Sorry for the delayed update! Here’s a bit more from my Zombie novel. If you haven’t read the first part, please refer to The Start of a Zombie Apocalypse.
Jacob paced back and forth, raking nervous fingers through his hair. He had just dialed 911 from the landline, but all he got was static. He tried other numbers – the police department, the fire department, the operator, a pizza place – and still, nothing. Not a single outbound call was going through.
He found himself stealing frequent glances at the elevator. The flesh-eater from the lobby would wake up soon, and he’d need to be ready if she found him again. It was certainly plausible, given that her staff keycard granted her access to his floor. Jacob cracked his knuckles with fresh conviction and pushed the sofa against the elevator doors to set up a blockade. His defense would have to hold until the authorities arrived. He collected chairs from each room, stacked them against one other atop the sofa, and taking another, brought it to the stairwell door and jammed it under the handle. Satisfied with his improvisation, he made his way to the bathroom.
Jacob picked his gun off the floor and wiped it dry. The weight of the weapon always surprised him, made him feel powerful, deliberate, somehow more in control, and moving back to the main room, he propped the gun at shoulder level and took practice aim between the two blockaded entrances. He thought back to the nightmarish descent, the growls and whispers and snarls, and hoped that his mind had simply contrived a lie to distract him from his depression. Still, it had all seemed so real. After some time, he lowered the gun and began to search for his cell phone, looking under pillows and cabinets and in drawers, but to no avail, having hidden it in some forgettable nook when he first arrived. Better hidden so that he wouldn’t give in to weakness and call Molly, he remembered. He managed a laugh. It was just as she had predicted: in the end, his pride would prove his downfall. Continue reading
Writing a zombie apocalypse novel to see where it takes me. Having a lot of fun with it so far. Sharing it for any curious readers out there.
Jacob slumped back in the Italian-marbled bathtub of his hotel suite and wept. Seven days of self-imposed isolation. Seven days with shades drawn, soundproofed windows, and with the floor all to himself. Seven days since he left Molly to clear her stuff out of the apartment. He picked up his gun and tracked the silver glean along its barrel. Everything had gone to shit – the divorce had been finalized, he was still working the same banking career that he swore he would quit ten years ago – everything, but it was time to take control. He cocked the gun, pressed the end of the barrel flat against his skull and shut his eyes, ready to pull the trigger.
Instead, he laughed.
He imagined Molly meeting up with some tall, handsome divorcee, one willing and able to have her biological children. She would smile, he would smile, and she would talk about how terrible her ex-husband had been, he would pretend to care, and they would marry as soon as was socially acceptable. Then she would finally get what she wanted. Nine months later she’d be popping out a little screaming bastard for the whole world to cherish. Continue reading
Posted in Writing
Tagged divorce, fantasy, fiction, genre, horror, long reads, novel, prose, speculative fiction, suicide, writing, zombie, zombie apocalypse
Ever since my voice first cracked, depression became a major problem. At first, it was the acne, then my seemingly permanent braces, and finally, a vague, deepening feeling of insecurity. I was refugee skinny, my face was weak, and I would wake up every morning, stare at my mirror image, and think of all the structural changes that I wished my genetics had determined instead. A bit of bone here, a little less hair there, a smidgen more muscle everywhere. I was ugly. That was my view of myself, and it influenced everything about me.
But I made it through high school relatively unscathed, mostly because I pushed myself to be active in athletics, earned high marks in my classes, and developed a sense of humor that earned me friends enough that I was sure I was a person of value, even if I was physically unattractive. Importantly, I forced myself to discover and cultivate aspects of my personality that gave me a feeling of value as a human being.
Unfortunately, my depression was not left behind in high school. The unique pressures of college introduced new and even greater problems. In college, though my looks transformed – many even thought I was attractive (oh happy day!) – I found myself struggling with my social self-worth. I met great people and was part of a fun group, but I was no longer the center of attention, a role that I had grown used to in high school as the ‘clown’. My social anxiety and insecurity, however, was ultimately minor in comparison to new issues concerning my academics and career path, and what followed was the most severe, long-lasting depression of my life.
But let’s backtrack to the beginning of college. Continue reading
Posted in Depression
Tagged college, depression, dreams, freedom, graduate school, happiness, high school, law, long reads, medicine, novel, self worth, suicide, writing