They Don’t Have Lights (Pt. 1)
    Insubordination (Pt. 2)
    Of Rats and Men (Pt. 3)
    Obedience (Pt. 4)
    Coincidence (Pt. 5)

    “What time is is?”
    “It should be around 8 a.m.” Was Danny’s response to my sister’s question.
    “Then why the hell is it just as dark as it was five hours ago?” She wasn’t the only one wondering that, she was just the first to voice it. We had been walking for a good seven or eight hours now and if anything, the sky just seemed to be getting darker. There were no clouds either, not above a wisp of one anyway. The shrieking that we had been hearing intermittently had steadily increased to an almost constant cacophony.
    More than anyone, John seemed like he was the least afraid of what was going on, but he had also been the most silent. In fact, he hadn’t really spoken since we all had our introductions. The only action he portrays that even seems to give any idea of emotion are the nervous glances he keeps giving back at my sister. I know that she doesn’t look very comfortable with that gun in her hand and I’m fairly sure she has never had to fire it before, but I have a feeling that it wasn’t the only thing he was worried about.
    “Oh, shit! There’s another one!” Danny exclaimed suddenly. I raised my tire iron and wheeled around to face the direction that Danny had pointed only to find nothing there. “Is it still alive? Jesus, somebody, shoot at it!” I continued searching for whatever he must have been talking about. The lack of daylight certainly wasn’t helping, but I was still quite certain that nothing was there. I glanced at Becca who was just staring and shaking uncontrollably at the direction Danny was pointing. Still, I saw nothing. John silently walked over and bent down beside a trash bag.
    “No, it’s dead.” He finally said kind of calmly. “Just like the other one”
    “You guys have seen one of those things before? What the hell are they?” Becca could barely stutter out the words between the quivering of her lips and the almost violent shaking of her body.
    I couldn’t take it anymore.

***************

    It seemed like Travis was just about to shout something when they came. I’m not sure what he was going to say, but if I could guess, I would say that it seemed as if he couldn’t see the monster lying on the ground. He must have been the only one. Danny made it quite obvious that he saw it, and I think Becca commented on it, but all Travis did was stare at us like we were crazy. Then they came, more of these mutated, deranged, zombified human beings. Their stench is intolerable, the yellow color of their skin is unnatural, and they all seem to have a case of mange. I never quite saw how Danny died, all I know is that he did. There was the big scuffle, and he was really holding his own quite well, but something must have taken him by surprise. Travis and Becca, siblings, I don’t understand. The zombies carried them away, still very much alive. Becca continues to give off the invisible flames.
I just don’t know what to think anymore. Although, who really thinks when nothing makes sense. Chicago was never a safe place to be, these streets were never safe. Nothing has really changed. It’s still Chicago, just with zombies.
    They didn’t eat Mr. Hosch. That is unusual, by their standards.
    “Fuck this” I say out loud. I take off my mask and start walking. I’m going to follow these kids, I owe it to Travis. My name is John Boyle, I am Travis Redden’s psychiatrist, and I am completely out of my mind.

… to be continued.

    They Don’t Have Lights (Pt. 1)
    Insubordination (Pt. 2)
    Of Rats and Men (Pt. 3)
    Obedience (Pt. 4)

