chopper blade whirred<br />below, mobs of undead stirred<br />low fuel alert heard<br /><br />6.7.09<br /><br />she tires in her flight<br />dead fingers reach, shadows stretch<br />away from dawn light<br /><br />21.7.09<br /><br />self-propelled mower<br />moves on without its owner<br />blood on fresh cut grassBretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-16006642544050884012009-05-21T14:19:00.000-05:002009-05-21T14:19:47.252-05:00Very Short StoriesBelow are the one-tweet stories that have been posted on twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/zombie_frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /><br />©2009 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a></span></span><br /><br />* * *<br /><br />She watched the girl paint her face in the mirror. A poof of white powder, the beginnings of an undead mask. She loved costume parties.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />She tore her ex's picture into pieces and tossed them in the fire. A muffled cry came from where he lay, bound and gagged. "You burn next."Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-12058770870210916022009-05-08T21:02:00.002-05:002009-05-08T21:06:20.453-05:00Shadow<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">This was originally published 8.5.2009 as another piece of "Fiction in 10 Tweets" on Twitter. This one contains a zombie, but it's not in the same tradition of some of the earlier stories.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Shadow</span> - ©2009 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a></span></span><br /><br />The sympathetic crowd was gone, and she was alone. Joanna stood in the living room for a long while, her hip resting against the sofa.<br /><br />For a moment she was a mannequin, unmoving, her broken heart vanished, the pain gone. Then reality drifted back. Her husband was dead.<br /><br />Where was her son? She ducked out from under death's shadow and searched. Not in the kitchen. The game room was dark. She headed upstairs.<br /><br />She found him laying on the floor of his room, still dressed in his suit. Crayons moved furiously over a piece of white paper.<br /><br />Joanna walked to her son and kneeled beside him. She ignored the drawing and tousled his blond hair; it was the same color Tom's had been.<br /><br />The boy colored a few moments more, then raised the paper. On it was a crudely drawn figure of a man. There were X's in place of his eyes.<br /><br />"Look, Daddy's a zombie!" he said. Joanna gasped. Her hand moved to her mouth. Tears streamed out of her swollen eyes and down her cheeks.<br /><br />The boy frowned. "What's wrong, mommy? Don't you like it?" She choked back the tears. She had to.<br /><br />"Honey, I love it," she said, wiping her face. "You're a wonderful artist." She stroked his hair once more before walking to the door.<br /><br />She spun in the doorway and looked back at her son- all that remained of Tom outside of memories. "Thomas, I know your dad would be proud."Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-18291652613287219402009-04-27T23:33:00.003-05:002009-04-27T23:55:12.911-05:00Don't Make Her Angry<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">This scene comes just after the three members of the ZCA find themselves in the middle of a dangerous and uncomfortable situation with equipment that doesn't work. And since Alexis is involved in romantic-esque relationship with the boss who bought their company out, well, she's nonplussed. Rated mature for a naughty word or two and sexual inferences.</span></div><div><br /></div>INT. CORPSE HEADQUARTERS - MORNING <br /> <br /> There is BANGING on the front door. Yates comes from the <br /> hall into the foyer and opens it. Alexis bursts in, her <br /> glasses on top of her head, her eyes on fire. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">YATES<br />Madame, you can’t go in- </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Save it, Yams. Where is he? </div> <br /> She stomps off down the hall. <br /> <br /> Farther down, Epstein emerges from his office and sees <br /> Alexis. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Alex, I knew you’d come. </div> <br /> He takes a few steps but notices the determination in <br /> Alexis’s walk and freezes. <br /> <br /> Then she pulls out her pistol. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Know what this does, Mr. Hero? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />I- </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Nothing. It does nothing! </div> <br /> She fires a dart into a "Pride and Prejudice" looking <br /> painting on the wall. It sticks in the forehead of one of <br /> the men. <br /> <br /> She swings the gun around and points it at Epstein. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />Maybe you don’t believe me. </div> <br /> Alexis is breathing heavy. Her shoulders rise and fall. Her <br /> nostrils flare. She doesn’t see Yates approaching from <br /> behind her. Epstein nods. Yates raises a hand and chops <br /> Alexis on the back of the neck. Her eyes roll back and she <br /> collapses. Epstein catches her before she hits the floor. He <br /> looks up to Yates, who is smiling proudly. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Let’s get her in my office. </div> <br /> <br /> INT. EPSTEIN’S OFFICE - LATER <br /> <br /> Alexis rouses and her vision is fuzzy. She can’t make out <br /> where she is. She blinks once, twice. She pushes herself up <br /> off the couch she’s laying on and the pain hits her. She <br /> touches the back of her neck with a hand and tries to <br /> remember. <br /> <br /> The haze clears, and she sees Epstein sitting behind his <br /> desk, flipping through a stack of papers. <br /> <br /> She starts to remember. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />You... </div> <br /> Epstein looks up, sees her and gives a weak smile. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Alex, you’re awake. </div> <br /> Alexis sits up and holds the back of her neck. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />You knocked me out. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Yates took care of that. I wish he<br />hadn’t, but... you were pretty<br />upset. You were going to shoot me. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />I was upset. Am upset.<br />(standing up)<br />How could you send us out there<br />like that? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Why don’t you sit down. