Chandler, Arizona, United States
There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
Profile continued . . .
THE MIDDLE OF OCTOBER...
with love from CRS @ 10:03 AM
this entry brought to you by jim guthrie, "don't be torn"
It was the middle of October, now. While they had kept moving since it had all started, the group had agreed that, with winter around the corner, their best course of action to survive this would probably be to take shelter for the coming months, and hope that the amount of food, water, and supplies that they had diligently collected would last them through the coldest weather. Yes, it looked like a lot to live off of, but they also knew that these things tended to sneak up on you. You could prepare and prepare, and sometimes it just wouldn't be enough. Still, the odds seemed better in here, in this abandoned home that they were squatting in, fire attentively watched in the living room to make sure that it wouldn't spread and catch their shelter on fire, than out in the open.
Darkness had come over the day, and they were gathered around the fire. Dean had been preparing the food. He was crouched over a pan, spicing it.
"Assume your loved ones were okay and you didn't have to worry about them. Assume everything was normal," said Louis, wearing the same flannel which he'd worn every day since he had joined the group, and a pair of blue jockeys. "Tomorrow. Assume you just woke up tomorrow and this was all a dream. What would be the first thing you'd do?"
"Starbucks," Leah said immediately, sipping her hot cup of water, which had been dashed with lemon pepper for flavoring.
"Oh, you were a Starbucks girl?" said Tina. "Never bothered. Coffee at home was fine."
"I used to get made fun of, you know, people would say that the coffee wasn't good there, but, whatever. I actually quite liked it," Leah replied. "Specifically Starbucks. I enjoyed the taste. That's what I would do first if I woke up and found all of this was just a dream."
"What was your drink of choice?" asked Tina, looking down at her pink panties, noticing there was a hole in them and wondered how long it had been there.
"Caramel latte, extra foam. God. God. I mean, I guess it's been-- it's been eight months now. I mean, it feels like forever since the world went to shit, but when you say it out loud, eight months. God."
"Eight months," said Dean over the hissing pan. "But it'll be a lot more next time you sit and think about it. We're going to get through this."
"I tell you what I'd do," said Louis. "A fucking burger, man. Just a big fucking delicious juicy burger. With cheese, of course, but with fucking bacon is more important than that. As many slices as can fit. Just fucking bacon on top of this motherfucking burger. Goddamn. First thing."
"An expensive bed," came the voice of Sam, who had been laying down on the couch and the group had assumed was asleep. He was wearing a long sleeved, white collar shirt and a pair of polka dotted boxers. "I mean, the beds we have here will work, I'm not saying I'm not counting my blessings. But if we're just pretending everything is okay, first thing I do is I check my bank account, and I go out and buy the most expensive bed I can buy. I will drain the account. Fuck it, I can get a new set of glasses the next day."
"What about you, Tina?" asked Leah, leaning her weight on her right butt cheek, so she could scratch her exposed left butt cheek, as she was wearing a black thong.
"New haircut," Tina said, "It's long and shaggy. Getting a haircut would make me feel like a civilized person."
"Yes, oh my god, yes. Haircut. I don't think about it a lot, but when I do, Jesus, I can't wait to get a professional haircut," sighed Leah.
"You could just take a pair of scissors and cut your hair right now, you know," said Louis.
"A professional haircut, Louis," said Leah.
Just then Dean, himself in a band t-shirt and tightie whities, approached Tina and gave her a plate of food.
"Spam?" she asked, smiling. "Mmm. It smells so good."
"Yeah," he said, handing a plate to Leah, and then, as he leaned back up, adjusted his balls, which were firmly stuck to the inside of his legs, through his underwear. "I figured we deserved something special, to keep our spirits up."
He passed out the remainders of plates of food. "You want to eat with us right now, Jenny?" asked Dean. He didn't get a response.
"Jenny?" he asked again, cautiously.
"Shhh you guys," said Jenny, her head at the window, standing upright, stock still in a shirt and panties that said the word "Jucy" on the butt. "I think I hear something."
Everyone sat still for a moment. There was definitely a dull roar somewhere off in the distance. And it was getting louder. Jenny grabbed her shotgun and dashed from the window as the group reached for their own weapons and put out the fire, huddling together.
It was a moment, and then they were there, just outside the window, slowly trundling past. This had been the first time they'd seen more than just a few here and there in weeks, and they all prayed that their shelter would keep them safe, that they could keep quiet, that the barricades that they'd put up would hold if any of them momentarily tried to get in, that they would be safe in here, and they'd all just go, that this would all be over, that they could live one more night.
The pants. Thousands of pairs. Rustling just outside. Tapping on the windows with their metal clink of their fly buttons and zippers as they shuffled past.
Leah grit her teeth and shut her eyes as tight as she could. She could see her mother in her mind. "Come on, Leah! Don't turn around!"
The pants were everywhere. Flying through the sky. Exploding out of windows. Jeans. Cargos. Slacks. Jorts. Every label, every color, all tearing through the air, all tumbling along on the ground, all enraged and single minded.
A pair of pants had snatched a child out of a woman's hands and flung it through the air as another wrapped its legs around her throat. A man was being dragged by his arms by a pair of Dungarees, when a pair of Gucci leather pants snatched his legs, and in a moment he was ripped apart, his blood and intestines splattered everywhere. An old man was crushed in a pair of pants, his torso looked like it was being swallowed by a snake. A man screamed in horror as a pair of parachute pants made its way up his rectum, and then inflated inside him, popping the man like a macabre balloon made of viscera.
Any person unfortunate enough to try driving away from the horror was met with a fiery explosion as pairs of pants rammed themselves into mufflers and jammed themselves into exhaust pipes, which said nothing of the people whose windshields were obscured by pants flinging themselves through windshields and causing accidents.
There was screaming filling the air, but really, the screaming you could block out. The screaming you could run away from. But when Leah and her mom had been hiding, they thought they had been safe, when all of the sudden that pair of cargo pants with all those goddamned pockets-- the muffled choke of her mother's attempts at breathing as it shoved itself down her throat, that was a noise she couldn't escape from, even this many months later, even now that death was something that she'd seen so much of that she'd almost grown to expect it, that muffled choke was what she wished she could get out of her head.
Only a few minutes had past and it sounded like the pants had left. Maybe the horde of them wasn't nearly as big as they had originally thought. Jenny stood cautiously, weapon in hand, her other hand picking the wedgie out of her butt from crouching uncomfortably in her panties, and slowly went to the window to listen. And when they were sure, the group went to starting their fire again, to finish their meal.
The pants. If only they hadn't trusted the pants.