Wow I am actually learning a lot about grammer. I have another story, Big Brother, if you would like to look through this one please. You don't have to go into so much detail though. I wrote this peice last year as well, it's more of a comedy/horror.
I stepped into the dark alley. There were walls on either side with the same graffiti that was plastered all over town. The brick walls, the sides of two buildings towered over me, locking me in. The wall at the end was also as tall but it had a fire escape running up it like a snake. At the end of this dim abyss were a few dumpsters and rubbish bags.
I was here on a mission, at midnight. I thought I saw a shadow fly across the two buildings, but it could have been a bird, couldn’t it? The faint sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller echoed off the walls.
I knew they were close.
I was a hunter; the living dead had no chance. But they were developing a new tactic. The era of the 70’s still fresh in their undead brains was enough to start a chain reaction. Disco, the dance of the 1970’s was their weapon, with more kicks that Jacko, more spins that Travolta these disco dancing demons were killing the human world.
Sucking it dry of rap and pop, by the way they killed people.
I flipped out my shotgun, a 1940’s Winchester. The other hunters called me old fashioned I called them Bob, Joe, Moe, Ritchie, Lindsay and Fonzy.
I could smell the rotting flesh. I pulled the pump action grip, Cha-chik. Not to load the gun, mainly because doing that before an action scene was cool.
I stepped into the darkness. At that moment the full moon moved right over the alley, filling it with light. The music pumped up ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah Staying Alive!’ was all I could hear.
The low scraping noise started behind the first dumpster. I aimed my shotty ready for some disgusting corpse to come scraping out. The surprise was that the scraping wasn’t caused by the broken bones but by the zombie stud’s new shoes. The moon walking freak came sliding out, I was in shock. It slid right up to me and I could see the green flesh of the back of its head, falling off the lifeless bones. They were still that same old zombies, the walking dead…. Make that the moon walking dead.
I couldn’t move, I guess it was the shock of seeing such a grotesque sight or it could have been something more sinister. At that moment I didn’t care. I raised my gun but a sudden spin knocked it out of my grasp, I could now see its face. The eye sockets stared glumly and the pink suit glistened in the moonlight.
I was prepared, or so I thought. I reached into my jacket for my Desert Eagle, a great gun that was hell powerful. A swift wacko Jacko kick sent me flying, at least ten meters. I slid even more, right out into the street. I flipped over backwards just as the school bus drove by. I pulled out my gun and blasted at least twelve holes in my friend zombie stud.
The clip empty, the idea of a school bus driving at midnight hadn’t registered in my head yet as I stepped up to the corpse. I crushed his skull under my boot, knowing that he would be back.
At that moment the screeching brakes frightened me, I stepped back out into the street just in time to see the school bus spin around. Whilst it was still screeching the driver gave a toothless grin and pounced through the windscreen onto the road. Behind him the bus plundered through a fire hydrant and into an apartment block. Luckily there weren’t any kids on it at 12:05am.
This new menace reattached his arm while I reloaded my gun. With the smoke from the tyres still in the air we quickly closed the gap between us. I stared him down; we were at least a ruler’s length apart. He also stared at me; this one had one eye still. I was holding my gun, my last weapon against evil.
I felt so safe with this gun; it gave me a safety that I couldn’t find in such a surreal world. And with one swift John Travolta move he removed my gun from my hand and my safety with it. I looked over to my gun and slowly back towards zombie stud#2.
He was standing in that classic Travolta pose with one finger in the air. I could see his chest rising and falling, as if he needed to breathe. I was angry now. I knew it was fists now, all the way. Life or Death.
“You’re mine punk†I said under my breath, these things couldn’t talk so I wasn’t expecting a response.
“Bring it on you jive turkey†was what slipped out of his rotting vocal cords. The ‘jive turkey’ part was extremely stressed, as if it was making a point.
This one was different, talking, breathing. I didn’t understand.
Now how was that? did you like the story? the grammer? the WEIRDNESS?
I stepped into the dark alley. There were walls on either side with the same graffiti that was plastered all over town. The brick walls, the sides of two buildings towered over me, locking me in. The wall at the end was also as tall but it had a fire escape running up it like a snake. At the end of this dim abyss were a few dumpsters and rubbish bags.
I was here on a mission, at midnight. I thought I saw a shadow fly across the two buildings, but it could have been a bird, couldn’t it? The faint sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller echoed off the walls.
I knew they were close.
I was a hunter; the living dead had no chance. But they were developing a new tactic. The era of the 70’s still fresh in their undead brains was enough to start a chain reaction. Disco, the dance of the 1970’s was their weapon, with more kicks that Jacko, more spins that Travolta these disco dancing demons were killing the human world.
Sucking it dry of rap and pop, by the way they killed people.
I flipped out my shotgun, a 1940’s Winchester. The other hunters called me old fashioned I called them Bob, Joe, Moe, Ritchie, Lindsay and Fonzy.
I could smell the rotting flesh. I pulled the pump action grip, Cha-chik. Not to load the gun, mainly because doing that before an action scene was cool.
I stepped into the darkness. At that moment the full moon moved right over the alley, filling it with light. The music pumped up ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah Staying Alive!’ was all I could hear.
The low scraping noise started behind the first dumpster. I aimed my shotty ready for some disgusting corpse to come scraping out. The surprise was that the scraping wasn’t caused by the broken bones but by the zombie stud’s new shoes. The moon walking freak came sliding out, I was in shock. It slid right up to me and I could see the green flesh of the back of its head, falling off the lifeless bones. They were still that same old zombies, the walking dead…. Make that the moon walking dead.
I couldn’t move, I guess it was the shock of seeing such a grotesque sight or it could have been something more sinister. At that moment I didn’t care. I raised my gun but a sudden spin knocked it out of my grasp, I could now see its face. The eye sockets stared glumly and the pink suit glistened in the moonlight.
I was prepared, or so I thought. I reached into my jacket for my Desert Eagle, a great gun that was hell powerful. A swift wacko Jacko kick sent me flying, at least ten meters. I slid even more, right out into the street. I flipped over backwards just as the school bus drove by. I pulled out my gun and blasted at least twelve holes in my friend zombie stud.
The clip empty, the idea of a school bus driving at midnight hadn’t registered in my head yet as I stepped up to the corpse. I crushed his skull under my boot, knowing that he would be back.
At that moment the screeching brakes frightened me, I stepped back out into the street just in time to see the school bus spin around. Whilst it was still screeching the driver gave a toothless grin and pounced through the windscreen onto the road. Behind him the bus plundered through a fire hydrant and into an apartment block. Luckily there weren’t any kids on it at 12:05am.
This new menace reattached his arm while I reloaded my gun. With the smoke from the tyres still in the air we quickly closed the gap between us. I stared him down; we were at least a ruler’s length apart. He also stared at me; this one had one eye still. I was holding my gun, my last weapon against evil.
I felt so safe with this gun; it gave me a safety that I couldn’t find in such a surreal world. And with one swift John Travolta move he removed my gun from my hand and my safety with it. I looked over to my gun and slowly back towards zombie stud#2.
He was standing in that classic Travolta pose with one finger in the air. I could see his chest rising and falling, as if he needed to breathe. I was angry now. I knew it was fists now, all the way. Life or Death.
“You’re mine punk†I said under my breath, these things couldn’t talk so I wasn’t expecting a response.
“Bring it on you jive turkey†was what slipped out of his rotting vocal cords. The ‘jive turkey’ part was extremely stressed, as if it was making a point.
This one was different, talking, breathing. I didn’t understand.
Now how was that? did you like the story? the grammer? the WEIRDNESS?