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />I’ll make my own decisions. You buy<br />us out. Fine. New office is<br />wonderful, but outside the Safe<br />Zone? Fine. I freaking SLEEP with<br />you and right now, that seems less<br />than fine. You took our patents,<br />Epstein Clooney, and that was fine<br />until you decided to coop us up for<br />days without letting us do what it<br />is we do- save people- while your<br />crack crew of scientists fucks up<br />every formula Abe ever came up<br />with. And then you send us out with<br />faulty equipment into the middle of<br />the damned horde. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />I’m not sure what... </div> <br /> Alexis stomps on the floor, stopping his words. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />I’m not finished. </div> <br /> She closes her eyes for a second to fight off the dizziness. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />Abe tested the tranq darts when we<br />got back, after we almost had our<br />heads chewed off. And one of your<br />vans is in need of major repairs, by<br />the way. Blood, guts, bullet holes. </div> <br /> Epstein raises his eyebrows. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />Yeah. But the tranq darts. Sugar<br />water. They were filled with sugar<br />water. Effective on the zombies<br />with a sweet tooth, which includes,<br />oh, none of them! </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />I don’t know what to say. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />HERE’S what you say. You say, I’m<br />sorry, Alex. I’m sorry you and your<br />partners, your FRIENDS, almost died<br />Alex. To make it up to you, Alex,<br />as soon as you leave here I’ll get<br />the supplies back to Abe so you can<br />make your own tranqs and dotes and<br />you can go back to doing what it is<br />you do. And I understand, oh Alex,<br />that I will do every God damned one<br />of these things exactly as I<br />said if I ever hope to even<br />approach the minuscule possibility<br />of sleeping with you again. </div> <br /> Alexis turns away and storms toward the office door. She <br /> stops and turns. She sees her guns laying on the front of <br /> Epstein’s desk and charges back. She picks them up and leans <br /> in real close to Epstein, so they are face-to-face. His eyes <br /> are wide. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />And if William Butler Yeats ever<br />gets within ten feet of me again, I<br />will rearrange his face. And shoot<br />you. </div> <br /> Alexis storms out. Epstein watches her leave and once she’s <br /> gone he exhales. He walks around behind his desk and picks <br /> up a walkie talkie. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">EPSTEIN<br />Yates. She’s coming out.<br />(beat)<br />I wouldn’t let her see you.</div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-54840521444461735162009-04-22T01:08:00.001-05:002009-04-23T11:56:43.237-05:00It's A LivingFADE IN: <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. DARK STREET - NIGHT <br /> <br /> The street appears empty and damp. Hardly any of the lights <br /> on the street lamps are working, and the one that is <br /> flickers. We hear footsteps, distant at first, but they get <br /> louder. <br /> <br /> And then we’re running, trailing the black bootstrapped feet <br /> of some unseen person. We pan up, seeing a flowing red <br /> shiny cloak and curly blond hair, all wrapped around the <br /> stunning figure of ALEXIS SMART. Pistols swing with her arms <br /> as they pump through the air. We hear her breathing hard. <br /> <br /> She approaches the end of what looks like an alley. Then we <br /> hear other FOOTSTEPS, heavier ones. And along with it, a <br /> JINGLE JINGLE. Alexis’s eyes go wide with realization just <br /> as she turns the corner... <br /> <br /> WHAM!! She collides with someone. Bodies fly, roll and <br /> sprawl onto the ground. Alexis whirls and instinctively <br /> points her guns at the other figure rolling around <br /> painfully on the ground. Whoever it is is wearing cowboy <br /> boots with spurs. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />God Dammit, Chuck! </div> <br /> The other collider is CHARLES MCKENZIE, a mid-30s guy who’s <br /> trying his hardest to play the part of a cowboy from the Old <br /> West. <br /> <br /> But this isn’t the Old West, this is... <br /> <br /> NYC A.D. 2067 <br /> <br /> The date and setting appear on the screen as a ten-gallon <br /> hat tumbles through the street. <br /> <br /> Charles- a.k.a Chuck, Chucky, Chuckster, Mac, or whatever <br /> Alexis feels like calling him at any given time- coughs and stands up with <br /> plenty of MPHHS and AHHHS. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />The hell you think you doing<br />tearing through here like that? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />(getting to her feet)<br />Me? Me?! You’re supposed to be over<br />on 56th bagging Old Man Buzzard or<br />whatever the freak his name is! </div> <br /> Charles walks over and picks up his hat. He dusts it off and <br /> slaps it on his head, crooked like. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />Listen, Missy... Don’t you...<br />(beat)<br />Wait... why were you running? </div> <br /> Alexis stands and attempts to catch her breath. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />(walking toward Charles,<br />counting on her fingers)<br />There are only two reasons a girl<br />runs. One, bad date. Two, because<br />something is chasing her. </div> <br /> Alexis whirls and faces back down the alley. It’s dark so <br /> that you can hardly make anything out. <br /> <br /> Then some four-legged creature gallops out of the darkness <br /> and leaps into the air. Alexis drops and rolls, and takes <br /> one shot. PFFFT! It’s not a bullet, but a dart. It sticks in <br /> the chest of the beast, which YELPS and spills onto the <br /> pavement. <br /> <br /> Charles is there in seconds, pulling a bit of rope from his <br /> belt and hog-tying the animal. We see now it’s a large black <br /> dog. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />That the dote or a tranq? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Tranq. Had one in each gun. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />Good. We’ll get this furry fella to the doc.<br />He’s getting closer. </div> <br /> Charles finishes tying the animal up and rests his hands on <br /> his knees. He pulls a flask from his boot and drinks. He <br /> offers it to Alexis, who has gotten up and wandered over. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />No thanks.<br />(beat)<br />So about my job. Didn’t get it<br />done. Cujo here got in the way. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />Zombie pets. Makes for an<br />interesting evening. Thought you<br />said we’d be done by two? