SANTA AND THE WANNABE ELF, THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.
Everyone remembers two things from when it all went tits up, where they were and who they killed first. For many people that first kill was a friend or family member but I was lucky as mine was a stranger in fancy dress. To be honest I missed the first day or so and it was only when the power went out that I began to realise what was happening. By then things had gone so far nobody spoke of stopping it, people just spoke of surviving it as best they could.
So when the story of what would be the end of civilisation first started to break I didn’t pay any attention to it, the news on the radio spoke of some sort of poison gas leak in Wales that had left over a hundred dead and thousands ill. I don’t remember what town but there were ongoing reports about the gas cloud spreading towards Cardiff. Really I should have paid attention but I’d just broken up from work for ten days and had other things on my mind. For a start I needed to get some shopping in and had less than three hours to do it. Now I must stress I wasn’t some Scrooge who was anti-Christmas and wasn’t doing this to escape the festive goings on. I had bought and delivered presents for my family and even had a little tree and some battery powered lights which I’d put up on Christmas morning while I cooked a microwave meal for Christmas day dinner. I did really like Christmas but I loved to role-play and although I would be spending this Christmas alone it was only because I had managed to get myself the most epic Christmas present, a place in the most sought after online game event ever. It was an invite only launch of the game and limited to only two hundred players worldwide. For the next five days I would escape Christmas to become an Elven Ranger, playing in an online world in real time. This new game was set to be the biggest event in online gaming and fantasy fiction since Tolkien first dreamed of Middle Earth.
It was in the early hours of Christmas morning, just two days into my time as an elf that the power went out. One minute I was attacking an orc raiding party and the next I was sat in the dark. Now what people need to understand is that those of us who role-play are very imaginative and deeply passionate about what we do. Now some people would say trashing my flat and throwing the mini fridge out of the window was an act of petulance but I insist it was the passion of the moment. There was something deeply satisfying in taking up my replica of the sword Glamdring, which I had placed beside me for luck while playing the game, and smashing everything in the total darkness of my room. I felt like Gandalf fighting the Balrog in the mines of Moria as the sword carved into my computer monitor and the glass table shattered everywhere. Throwing the fridge through the window was in all honesty petulance in the wake of my prized sword snapping in half as I tried to free it from my sideboard. In the moonlight that streamed through the window following the fridges exit into the front garden I fell to my knees to cry as surely my character in the game would have been killed now.
It was while kneeling there that I realised the sound of what I had thought were fireworks was actually explosions. Something serious was happening, if I could find my phone that was now lost somewhere in the ruin of my room I could check the internet for news. After a few minutes of blindly rummaging through the result of my sword attack my hands were covered in cuts from glass splinters but finally I came across something of use, the Christmas lights, still boxed and thankfully unbroken. Pulling them out of the packet I found the on-switch and holding the bunched lights in one hand I began to look around in the pathetic flashing illumination they gave out. Five minutes and another half dozen cuts later I found the phone but my elation was short lived as it showed no signal. Jumping up I waved it above my head as I headed for the window in that mad dance of finding the signal everyone with a phone has done so often.
It was then, standing at my broken window that I saw Santa shuffling drunkenly up my path. I stood still as I watched him stagger closer, his face was hidden in the dark but everyone can recognise Santa no matter how dark it is. Still with no signal for my phone I called out to this drunken Santa, surely he would know what was happening. At the sound of my voice Santa stopped and raised his head, as if he was sniffing the air. Then with unbelievable speed for a drunk he raced across the lawn towards where I stood in my first floor window.
The thing that saved me from his charge was there was a basement flat below mine so as Santa raced towards me he ran out of ground and fell into the entryway to the basement flat that was below the level of the front garden. I winced as he fell and his head smashed through my downstairs neighbour’s window, yet despite this he jumped up instantly and for the first time his face was visible.