    Throughout history, running has always seemed like a decent and respectable solution to a majority of problems we come across.  Certainly, no exception was to be made here.  The difference right now, is that I’m not exactly sure what I’m running from.  Sure, I’m obviously running from hordes of mutated human beings with a craving for blood, but in actuality, I can’t help but feel it is more than that.  I feel like I am running from my past.  I feel like I am making another excuse for when things aren’t going the way I had envisioned.  It seems as though by running, I am taking out some kind of frustration at everything that has gone wrong that I can’t fix.  I was always selfish like that.
    It was refreshing, however, to see my sister look like she actually cared about me.  Too often she was “stuck” with me.  Tasked with the arduous chore of supervising me while my parents went off to one of their social gatherings.  Here though, we were running.  Running down the streets that I had only ever seen before out of the window of the mini-van.  We were both alive, and maybe that was it.  She was being nice to me now, because I was the only thing that was still familiar to her.
    When the two men with the masks appeared in the distance they didn’t take long to notice my sister and me.  They quickly picked up their pace in an attempt to meet us.  When they were close enough, they both paused rather briefly.  I figured they wanted to make absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to lunge at them and bite their faces off.  To my surprise however, instead they both exclaimed, almost simultaneously:  “Travis!”
    There were now three very confused people around me at this point, my sister, who looked at me and then them, attempting to make the connection, and the two men who stared at each other both seemingly completely shocked.  The masks belonged to Mr. Boyle and Mr. Hosch.  Mr. Hosch was my 6th grade teacher, one of the most patient people I knew, certainly a step above my parents.  Then there was Mr. Boyle, the psychiatrist that me parents felt that I desperately needed.  He was always a little out of the park in my opinion, and sometimes it really felt like he was the one who needed to be on the sofa.
    “You two don’t know each other?”  My sister finally said.
    “Not in the slightest.”  Mr. Boyle answered.  “I am John Boyle, I’m Travis’ psychiatrist here.”  He had a limp in his right leg.
    I’m not entirely sure how excited I was that Mr. Hosch was now learning that I had a psychiatrist, but I don’t think that really mattered anymore.
    “and I’m Danny Hosch, Travis’ teacher.”  Mr. Hosch confirmed.  “Is this your girlfriend Travis?”
    “It’s my sister, Becca.”  They all shook hands, as they did though, I noticed that Danny did not seem to have full control of his left arm.  The formality sickened me.  Who really needs that right now?  It’s somewhere past midnight.  We are in the middle of a hostile environment, and there are no safe looking places for miles.  The decision to remain together as a group was unspoken and unanimous.  We all started to move on toward a destination that my two mentors said they had in mind.  The occasional squeal in the distance reminded us of where we were, and the occasional rustle of some debris on the road reminded us of how scared we really were.  The only person who paused was Mr. Boyle.

*****************

    Travis noticed me pause.  I don’t know if he could see what I was seeing, and in fact, I’m not even sure if what I was seeing is real.  It was Travis’ sister.  While the girl herself seemed perfectly fine, but there was something wrong around her.  It seemed like the ground, wherever she moved to, was being blackened, charred.  It is so weird for me to say, and I don’t even know how to describe it.  The only time I have ever seen anything like it before was that creature that Danny and I had seen dead on the side of the road, not even these zombie like creatures seemed to emit these – I’m going to call them invisible flames.  Heh, Danny, we didn’t even know each other’s names until we found Travis.  What a coincidence.
    She glanced at me, and I at once began moving with the group.  I hope she does not notice that I am beginning to sweat.  I hope she does not notice that my hand is a little tighter on the trigger of my gun.

    … to be continued.

    They Don’t Have Lights (Pt. 1)
    Insubordination (Pt. 2)
    Of Rats and Men (Pt. 3)

    Either they don’t remember I am here, or they don’t care.  Either way, it seems I’m safe for the moment, although that has the ability to change drastically in the near future.
    I would probably be sad about the loss of my family if it weren’t for the fact that I’m so shocked and scared.  I crack the door open and it appears that nobody is directly outside in the hall.  I’m not armed yet, and nothing in my room seemed suitable.  I doubt a wiffle ball bat would get the job done.  Besides, I’m only twelve years old, I would have to rely on resources other than my – something’s not right.
    There is a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs.  As I move further down, my eyesight reveals a shoe, then a leg, then a body with my dad’s head lying next to it.  That’s next to, not attatched.  I hear the squealing again.  I turn around in time to see my sister coming at me with a kitchen knife.  She looks so… alive.  She notices that I too don’t have the same characteristics of my now deceased father, that being the yellow skin and extreme lack of hair.
    “Let’s get the hell out of here.”  She says.
    I obey.