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Shut up, Chuck. </div> <br /> There’s a distant sound, a MOAN, and both Alexis and Charles <br /> straighten a bit. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />Where’s the cart? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />(thumbs over shoulder)<br />Around the block. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Get it. It’s dinner time, and we’ve<br />got company. </div> <br /> Charles gets up and jangles off in the direction he pointed. <br /> But Alexis isn’t looking after him. Her eyes are looking in <br /> the opposite direction, where the street is slowly filling <br /> with shambling figures. Zombies. <br /> <br /> We hear a sound like a blender. Alexis turns and Charles <br /> rolls up in a slightly modified golf cart. He hops out while <br /> it’s still rolling and lifts the sleeping dog to put it in a <br /> large basket mounted on the back. Alexis, her eyes still on<br /> the advancing mob, jumps behind the wheel and punches the gas <br /> just as Charles gets back in. They zoom off away from the <br /> zombie horde. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. GOLF CART - NIGHT <br /> <br /> Charles opens a compartment in front of him and pulls out a <br /> sawed off shotgun. There’s a sticker on it that says ZOMBIE <br /> COLLECTION AGENCY. And below it, a hokey slogan, which he<br /> reads... <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />It’s a living. </div> <br /> Alexis rolls her eyes. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. DARK STREET - NIGHT <br /> <br /> The cart drives off into the distance. <br /> <br /> MAIN TITLES BEGIN <br /> <br /> Throughout the titles, we see an animated montage of the <br /> world descending into the madness that is a zombie <br /> apocalypse. "Mad World" by Tears for Fears sets the tone. <br /> <br /> As the images come to an end, the music fades out and we’re <br /> back to the cart. It takes a hard left turn and accelerates. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. GOLF CART - NIGHT <br /> <br /> We are looking at Alexis’s eyes in the cart’s rearview <br /> mirror. They are focused on the road, but then look up to <br /> check the mirror. She squints, and then her eyes pop wide <br /> open. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. DARK STREET - NIGHT <br /> <br /> Alexis slams on the brakes and the cart comes to a halt. <br /> Charles gets the worst of it, as he's not wearing a seat <br /> belt and is completely unprepared. He smashes into the <br /> plexiglass windshield and then rocks back onto the seat, his <br /> hat covering his face. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />(muffled)<br />The God damn hell you doing? </div> <br /> Alexis doesn’t answer. She’s out of the cart, staring back <br /> behind them down the wide street. A few blocks down there <br /> are five or six zombies covered in a net. Next to them is a <br /> big UPS truck that has been repainted. The logo on the side <br /> is unreadable from this distance. <br /> <br /> On the other side of the cart, Charles gets out. His hat is <br /> in one hand and he’s holding his other hand over his eye. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Any ideas what that is? </div> <br /> Down the street the net tightens over the zombies and lifts <br /> them off the ground via a mini-crane mounted on top the van. <br /> The zombies swing back and forth. Their GROANS carry to our <br /> heroes' ears on a light breeze. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />A bored dog catcher? </div> <br /> Alexis walks to the corner of the street, trying to get a <br /> better look. She turns back to Charles. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Let’s go find out. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />We should really get the Hound of<br />the Baskervilles back to the<br />office. </div> <br /> A louder GROAN is heard, and Alexis turns back around to <br /> look down the street to her right. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />Horde alert. </div> <br /> A few zombies are shambling toward her. She throws up her <br /> hands. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />Just when it was getting fun. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">CHARLES<br />Get over here. We can play<br />detective later. We’ve got two more<br />to breathe life into before sunup. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS<br />(salutes)<br />Yes sir! </div> <br /> Behind her, the van with the netted zombies squeals its <br /> tires and speeds off. She raises her sunglasses and squints. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ALEXIS (CONT’D)<br />I don’t like this, Chucky. Not one<br />bit. </div> <br /> Charles and Alexis get back into the cart and drive off.Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-17991151641545169472009-04-19T22:07:00.000-05:002009-04-19T22:18:01.448-05:00Open for Business<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">This was originally published 19.4.2009 as another piece of "Fiction in 10 Tweets" on Twitter. A little more light-hearted and fun than my first three efforts.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Open for Business</span> - ©2009 <a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a><br /><br />2067 A.D. - Ten years have passed since the Frenzy virus spread rapidly across the globe, turning most humans into cannibalistic carriers.<br /><br />That's where we find Alexis and Charles, two 20-somethings who spend their nights hunting the undead. Not to eliminate, but to revive.<br /><br />You see, our heroes have gone private, forming a meaningful company serving a worthy cause. Alex and Chuck: the Zombie Collection Agency.<br /><br />It's a Living- the hokey catchphrase is plastered all over the walls of their office. On this night, Charles raps on Alexis's door.<br /><br />"You about ready?" He checks his watch- yes, time is still relevant post apocalypse- and waits. Then the door swings wide, and there she is.<br /><br />Alexis, a pretty blond, struts out looking fabulous. She wears a shiny red cloak, tight pleather pants and sunglasses. "Let's do this."<br /><br />She saunters off past her partner and heads out the door. Charles doffs his ten-gallon hat and follows. The spurs on his boots jingle.<br /><br />"What's on the menu, Chuckster?" Alexis pulls dual pistols from under her cloak, each loaded with darts containing the antidote to undeath.<br /><br />"Wife wants her husband back," he says, pausing to spit tobacco. "Says she saw him wandering on 33rd. Quick and easy, home by midnight."