A large shard of glass was sticking out of his neck and blood stained the white beard black in the dark, his eyes looked up at me lifelessly as he began to snarl. Here I just have to point out I had watched Dawn of the Dead, Walking Dead and all the rest but when you first see a zombie it doesn’t register, especially when that zombie is dressed up as Santa. As I stood in shock Santa launched himself up at my window, his gloved hands gripping the window frame as he began to haul himself in. I staggered backwards and fell back over a broken piece of furniture to land on my back, knocking the wind out of my lungs. As Santa loomed over me I desperately began to scramble backwards across the floor. It was then that my hand found my one third size replica of Dane Ironfoot’s battle hammer. You may have picked up on the fact I was a very big Middle Earth fan and bought the many items released in the wake of the films and those items have saved my life a few times already. As Santa leapt at me I reacted and without thought I swung the hammer to smash into the side of his head. Santa crashed down at the side of me and I quickly scrambled away from him still holding onto the hammer. For ages I sat in the half light of my flat with the weak twinkling of my battery powered Christmas lights throwing faint illumination and shadows around the walls. I looked at him and all I could think was how I had just killed Santa, I had destroyed every kid’s childhood. For the rest of the night I sat in fear of the police coming to arrest me for murder.
After a further two days of hiding in my flat with no phone signal and not seeing anyone I finally ventured outside. Leaving behind a now stinking Santa I began to see the destruction around the city, the empty streets and burnt out buildings. I walked down the main street with that song from 28 Days Later going through my head, the streets empty of life where just a few days before I had jostled with Christmas shoppers.
A week later I’d killed half a dozen more of the zombies and joined up with a group of five other survivors. I think I’m still struggling to accept the fact that the zombie apocalypse had really happened. You start off by thinking you’re dreaming but you don’t wake up from the dream and your life before begins to fade as you adjust to a new reality. I still remember everything about killing Santa, the fake beard and the dead white eyes but just two days after that night I killed an old school friend and I don’t remember his face at all. Killing zombies is normal now as we kill them all the time as we move from the city centre out through the estates, you don’t even think about it. This is a world where RPG became strange reality over Christmas. While I think this is the game I can hold on to my sanity and keep moving on with my new companions on our quest, a way home to a dream that was our old lives.
Everyone remembers two things from when it all went tits up, where they were and who they killed first. For many people that first kill was a friend or family member but I was lucky as mine was a stranger in fancy dress. To be honest I missed the first day or so and it was only when the power went out that I began to realise what was happening. By then things had gone so far nobody spoke of stopping it, people just spoke of surviving it as best they could.
So when the story of what would be the end of civilisation first started to break I didn’t pay any attention to it, the news on the radio spoke of some sort of poison gas leak in Wales that had left over a hundred dead and thousands ill. I don’t remember what town but there were ongoing reports about the gas cloud spreading towards Cardiff. Really I should have paid attention but I’d just broken up from work for ten days and had other things on my mind. For a start I needed to get some shopping in and had less than three hours to do it. Now I must stress I wasn’t some Scrooge who was anti-Christmas and wasn’t doing this to escape the festive goings on. I had bought and delivered presents for my family and even had a little tree and some battery powered lights which I’d put up on Christmas morning while I cooked a microwave meal for Christmas day dinner. I did really like Christmas but I loved to role-play and although I would be spending this Christmas alone it was only because I had managed to get myself the most epic Christmas present, a place in the most sought after online game event ever. It was an invite only launch of the game and limited to only two hundred players worldwide. For the next five days I would escape Christmas to become an Elven Ranger, playing in an online world in real time. This new game was set to be the biggest event in online gaming and fantasy fiction since Tolkien first dreamed of Middle Earth.
It was in the early hours of Christmas morning, just two days into my time as an elf that the power went out. One minute I was attacking an orc raiding party and the next I was sat in the dark. Now what people need to understand is that those of us who role-play are very imaginative and deeply passionate about what we do. Now some people would say trashing my flat and throwing the mini fridge out of the window was an act of petulance but I insist it was the passion of the moment. There was something deeply satisfying in taking up my replica of the sword Glamdring, which I had placed beside me for luck while playing the game, and smashing everything in the total darkness of my room. I felt like Gandalf fighting the Balrog in the mines of Moria as the sword carved into my computer monitor and the glass table shattered everywhere. Throwing the fridge through the window was in all honesty petulance in the wake of my prized sword snapping in half as I tried to free it from my sideboard. In the moonlight that streamed through the window following the fridges exit into the front garden I fell to my knees to cry as surely my character in the game would have been killed now.