(Part 1) They Don’t Have Lights
(Part 2) Insubordination

    There used to be stuff here.  Well, of course there is still stuff, but I mean there used to be real, unbroken, usable stuff here.  Stuff, and people.  Maybe the people are still there.  Down there under all this stuff.  That’s what we’re fighting on, broken stuff and dead people.  It’s a shame really, that there had to be so much debris.  This area was attempted to be “cleansed” when the military came through.  This was of course, before everybody found out it was airborne.  All the military did very successfully was ruin the structural integrity of almost every building on this block.  Saving Private Ryan meets zombies, that’s what it looks like here.
    The guy who had been sitting across from me on the train was the first to go.  And by go I mean die.  It wasn’t any ex-human that got to him though.  As soon as we stepped off of the train, it was the rats.  The little fucking zombie rats.  They were faster, and more aggressive than anything we had expected.  We also didn’t even see them coming until they were on us.  Literally, on us.  My right leg is now completely swollen.  It’s a damn good thing you don’t turn by getting bit.  The man that somehow knew how to drive the train, well, his arm has seen better days… and let’s just hope that if we ever come across any females around here, that they don’t won’t to mate.  But it was that stranger across from me on the train.  The man to whom I made myself look like such a fool.  They got his throat.  The driver and I weren’t even facing him.  We had to get the little vermin off of our own damn selves.  As soon as we turned around, there was just a hole in his neck, with a little rat tail sticking out of it.  He didn’t say anything.  We moved on in silence.
    There isn’t much desire to talk when you don’t even know the person you are next to, and it probably won’t matter because they won’t live past the end of the day.  In fact, I think the only words anybody had said for the last two hours after the rats at the station was “What the hell is that?”  We weren’t talking about the rats, we knew what zombie rats were.  What we didn’t know was what this was.  It looked like… nothing we had ever seen.  It smelled like nothing we had ever smelt.  It was black, it was dead, and it looked literally demonic.  All the ground around it was black too, and in fact, the blackness seemed to be growing.  It was as if there was some invisible fire torching the landscape that we couldn’t see.  It looked most definitely, like a demon.  At this point, we were capable of believing anything. 
    That was two hours ago.  We haven’t come across any more of those things yet, but when we get to where we are headed, who knows what we will see – if we make it, that is.

    … to be continued.

    To see part one:  They Don’t Have Lights (Pt. 1)

    Insubordination.  It’s funny how I can remember words now that I was trying to think of back when it would have made a difference, back when it would have changed things.  Not a bad word for a twelve year old, I suppose.  I thought it would be a cute opportunity for me to be funny and show off to my parents at the same time.  Maybe it was a good thing I got sent to my room, though.  I can remember it all so clearly.
    My mom made such a simple request of my father, “Honey, could you help me with the dishes?”
    ”I’m not feeling so great, dear.  I think I caught something today at the hospital.”  That’s where my dad worked.
    “Oh, you never want to help!”
    It was time for me to put my new found vocabulary word to use.  “You’re just being insubordinate, daddy!”  Was what I had wanted to say.  What actually came out was “You’re just being inebriated!”  I don’t even know where I heard that word, or what it means.  All I know is that dad didn’t like it.  All I know is that that is why I got sent to my room.  All I know is that that is why I am alive, and they are… whatever they are.
    Mom, dad, sis, they are all still in the house.  I know they are here because I can here them squealing.  It must have been dad that gave it to everybody.  I don’t know why I’m okay.
    Insubordination, I guess it’s about time to show them how insubordinate I can be.  I have seen the movies.  I know how to kill zombies.

    …to be continued.
   