<br /><br />Alexis smirks. "Bet you a round we're done by ten." She taps the barrels of her pistols together and spins. "Catch 'em before they rot."Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-86786461982333504562009-04-15T17:08:00.001-05:002009-04-16T11:55:13.644-05:00Service with a SmileEXT. GAS STATION - MORNING. <br /> <br /> The red pickup truck pulls into the gas station. It stops at <br /> the pump farthest from the convenience store, underneath the <br /> overhang. Jack steps out of his door, looking around <br /> cautiously. All around the station the rain is coming down <br /> in torrents. <br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div> <br /> INT. PICKUP TRUCK - MORNING <br /> <br /> Zoe is still in the truck. She watches Jack as he gets out. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE <br /> What are we going to do? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> See if these pumps work. If they <br /> do, we fill up, and then we get <br /> out. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> And go where? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Away. <br /></div> <br /> Zoe frowns, and looks down at her lap. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK (CONT’D) <br /> You have anything to stay for? <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> (whispers) <br /> No. <br /></div> <br /> <br /> EXT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> Jack walks back to the back of the truck and grabs a gas <br /> nozzle. He opens the way to the tank and starts to fill up. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Works. <br /></div> <br /> Zoe gets out of the truck and shuts the door. She’s carrying <br /> the pistol. She walks toward the gas station. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Hey, where you going? <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> (not looking back) <br /> To pay. <br /></div> <br /> She sprints off toward the convenience store, her feet <br /> splashing the puddles and the rain soaking her almost <br /> instantly. <br /> <br /> Jack mutters in frustration and looks to the turning numbers <br /> on the gas pump.. <br /> <br /> <br /> INT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> The door swings open and we hear a CHIME. Zoe enters. The <br /> lights are on inside and it’s deadly still. There’s some <br /> dust in the air. Music is playing through unseen speakers, <br /> and it’s a little louder than you would expect. <br /> <br /> Zoe holds the pistol out in front of her in the fashion <br /> you’d see someone do on a TV show- accurately but not quite <br /> convincing. <br /> <br /> She paces through the store, checking row by row. When she <br /> reaches the last row, and finds nothing, she relaxes. She <br /> stuffs the pistol into the back of her jeans and starts to <br /> pick up some things to eat off the shelves- powered donuts, <br /> oatmeal pies, some canned goods. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> Outside Jack is finishing up pumping the gas. He looks <br /> toward the food mart but the rain makes it impossible to see <br /> inside. <br /> <br /> Something in his periphery catches his eye, and he see a <br /> zombie child, a doll still clutched in its hand, shambling <br /> toward the back of the store through the downpour. It <br /> disappears from view. <br /> <br /> Jack begins to panic. He pulls the nozzle out of the tank <br /> with the gas still running. It spills onto the cement and <br /> soaks his shoes. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Hey! HEY! Zoe! Watch the back door! <br /> The back door! <br /></div> <br /> <br /> INT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> Zoe continues to shop. She is facing Jack but doesn’t see <br /> him waving his arms. His cries are barely audible over the <br /> loud song. She picks up a loaf of bread and turns around. <br /> <br /> <br /> EXT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> Jack scrambles to get the nozzle back on the pump. He grabs <br /> the rifle out of the cab of the truck and starts running <br /> toward the station. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Zoe! Zoe! <br /></div> <br /> <br /> INT. GAS STATION - MORNING <br /> <br /> Zoe’s hands are full but she’s still fingering the pistol. <br /> She takes her things and walks up to the register and lays <br /> everything on the counter. She walks around to the back of <br /> the counter and pulls a couple plastic bags from a <br /> dispenser. <br /> <br /> Then her eyes fall on a body behind the counter. The <br /> convenience store clerk lays still, bite marks all over his <br /> arms and chest. Zoe holds her hand- and gun- to her face and <br /> backs up against the wall. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK (O.S.) <br /> Zoe! Look out! <br /></div> <br /> Zoe looks up to see Jack running to the front of the store <br /> in hysterics. He swings the door open and wildly and <br /> immediately brings the rifle up in a shooting position. The <br /> rainwater is rolling off him. He’s aiming to Zoe’s right. <br /> <br /> Zoe turns to look where he’s aiming and sees the zombie <br /> child just a few feet from her, dragging one leg as it <br /> walks. <br /> <br /> Zoe is frozen. The zombie child reaches out and lays a cold <br /> hand on her leg. It lets out a horrifying, childlike moan. <br /> <br /> BLAM! Jack fires the rifle and lays down the zombie child. <br /> The doll in its hand falls to the dirty store floor. It <br /> lands awkwardly, just like the zombie. There are X's on its <br /> eyes. <br /> <br /> Jack moves to Zoe. Her eyes have glazed over. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Are you OK? <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> I was just trying to help. Get some <br /> food. <br /></div> <br /> Jack puts his arm around her. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Let’s just get to the truck and get <br /> out of here. <br /></div> <br /> The two exit the convenience store, leaving the groceries <br /> behind on the counter.Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-70148022199519191742009-04-12T18:20:00.005-05:002009-04-12T18:30:16.951-05:00Coroner... it's a LivingINT. CORONER’S HOME - NIGHT <br /> <br /> A young woman is laying on the couch with her feet kicked up<br /> on the arm. There are headphones in her ears, and her feet <br /> bounce to the tingy sounding music we can barely hear. This <br /> is ZOE BELLE, late teens, beautiful, with black hair and <br /> sporting some pajama pants and a tank top. <br /> <br /> Somewhere in the house a phone rings. Zoe doesn’t hear it <br /> and continues to fiddle with the cell phone/mp3 player in <br /> her hand. Zoe’s mother yells from off screen. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ZOE’S MOTHER<br />Somebody get that! </div> <br /> The phone continues to ring. A man, 50s, slightly overweight<br /> and angry looking, walks into the living room. This is the <br /> town coroner, ED BELLE. He grumbles something and picks up a<br /> cordless phone, but not before the answering machine does <br /> its job. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />Y’ello? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE (ANSWERING MACHINE)<br />You’ve reached the Belle residence.<br />We can’t take your call right<br />now... </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />Damn machine. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE (ANSWERING MACHINE)<br />... but please let us know who’s<br />calling and we’ll ring you back- </div> <br /> He bangs on the machine and it stops. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />Yeah, this is Ed. </div> <br /> He pauses as he listens to the voice on the other line. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE (CONT’D)<br />Is that right? Well, give me a few<br />minutes to get dressed and I’ll<br />head out there. And make sure they<br />cover it up. </div> <br /> He hangs up the phone. Zoe watches her father stand by the <br /> end table a moment, then pulls one of the headphones out of <br /> an ear. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ZOE<br />Somebody die? </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />(beat)<br />Yeah, darling. Afraid so. </div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ZOE<br />Town coroner... it’s a living. </div> <br /> Ed laughs and charges toward her. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />Someone thinks she’s a comedian. </div> <br /> He tickles her and she kicks her feet. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ZOE<br />No, daddy, no! </div> <br /> They share a laugh and he sits down by her as they catch <br /> their breath. He runs a hand through her hair. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ED BELLE<br />Let me know when those jokes start<br />earning us some money. Then I can<br />quit and you can pay the mortgage<br />before people stop dying and I’m<br />out of a job.<br />(kisses her on the head and<br />stand up)<br />I need to get into town. Don’t stay</div><div style="text-align: center;">up too late. </div> <br /> Zoe puts the headphone back in her ear and smiles at her <br /> dad. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;">ZOE<br />Love you, daddy.</div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-2249289408765241902009-04-08T16:50:00.005-05:002009-04-12T18:31:05.101-05:00A Ticket and a Tummy Ache<span style="font-style: italic;">Here's another excerpt from the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://scriptfrenzy.org/">Script Frenzy</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> screenplay I'm working on. Got up to twenty-one pages today after falling behind. Hope to get a few more down before the witching hour. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is an excerpt that is actually from something I wrote a few days ago. It kind of stumped me for a while after writing it, because it was forcing me to work out the timing of the outbreak with the appearance of my heroes/main characters. And yes, "Hero" is just a placeholder last name. Pardon our progress!</span><br /><br /> INT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT <br /> <p class="action">JACK HERO enters the police station. He's 33, short-cropped brown hair, fit, and wearing a couple days worth of stubble. He's sweating a little bit. He's holding a piece of paper in his hand- a ticket- and whirling around like he's lost.<br /></p> <p class="action">There are less people in here than what we saw earlier in the day.</p> <p class="action">A uniformed deputy brushes by Jack.<br /></p> <div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Excuse me, sir? <br /></div> <br /> The officer ignores him and exits the station. <br /> <br /> A receptionist sees Jack looking helpless. This is SHELLY,<br /> mid-40s, too much makeup, wide hips. She raises her arm to<br /> get his attention. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> SHELLY <br /> Something I can help you with, hon? <br /></div> <br /> Jack whirls until he sees the receptionist and walks over to<br /> her desk. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Yes, hi. My truck was towed. I’m <br /> staying out at the Fork Road Inn, <br /> and I apparently parked in a <br /> handicap spot. The lines weren’t <br /> painted and the sign was <br /> vandalized... <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> They slipped that under the door to <br /> your room? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Yeah. I was out all day, bike riding.<br />I guess I just stepped over it when<br />I left this morning. It was still dark <br /> out. I didn’t even notice my truck <br /> was gone. <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> You're supposed to go to the towing <br /> company on that slip there and pay <br /> the charge. It’s just across the <br /> street. <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Right, but the guy must have been <br /> at dinner or something. No one’s <br /> there. Booth is empty and the lot’s <br /> all locked up. And I’m not even <br /> sure I should have to pay this. <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> (leans forward) <br /> You from around her, hon? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Nah. Just here to ride and hike. My <br /> wife calls it my decompression. <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> Just pay the hundred dollars, <br /> sweetheart. Dave only takes cash or <br /> a money order. You can get that at <br /> the post office but you’ll have to <br /> wait until morning. You don’t want <br /> to waste your time filing a <br /> complaint. You can appeal for a <br /> reimbursement later by mail. <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> I’ve got the cash, but no one’s over <br /> there <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> Shouldn’t be too long. Dave keeps a <br /> kid over there until midnight, most <br /> of the time. Probably just out. <br /> You’re welcome to wait right here <br /> for a bit if you want. Coffee pot’s <br /> over there. <br /></div> <br /> Jack turns to look and the front door to the station opens<br /> up. A doctor rushes in, a black briefcase in hand. This is<br /> DR. JIM TRAVIS, 50s, no gray in his hair, but it might be a<br /> toupee. <br /><p style="text-align: center;" class="dialog">DR. TRAVIS<br />Where they need me, Shelly?