jack_babalon: (Default)
*updated* I had suggested making a Zombi-Macros but lamented my not having photoshop at the CubeFarm. So much thanks to [profile] karis_straif for making this for me.
jack_babalon: (Default)
"Thank you for calling MeriTech this is Janine speaking how can I help you?"

"Yeah Janine, this is Jack..."

"Who?"

"Jack... Jack Babalon... in accounts billing"

"Why hello Jack."

"Hey... so ah look... i'm calling to let you know I won't be in today..."

"Oh... what's the matter? You're not feeling sick I hope."

"Well no... not me personally... it's just, well I don't know if you watch the news..."

"Oh no I don't like the news. Why have they let Paris out again?"

"Ummmm no... well maybe... I don't know... see the thing is... well apparently the recently deceased are coming back to life, attacking the living in droves and spreading some sort of virus that turns people into mindless, bloodthirsty cannibals..."

"Oh..."

"Yeah ... you haven't heard anything about this?"

"No... can't say I have."

"National Guard units being mobilized across the country, riots spreading across the West Coast, the President issuing a state of emergency while..."

"See that's why I never watch the news... they just never have anything positive to say."

"Zombie Apocalypse... not ringing any bells?"

"Well like I say I said I don't listen to the news ... so why won't you be in again?"

"'Why'? Well mainly because my neighbors stumbling around the hallway missing half his face, chewing on what's left of his cat and howling in pain about needing to eat brains..."

"Brains?"

"Yeah"

"Well has he ummm... gotten you sick?"

"No thank God..."

"Then you should be fine to come in..."

"Ummm look Janene... I don't think you understand what's going on here."

"I know that you've missed a lot of days this year, Jack. Do you want this to go on your permanent record?"

"Seriously are you telling me that the office isn't closed..."

"If we were would I be talking to you?"

"But what about the undead holocaust..."

"Well maybe you should've thought of that before you used up all your sick days..."

*CRASH*

"Okay that's the front door being kicked in Janene, i'm going to have to let you go..."

"Jack listen to me. This is serious! If you don't come in today you better have a doctors note tomorrow otherwise i'm afraid we're going to have to place you on employee probation and you don't want that do you?"

"Fuck off... you can't have my brains!!!"

"What did you just say?"

"I was talking to the zombie..."

"A doctors note or else!"

"Sh'yeah... um lemme call you later, 'kay?"

"Fine but I don't want to hear anymore excuses!"

*line goes dead*
jack_babalon: (Default)
Myra sits on the ledge of the rooftop, downs three blues with the last of the bottle in a single swallow and quickly realizes that despite her improvised cocktail, it'll still be a while before she can pass out tonight. With nothing better to do but wait, she watches the last light of day sink behind the cradle of the Atlanta skyline. The buildings and skyscrapers fade into a solid wall of shadow without any power to light them. She focuses on the faint silhouette of the half of a helicopter embeded in the Bank of America Plaza. Everyday she bets herself that today will be the day when gravity and decay will release it from it's nest in the side of the building. Then she notices that the fire in Grady Hospital has finally died down from the rain earlier this afternoon. The wind shifts and the smoke wafting from the building hits her. She welcomes the acrid sting of it in her eyes. It kills the Stink coming from below. She's managed to get used to everything else since the Great Outbreak but the perpetual reek of sweat, shit and meat rotting under a long summer sun still got to her. It wasn't just the smell but the way it seemed to bring with it it's own heat, a sick humidity that coated each breath she took. The worst part was the way the stink followed her, the way it lingered in the nostrils, seeped into the palette of the tongue so nothing tasted right, clung to the body and wouldn't let go. Even back in the last days of running water it wouldn't wash off... despite scrubbing until the skin bled beneath her fingers.

It burnt in the center of the skull until the liqour killed the pain.

The liqour she was now out of!

She mutters a curse (the first word she's heard outside the walls of her thoughts in over a week) and flings the empty bottle at the black veil of skyrise. The bottle spins in an escalating parabola towards the cloudless sky, reaches the top of its arc and plummets downward into a muffled crash somewhere in the endless sea of dead faces that stare back up at her. Read more... )

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