    “You look familiar.”  I said, through the muffled voice of my mask.  “Do you come in here every now and again?”
    “Yeah, but who doesn’t?”  The stranger replied.
    “True” and that was where the conversation ended, because by this time I was already staring out the windows at the dark rolling clouds.  A sign – a symbol – of the changes that I knew were coming.  The sweeping flow of change didn’t really affect me anymore though, I was already pretty used to it.  Who doesn’t come in here every now and again?  I guess this is the only place where people really see each other.  Now that I think back on it, I probably sounded pretty stupid asking that question.  It wouldn’t be a bad thing if they installed some lights in here, though.  You know, those kind that actually work.  I ‘ve heard of other places that have them.  Of course, all that really is is just talk.  Everybody knows that they don’t have lights anywhere.  Nowhere safe anyway.  I must be full of foolish thoughts today.
    The stranger must have been able to tell that I was lost in thought.  “You’re only doing this to yourself” he said.  “That’s not what people are supposed to do here.”
    “Sure” I thought out loud.  “Here, people sleep.”
    He laughed, “Not the ones that live.”
    This kind of frightened me.  I didn’t want to tell him that I was new to this.  He must have been able to tell though, because he stopped laughing and fell silent.  And that is how both of us stayed, silent.
    Silent until he cocked back his shotgun.  The noise was the loudest sound I had heard in almost an hour.  Even the slow churning sensation of the train we were on didn’t cut through the tension like it did.  As it defiled the air, it spoke of violence that was surely to come.  It changed the mood from restless anticipation, to fear, to aggression.  Blood was about to be shed. 
    “We’re here!”  The guy in the front shouted.
    Just as he said it, the doors swung open.  All the noise was making my head spin.  The loud screeching of the breaks.  The improperly maintained door hinges.  The rustling of three men who didn’t even know each other preparing for something that they did not fully understand.  But more deafening than all the commotion, was the silence that followed.  And then the squeal.
    All those zombie movies have it so wrong.  I don’t just mean about zombies squealing instead of moaning.  I mean about how the “disease” is spread.  If a zombie bites you, you are a lucky one.  You aren’t going to be turned into a zombie, you are going to be eaten, completely.  There won’t be time to turn into a zombie.  This disease is airborne.  Anybody, anywhere, can just mutate right before your eyes.  There is absolutely nothing that you can do about it.  Man, it would be so easy if you only turned if they bit you, so easy.

    …to be continued.

    So I was browsing through the comments I received on my response post to the featured posts about racism, in my usual thorough manner, when I came across one particular comment that struck me as important:

    

   I’m not sure why they bothered typing all those “blahs”, maybe they just know how I like to read my comments and they just censored out the unimportant stuff for me.  What is important though is that they said “pornography” and they even put a question mark behind it.  This leads me to believe that they must have been asking me something like “Eadie, how come you never talk about the importance of pornography?” or something like that.  I decided I should honor the good Quell’s wishes and here it is:  my post on pornography.     


    But Eadie, aren’t a lot of people going to be offended by you talking about pornography in a manner which glorifies it?  After all, it is a degrading form of media.  Women are treated like objects instead of actual human beings.  They do vile and disgusting things, often at risk to their own health.  Not to mention the religious aspect that condones sexual activity outside of marriage.  Just imagine how many different partners porn stars have IN A DAY!





   Yes, that very likely could happen.  There are many people out there who just don’t truly understand porn that think that its sole purpose is to make a sport of women and use their bodies for cruel sexual acts.  But the truth is, THAT’S ONLY HALF OF IT!!  In order to gain a complete, unbiased perspective, you must look at all sides of the issue, not just take the topic at face value.  The fact is, people that have those opinions of porn don’t actually watch porn.  Instead they hear about porn, hear other people’s reactions to porn, maybe even see a pornographic image or two, but never actually attempt to find out what it is all about.  They look at porn as dirty water while other people look at it as tea.  Sit back grasshopper, let daddy show you how it’s done.

PORN

    What most people have the tendency of forgetting is that pornography is an artistic media that is comprised mostly of men and women who are there on their own accord.  That’s right, only a very small percentage of these “actors” are actually kidnapped at birth, brainwashed, and spoon fead herbal supplements from a young age in sole preparation of fulfilling a future career as a celebrated adult film actor.  Many of these men and women who sign up for this job don’t actually get into it just so they can have sex all the time.  No, no, no, their reasons for entering the field of pornography are far more sincere, mature, and responsible.
   