<br /></p> <div style="text-align: center;"> SHELLY <br /> (to the doctor) <br /> Holding cell, Dr. Travis. Rash gave <br /> the guy a nasty fever. <br /></div> <br /> The doctor nods a thank you and moves quickly to a door.<br /> Shelly hits a button on the wall by her desk and the<br /> red light over the door turns green. The doctor enters and<br /> disappears. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Something wrong? <br /> <br /> SHELLY <br /> Nothing for you to worry about, <br /> hon. Some guy up on a murder charge <br /> has a tummy ache.</div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-74234076169896444542009-04-06T12:40:00.002-05:002009-04-06T12:43:03.116-05:00Let Them Come<span style="font-style: italic;">The following scene was actually adapted from a story I wrote for a writers group I'm in. When I wrote it in March, I really had no intention of using it in my script. But once Zoe made an appearance in the "Running to Stand Still" sequence, well, it just sort of happened.</span><br /><br />***<br /><br />INT. FARMHOUSE SHED - NIGHT <br /> <br /> Jack closes the door behind him. It CREAKS again. He turns <br /> and sniffs the air, looking around. We go where the beam of <br /> his flashlight goes, and we hear is breathing- labored but <br /> he tries to keep it quiet. <br /> <br /> The floor of the shed is wooden, but covered with a layer of <br /> dirt. Tools and yard equipment are covered with a thick <br /> layer of sawdust. A ceiling fan above. <br /> <br /> Jack visibly relaxes, twirling the machete in his hand. <br /> Then, there is a SHUFFLING sound and he stiffens. He whirls. <br /> He tucks the machete into its sleeve and pulls the shotgun <br /> over his shoulder in one fluid motion. The beam finds a <br /> hunched figure in the corner of the shed. <br /> <br /> But this is no zombie. This one is living. ZOE BELLE, late <br /> teens, beautiful, but clearly rattled and looks a mess. Her <br /> blond hair is matted. She sits with her knees tucked into <br /> her chest. There is blood on her face and neck from a cut on <br /> her eyebrow. Trails of recent tears make lines on her dirty<br /> cheeks. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE <br /> We were supposed to go to Disney <br /> World. Summer vacation. Just the <br /> family, before I left for school. <br /> Now... <br /></div> <br /> Jack lowers his gun and steps forward. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE (CONT’D) <br /> Now they’re dead. They’re all dead. <br /></div> <br /> Jack slides the shotgun back over his shoulder and kneels in <br /> front of Zoe. He looks her over and notices she’s holding a <br /> kitchen knife in her hand. It moves back and forth against <br /> her leg, where it has cut a hole in her jeans and and sliced <br /> her skin open. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> What’s your name? <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> Dead, they’re- <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> (interrupting) <br /> Hey! Look, you can’t do anything <br /> about that now. Tell me your name. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> Zoe. <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Are there any more- <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> (interrupting, angry) <br /> Zombies? <br /></div> <br /> The knife moves faster against Zoe’s leg. Jack reaches <br /> toward her and she stiffens. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> You’re not doing yourself any <br /> favors. Open wound just makes it <br /> easier for you to get infected. <br /></div> <br /> The knife stops moving. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK (CONT’D) <br /> What happened to your family? <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> Attacked, turned, and now... all <br /> dead. <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> You... <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> I killed them. <br /></div> <br /> A tight look at Zoe’s face. Her eyes are cold, her features <br /> hardened. Her features soften as she continues. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE (CONT’D) <br /> I did the right thing, didn’t I? <br /></div> <br /> Zack lays the flashlight on the ground, angled to light the <br /> space in between them. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> Absolutely. No other way. If you <br /> hadn’t, you’d have suffered the <br /> same fate. <br /></div> <br /> Zoe begins crying and drops the knife. Jack hesitates, then <br /> slides to her side. He tosses the knife away and puts his <br /> arm around her. She leans into his shoulder and cries <br /> harder. They are quiet for a time. Only the sound of her <br /> sobbing and the wind blowing a wind chime. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> I always liked the pirates ride. <br /> Yo-ho, yo-ho. The fog, the sounds <br /> of the storm, that one crazy drop <br /> into darkness. The cannons firing <br /> and splashing up the water. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> Peter Pan. I used to beg my parents <br /> to ride that over and over. Flying <br /> high above the city. London, I <br /> think. I read a book about how they <br /> built the models so they triggered <br /> your perceptions just right. <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Lord, to be seventeen forever. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> (pulling away) <br /> What? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> It’s a song, but you know, Peter <br /> Pan complex. Not wanting to grow up <br /> and all. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> How old are you? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Thirty-three. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> Where are you from? <br /><br /> JACK <br /> Georgia. Atlanta. <br /> <br /> ZOE <br /> (looking worried) <br /> Are they there too? <br /> <br /> JACK <br /> Don’t know. I’m on vacation. <br /></div> <br /> The room dims as the flashlight loses its charge. Zoe gives <br /> a worried look. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK (CONT’D) <br /> It’s OK. Plenty of batteries. <br /></div> <br /> The white light turns yellow and then fades out. Darkness. <br /> Then there is a strange sound. Something DRAGGING ACROSS <br /> DIRT. Zoe BREATHES IN sharply. Jack gets to work replacing <br /> the batteries in the flashlight. <br /> <br /> The sound gets louder, closer. The wind outside picks up. <br /> Tree limbs CREAK. Jack flicks on the flashlight. