I was never a religious man. I mean, I believed that there was something more to this life then we knew, and that something awaited us on the other side when we died. Now however, I'm not so sure. They say that it's bad news when a man of science turns to god, but I was never one for science either. Honestly, I'm just trying to live day to day as much as I can, trying to have some semblance of a normal life you know? Someday I can almost convince myself that everything is fine, that all this is normal. Other days I can barely get out of bed. It used to be that I had a reason to get up each and every morning. Sometimes it was for class, other times it would be for food. Now I find myself asking if it is worth it at all. I used to have a lot of those days back when all this first started. I think my lowest was when I stayed in bed for almost a week straight. I didn't even bother to be awake for that, I just slept as much as I possibly could, hoping that every time I woke up this nightmare would be over and I would be back home. But that never happened. on the fifth day I woke up and found that I couldn't sleep anymore. my head hurt, I was tired and hungry as hell. I hadn't eaten in days, so I was really out of it. I didn't even remember getting dressed but I did. I stumbled down the stairs and out of my apartment in a cloudy fog. I vaguely remember thinking I was going to Taco Bell. That was the first time I saw one of them up close.
I hadn't taken more then two steps outside when It looked up at me. Its face was grey and puffy; dotted with pus filled boils and a couple lacerations above it's right eye. Looking back, I think it was my neighbor Dave. He was a big guy, with a booming voice and hands like hocks of meat. He was also g** as fuck. He would often come outside to smoke or drink a beer, and I would sometimes join him. we would sit and talk about life, relationships, whatever. We would shoot the shit for a couple of hours until one of us, usually him, decided to call it a night. He was a great guy. It's sad that he ended up like he did. A couple days before that he and his boyfriend had a huge falling out. Dave was a monster of a man, but he was about as dangerous as a kitten. I could hear him crying and his bitchy little stick of a diva shouting at him in that high voice of his, calling him a no good something something, cabron, something something mother of god. He screamed in Spanish mostly, so I didn't understand a lot of it. I waited until I heard the door slam and watched as the little queen got into his lime green hatchback and drive away. I wasn't to worried though. Dave and the queen "he went by Sammy" did this about once a month or so. If I didn't know any better I could have sworn it was some sort of fetish. After a day or tow, Sammy would come back to Dave with gifts in his arms and some long, drawn out monologue about how foolish he had been, and how he was so very sorry. This had to be rehearsed because each time he came back after a fight, Sammy wore the same thing: a bight pink top, lime green leggins, and a matching green bandana. Afterwards he and Dave would go back inside, and I would turn up my music for the next two hours or so.
Anyways, when I walked outside, I must have interrupted something because Dave let out a nasty hiss at me. he stood up and began to stagger towards me. I remember him reeking of something foul, like when you go into a public restroom and find one of the toilets just filled to the brim with an ungodly amount of shit,except ten time worse. I had always wondered if smelling salts could really revive a fainted person.I still don't know if they work, but I do know that it was that moment that when the smell suddenly caused something to snap in the back of my head. like flint on steel, my mind suddenly sparked to life. A fire of information and memories burnt through my head and I suddenly remembered everything I had tried to sleep away.
All of that and more came flooding back into my mind. I remembered a new article I read about how someone in town had reported seeing a guy walking in their backyard. They thought he was drunk because he smelled terrible and was stumbling around.
I had seen Dave drunk before. Dave gets chatty when he's drunk. His speech gets slurred and he sometimes laughs for no reason.
Dave does not, however, dine of the half eaten corpse of Sammy outside my apartment.
My response was almost automatic. As Dave reached for me with his giant meaty hands, one of which was missing a few fingers, my leg flew out and kicked him square in the gut. It wasn't a great kick, but I managed to knock him back into the metal railing that surrounded the second story balcony are of my apartment complex. I had written the super at least a hundred times, telling him that he needed to get better railing. It was so thin that if someone were to lean on it they could fall through. He just said "Dont let anyone lean on it."
I guess Dave didn't get the memo. He stumbled backwards and bumped into the railing. It was almost like a slow motion blooper, like the ones they showed on that show.
Dave held his arms out and his side.
he waved them around
the railing gave a creak, and then snapped as Dave fell backwards.
This is the point in the show where the announcer would have made some sort of joke, and the audience would laugh. this would also be where the person got back up and showed that they were Ok.
but this wasn't a show.
I crept carefully over to the ledge and looked down.
Dave had landed on a grill that had been built into the courtyard; on of those iron box things that you sometimes see at a campground. half of him was stuck on top of it like some sort of raw piece of meat. the other half was next to the grill, leaking blood, bile, and guts.
I didn't know Dave was a zombie at the time. All I knew was that one of my best friends and neighbors had just tried to attack me, and in the heat of the moment I pushed him off a balcony and killed him. Unable to even speak, I slowly walked backwards, back into my apartment. I shut the door behind me and slumped down against it. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to scream and cry and punch things until my knuckles bled. But I didn't. I did none of those things. Instead, I simply curled up in a ball, put my head against my knee's, and cried.