    Basically, the real reason actors in pornography choose that route is because they are too completely stupid to do anything else.  That’s right, they aren’t even capable of stacking fries at your local McDonald’s.   Take this guy on the left here.  Check out the expression on his face.  That clearly looks like an expression of a man who is a good critical thinker and can apply himself to many situations.  I don’t think so.  I think we’ve all seen that face somewhere before, and let’s just say it’s not that of a televangilist.  The sad truth is, that many of these people just need an easy way to become successful with their lives.  Many people wouldn’t measure this as a means of success, but to these sad incompetent individuals, the only way for them to afford their PB&J sandwiches and top raman is to surrender themselves body and soul to the heathen gods of porn.
   
    I take that back, there is another very common reason some of these people end up in porn.  They get drunk.  In which case pornography descends from the  level of an art form, to a manner in which young men can sit by their television sets wanking themselves off in the middle of the night to censored commercials of college girls getting personal in front of a camera after having consumed large amounts of liquid courage.  But courage it indeed is, and can we really bash them for being courageous?  Isn’t courage not looked at as an admirable trait.  Then obviously something admirable can even be found in the form of these selfless females.




    But Eadie, you keep saying that pornography is an art form but you have yet to really give proof of this.  Everybody argues that pornography is art, but I have yet to actually hear a decent explanation for why this is so.





    Ah yes, this is a common occurrence amongst doubters, but I will let you in on a little secret that I once learned in high school from my AP World History teacher.  He said, then when doing the essay questions on the test, it isn’t so much important that you have the right answer, as it is that you have the right proof for your answer.  He said that you could say that your answer to any question could be “because Magellan sailed off the edge of the world” as long as you could provide decent proof for it.  So my answer to you is this:  The reason pornography is considered a form of art is because they are in the form of photographs and motion pictures which are already accepted as art forms.


   

   

     Isn’t that a bit contrived?






    Of course it is, but what proof really isn’t? 
    And don’t even pretend that I don’t know what question is coming next.  I know, I sound a bit like a hypocrite after having read my post about what I don’t like about the military.  I called out the military’s recruitment techniques as sleazy and unacceptable because they attempted to lure in soldiers by making it sound like their only way to be successful in life.  Offering them money, jobs, and benefits instead of ushering them in willingly because they wanted to be patriotic for their country.  To this accusation of hypocrisy, I say this:  Which would you rather look at?  A soldier’s head blown off, or a girl shaking her stuff in front of a camera?  Then tell me which way is REALLY the easy way out.

    Hold up Eadie, you are forgetting something pretty important here.  There are reasons beyond the actual medium that indicates that pornography is an art.  You are over looking the actors themselves.  It takes skill to look like you are always enjoying sex, it’s basically sexy acting.

    Um, thank you spidey…

    Anytime I can help out a member of the Evil Xanga Klique.

    One last thing (there’s always one last thing isn’t there?)  What about animated pornography, you ask? Okay true, animated pornography doesn’t involve actors and there are no women volunteering to make a show  of themselves, so the argument that it is exploitation of women stands a little stronger here, however, you can still claim it as art.  Not only are they quite literally drawings, but it would take a skilled artist to actually turn somebody on with just pen and ink.

    That pretty much wraps up today’s lesson in… whatever this was a lesson in.

    Until next time, good luck with life.

    p.s.  CallMeQuell, please don’t kill me!

    So why does xanga automatically jump me to the body in the middle of what I’m trying to say?

    Hello everybody, before I begin my story, I would like to add a few disclaimers.  First of all, this is the first time that I have ever written erotic literature.  I am very unfamiliar with this style of prose and if my attempt falls short of your desires and expectations, I am sorry.  I do not normally focus on much erotic stuff on my blog, as I generally keep away from anything that would get me above an ‘R’ rating.  Without further fanfare, here is my first venture into the realm of pornography:

    The Good Bad Day.