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> JACK <br /> You may want to... <br /></div> <br /> He turns to Zoe and sees she’s already standing, the kitchen <br /> knife in one hand, and a silver handgun we haven’t seen <br /> before in the other. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE <br /> (coldly) <br /> Let them come. I’m ready.</div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-79108653912388627742009-04-03T16:45:00.001-05:002009-04-05T10:58:20.055-05:00Running to Stand Still<span style="font-style: italic;">Note: I tend to write out of order- way out of order- especially when I'm flying by the seat of my pants. The script snippets here are more to entice than to chronologically entertain. The scene below is the latter portion of a sequence I wrote that will play out to the soundtrack of U2's "Running to Stand Still."</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">It's a bit of an unconventional read with the lyrics thrown in as a guide.</span><br /><br />***<br /><br />EXT. STREETS - NIGHT <br /> <br /> By the time the second chorus is over, current Zoe is <br /> through the back door and running down an alley, the pouring <br /> rain soaking her, rifle in hand. "She runs through the <br /> streets, with her eyes painted red, under black belly of <br /> cloud in the rain." <br /> <br /> She stops when she sees five zombies at the end of the <br /> alley. They don’t see her. She starts to back up but her <br /> crowbar slips and CLANGS on the ground, and the sound alerts <br /> them of her presence. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ZOE <br /> No, no, no! <br /></div> <br /> She grabs the crowbar and runs in the opposite direction. <br /> She heads toward the back door of a jewelry store. She pries <br /> the door open and immediately a zombie woman wearing pearls <br /> lurches at her from inside. "In through a doorway she brings <br /> me, white gold and pearls stolen from the sea." Zoe shoots <br /> her, then thinks better of going in and turns tail to run <br /> away down the alley. <br /> <br /> "She is raging, she is raging." Zoe runs, spins. Zombies <br /> come at her at every turn, scaring her but not close enough <br /> to get her. <br /> <br /> "And the storm blows up in her eyes." Tears roll down her <br /> face now as she runs. She shivers. We pull back to watch her <br /> tear through the streets at top speed, and as we zoom out we <br /> see a dozen or so zombies moving slowly in her direction, <br /> like a converging half circle. <br /> <br /> "She is running to stand still." <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: right;"> FADE TO BLACK: <br /></div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-41676359611696990392009-04-01T14:54:00.001-05:002009-04-01T22:51:18.858-05:00Script Excerpt - Day 1INT. SHERIFF’S OFFICE INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY <br /> <br /> We see Blake sitting on the other side of a long, white <br /> table. He looks like he hasn’t slept and has a large bandage <br /> wrapped around one arm. Martin steps in and closes the door. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> MARTIN <br /> Morning, Blake. <br /> <br /> BLAKE <br /> (nods) <br /> Detective. <br /></div> <br /> Martin sets his things down, then pulls out the chair <br /> opposite Blake and sits. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> MARTIN <br /> I get you anything? <br /> <br /> BLAKE <br /> I’m fine. Just tell me when I can <br /> leave. <br /> <br /> MARTIN <br /> Wish it were that easy, son. I read <br /> your statement, and I gotta say, <br /> I’m not so sure things add up. <br /></div> <br /> Martin sips his coffee and flips through the papers. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> MARTIN (CONT’D) <br /> Says here, home invasion, self <br /> defense? <br /> <br /> BLAKE <br /> I told the deputy just like it <br /> happened. This guy was in my <br /> backyard hacking up my livestock. <br /> He’s deranged. He chases me in the <br /> house and takes a damn bite out of <br /> me. You hear that? He bit me. <br /> (raises his bandaged arm) <br /> Doesn’t say anything the entire <br /> time. Just groans. God damn psycho. <br /> So yeah, I shot him. Damn right <br /> it’s self defense. <br /> <br /> MARTIN <br /> And you say this was last night? <br /> <br /> BLAKE <br /> ’Course it was last night. <br /></div> <br /> Martin pulls the clipboard up and flips through the pages <br /> again. He looks up at Blake. <br /> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"> MARTIN <br /> Coroner doesn’t agree. <br /> <br /> Blake leans forward. <br /> <br /> BLAKE <br /> I give two shits what that arrogant <br /> prick thinks. <br /> <br /> MARTIN <br /> Might want to start caring, son. <br /> Coroner says that body we pulled <br /> out of your house, it has obvious <br /> signs of decomposition. Estimates <br /> the time of death to be at least <br /> four days ago. <br /> (leans back) <br /> Now maybe you want to explain that?</div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-1296753308151558242009-03-30T15:38:00.001-05:002009-03-30T21:33:15.427-05:00Committed<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">This was originally published 30.3.2009 as another piece of "Fiction in 10 Tweets" on Twitter.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">It ties in with </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://zombiefrenzy.blogspot.com/2009/03/zachariah-zeppelin.html">this earlier blog post</a><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Committed</span> - ©2009 <a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a><br /><br />Zachariah Zeppelin stood a few feet from the doorway. Blood red words were painted on the four walls around him, dominating the white.<br /><br />"You need to go with the nice men," a soft voice said. Two police officers stood behind his mother in the hall. Square jaws. Serious eyes.<br /><br />Zachariah retreated. He produced a blade with two wave-shaped points from behind his back. Fresh cuts lined his arms. His stare was hollow.<br /><br />The two officers brushed by the woman as they moved toward the doorway. The young one dropped a hand to the pistol hanging at his hip.<br /><br />"Sir, please put the knife down," the older officer said. Zachariah stumbled to the corner. He fell to his knees, a groan escaping his lips.<br /><br />"He's not well," the woman said, her voice strained. "He sees things that aren't there. He's scared." Her hand gripped a bandaged arm.<br /><br />The officers advanced with cautious steps. Zachariah covered his face and cried. He held the blade away from him like a severed head.