    Jane was 22, a law student, AND a very accomplished member of her Baylor’s college volleyball team.  As the captain, she had lead her team to (up until this point) an undefeated season.  As she shifted around on the court she was full of energy and spunk, making it very obvious why the rest of her teammates looked up to her.  Her boyfriend, Mark, who was 26 was in the bleachers, cheering her on as he usually did.  Jane was never sure if her attraction to him came from his charming personality, or the fact that he was already a very successful lawyer, both of which were earnest qualities that she looked for in a man.  Of his numerous traits, greed was easily his strongest.  While most women would find this to be a downfall, something about the motivation and ambition that this allowed him to demonstrate was a real turn on for her.  In fact, Jane wasn’t very similar to most women.  She somehow saw things in a very different light.  Whereas most women would find the events of this particular day of her life frustrating, and even eventually tragic, she would look back on this day as one of the fondest of her life.  Today was the start of a good bad day.

    Today they were playing University of Texas, and it didn’t take long before Baylor’s girls were being made examples of.  Mark sat in the bleachers looking rather gloom and Jane clearly lacked her usual enthusiasm.  However, Mark could see something stir inside of Jane.  Jane was suddenly paying particular attention to the line judge over on the Texas side.  The man was surprisingly young for a collegiate judge and by all common standards, was very attractive.  But it wasn’t his features that was getting Jane excited, it was his actions as he called the boundaries, mostly in Texas’ favor of course.  Mark, on the sidelines had already whipped out his notebook.  This guy was an opportunity and he could tell that Jane already sensed it.  He jotted down all the notes he could think of, and then, with Jane nodding in approval down on the court, he took out his camera.  He began taking photographs of this man, and even a few video clips just to be sure.  He loved doing this kind of work.  It really got him worked up.  Jane, too, who was currently on the sideline after subbing out for a short break was getting really excited.  She loved watching Mark get to work, and from the looks of this one, they were getting ready to have a real party.  You see, Mark had his eye on this guy for a while now.  Before the game, he even followed him to the prep-rooms to take down some notes and pictures.  This guy seemed to be a sure thing.

    It was now time to move into the second stage of their plan.  Jane had been careful to be extra flirtatious with the ball boy for most of this game.  She could tell her charms were working on the boy because he was blushing a cherry red face.  He was clearly not experienced at this sort of thing.  With all the distractions she was giving him, however, he failed to notice the game ball a mere 2 feet in front of Jane as she walked back to the court.  He was unsure of which was more embarrassing, the goings-on of his pants, or the attractive girl in front of him slipping on the ball that he was supposed to tend to and falling over on her arm.  It hurt Jane, but it was the good hurt.  As she rolled around on the hard wood, she felt her heart beat quicken and the blood rush to certain parts of her body.

    Mark was next to her in a flash, almost as if he knew this was coming.  The two of them looked at each other with such passion, and instantly embraced in a kiss, followed by an “are you okay, baby?”  It was obvious that Jane would not be able to get back into the game, and an ambulance was quickly rushing her to the hospital.  Mark was in hot pursuit the whole way there, he was sweating with anticipation at what was to come.  So intense were the thoughts going through his head, that he didn’t even notice the other car before it t-boned into the side of him.  He was pronounced dead on impact by the EMT based on the brain-splatter all over the asphalt.

    Although it wasn’t exactly part of the plan, Mark’s death was just icing on the cake for Jane.  His notes and camera were still intact and she had just enough evidence to make a case out of the line judge who had been compromised by the Texas coach.  The ball boy’s carelessness would run through the courts as a no-brainer.  This was all part of the scheme carefully hatched between her and Mark.  Now Mark’s death at the hands of a drunk driver would only turn the whole operation into a gold mine.  She was completely overcome with excitement.

    Okay, so at what point did you realize this wasn’t exactly a porno?  I hope however, that the point is made.  Does this situation sound so truly farfetched by the standards of society?  People will sue over anything these days.  All in the name of a quick buck do we so quickly throw away the essence that makes us decent people.

    Until next time, good luck with life.

   …then you disappoint me.