<br /><br />His voice, muffled and desperate, echoed the words scrawled on the surrounding walls. "They're coming. We'll turn. Our own selfish hell."<br /><br />The young officer unsnapped his holster. The other shook his head and mouthed, "No." He moved closer to Zachariah. "Hey, kid, I hear you."<br /><br />Zachariah uncovered an eye. "Come with us, we'll listen," the officer continued. Zachariah dropped the blade. "OK." It was all he wanted.Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-75573034509711529362009-03-28T18:14:00.001-05:002009-03-28T18:16:04.765-05:00Zachariah Zeppelin<div>Zachariah Zeppelin tried to warn you. He tried to warn his friends, his family. When no one would listen he grew frustrated, some would say violent. For his efforts he now finds himself a resident of a lovely padded room at the <a href="http://www.brinkvalepsychiatric.com/">Brinkvale Psychiatric Hospital</a>. For his own protection- and yours- of course.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can read the details of his admittance below, and also see one of the "disturbing" sketches he's done as part of a <a href="http://www.brinkvalepsychiatric.com/special_programs.php#nav">special program</a> at the facility at the bottom right. (Click to enlarge.)</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFaDD9irPXLzczesNs5wAImty7xE_oniuAe6n0oOTzKhe796a60x6SMCDrBX1lAGf2qFCRbnEhYyjTgKwMcFZiYXo5ULPsGIa5cnvQsS_psMp04clBV-ruEofeRHHUyuZlbJ0i-wsvSTP/s1600-h/ZachariahZeppelin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVFaDD9irPXLzczesNs5wAImty7xE_oniuAe6n0oOTzKhe796a60x6SMCDrBX1lAGf2qFCRbnEhYyjTgKwMcFZiYXo5ULPsGIa5cnvQsS_psMp04clBV-ruEofeRHHUyuZlbJ0i-wsvSTP/s400/ZachariahZeppelin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318365070805882082" /></a>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-64656522917932578132009-03-26T09:32:00.002-05:002009-03-30T21:33:15.427-05:00What Must Be Done<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">This was originally published 26.3.2009 as another piece of "Fiction in 10 Tweets" on Twitter.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">What Must Be Done</span> - ©2009 <a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a><br /><br />"I think I cut my leg." Leslie reached down and ran her fingers along a tear in her jeans. Karen stood above her, frowning.<br /><br />"What?" Leslie leaned back against a shelf. Some canned goods spilled onto the floor. They were alone in the grocery store. It was quiet.<br /><br />Karen didn't move. Unwashed brown hair hung in her face. "Did one bite you?" She fingered the trigger of the pistol hanging in her hand.<br /><br />Leslie shifted and her face dipped into shadow. The corners of her mouth moved downward, tugged by tiny invisible strings. "I-"<br /><br />"Are you bitten?" Karen interrupted. Leslie ripped at her jeans, revealing a clear bite mark on her calf. Blood trickled out of the wound.<br /><br />Karen backed against the opposite shelf and sunk down to the floor. "No, not this, not you." Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lip quivered.<br /><br />The two girls startled as a loud bang came from the front of the store. It continued in a constant rhythm and Karen flinched each time.<br /><br />"Karen, Karen!" Leslie said. "Snap out of it." She took labored breaths and looked worse with each moment. "You know what you have to do."<br /><br />Leslie closed her eyes, pushing tears down her cheeks. The banging grew louder. "Do, it Karen. Then run and don't look back. You have to."<br /><br />Karen stood up. She raised the gun and pointed it at Leslie. Pain tore at her face. Tears rained. "I love you sis," she said, and squeezed.Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148477805790663486.post-74002955600769896952009-03-24T08:44:00.000-05:002009-03-30T21:33:15.427-05:00It BeginsThis was originally published 24.3.2009 as some "Fiction in 10 Tweets" on Twitter. Of course, Twitter decided to eat the first post (with copyright) that explained it all. Naturally. So since I figured there may be some confusion among my followers, and not all of them would have seen it when I did it, I decided to post the story here, where you can read it top to bottom rather than reading in reverse. So here it goes. Enjoy.<div><br /></div><div>***<br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">It Begins</span> - ©2009 <a href="http://twitter.com/Zombie_Frenzy">@Zombie_Frenzy</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/brttrx">@brttrx</a> (thanks <a href="http://twitter.com/mopedronin">@mopedronin</a> for the idea!)</div><div> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">David came into the house bloody. A man had attacked him out by the horses, bit him on the neck. He'd fought him off, maybe killed him.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Faye was scared. Should they call the sheriff? Jed, her brother, was a deputy. David argued with her. "Too dark. Let's wait until morning."<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">He grew sick during the night. By morning his fever was extreme, his dementia maddening. Faye tried to keep him cool. She phoned the doctor.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">The doctor drove in from town that afternoon. By then David was unresponsive. Weak pulse, no movement. And then, a few hours later, nothing.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Faye left David's body in the bed. She cried at the kitchen table, a photograph of David catching her tears. She waited on the coroner.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">An hour passed. The coroner called. He'd be late. Said something about a bad virus going around. Two stops to make first. Then he'd come.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Faye phoned her daughter. David wasn't her father- the two hadn't gotten along- but Faye needed to talk to someone. Leah deserved to know.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Faye put the phone down as the sun set. She tried to eat, but a wave of nausea crashed over her. She spit up in the sink. Then she heard it.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">A low, raspy groaning- from the bedroom. A chill ran down Faye's spine. She hesitated, then walked down the hall and pushed the door open.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in">A figure stood before her in darkness, unstable, wobbling. Tears streamed down her face. "David?" Another groan- then it moved toward her.<br /></p><p></p> </div></div>Bretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05142299396172345747noreply@blogger.com2