It was while kneeling there that I realised the sound of what I had thought were fireworks was actually explosions. Something serious was happening, if I could find my phone that was now lost somewhere in the ruin of my room I could check the internet for news. After a few minutes of blindly rummaging through the result of my sword attack my hands were covered in cuts from glass splinters but finally I came across something of use, the Christmas lights, still boxed and thankfully unbroken. Pulling them out of the packet I found the on-switch and holding the bunched lights in one hand I began to look around in the pathetic flashing illumination they gave out. Five minutes and another half dozen cuts later I found the phone but my elation was short lived as it showed no signal. Jumping up I waved it above my head as I headed for the window in that mad dance of finding the signal everyone with a phone has done so often.
It was then, standing at my broken window that I saw Santa shuffling drunkenly up my path. I stood still as I watched him stagger closer, his face was hidden in the dark but everyone can recognise Santa no matter how dark it is. Still with no signal for my phone I called out to this drunken Santa, surely he would know what was happening. At the sound of my voice Santa stopped and raised his head, as if he was sniffing the air. Then with unbelievable speed for a drunk he raced across the lawn towards where I stood in my first floor window.
The thing that saved me from his charge was there was a basement flat below mine so as Santa raced towards me he ran out of ground and fell into the entryway to the basement flat that was below the level of the front garden. I winced as he fell and his head smashed through my downstairs neighbour’s window, yet despite this he jumped up instantly and for the first time his face was visible.
A large shard of glass was sticking out of his neck and blood stained the white beard black in the dark, his eyes looked up at me lifelessly as he began to snarl. Here I just have to point out I had watched Dawn of the Dead, Walking Dead and all the rest but when you first see a zombie it doesn’t register, especially when that zombie is dressed up as Santa. As I stood in shock Santa launched himself up at my window, his gloved hands gripping the window frame as he began to haul himself in. I staggered backwards and fell back over a broken piece of furniture to land on my back, knocking the wind out of my lungs. As Santa loomed over me I desperately began to scramble backwards across the floor. It was then that my hand found my one third size replica of Dane Ironfoot’s battle hammer. You may have picked up on the fact I was a very big Middle Earth fan and bought the many items released in the wake of the films and those items have saved my life a few times already. As Santa leapt at me I reacted and without thought I swung the hammer to smash into the side of his head. Santa crashed down at the side of me and I quickly scrambled away from him still holding onto the hammer. For ages I sat in the half light of my flat with the weak twinkling of my battery powered Christmas lights throwing faint illumination and shadows around the walls. I looked at him and all I could think was how I had just killed Santa, I had destroyed every kid’s childhood. For the rest of the night I sat in fear of the police coming to arrest me for murder.
After a further two days of hiding in my flat with no phone signal and not seeing anyone I finally ventured outside. Leaving behind a now stinking Santa I began to see the destruction around the city, the empty streets and burnt out buildings. I walked down the main street with that song from 28 Days Later going through my head, the streets empty of life where just a few days before I had jostled with Christmas shoppers.
A week later I’d killed half a dozen more of the zombies and joined up with a group of five other survivors. I think I’m still struggling to accept the fact that the zombie apocalypse had really happened. You start off by thinking you’re dreaming but you don’t wake up from the dream and your life before begins to fade as you adjust to a new reality. I still remember everything about killing Santa, the fake beard and the dead white eyes but just two days after that night I killed an old school friend and I don’t remember his face at all. Killing zombies is normal now as we kill them all the time as we move from the city centre out through the estates, you don’t even think about it. This is a world where RPG became strange reality over Christmas. While I think this is the game I can hold on to my sanity and keep moving on with my new companions on our quest, a way home to a dream that was our old lives.
A Demons View.
I don’t belong here, wherever this place is. It’s alien to everything that I am, like being immersed in an acidic mist that begins to rot the flesh off your bones. I know I will die unless I can escape as I can feel that it is slowly killing me. Not my body as I can tell my body is elsewhere, it is my soul and consciousness that is being eaten away. It was my soul they stole, dragging it out of my body and casting it here for reasons unknown.
I don’t know how long ago I was taken, time is all mixed up. Was it just a moment ago or has my world fallen to ruin and ages passed? This place is so different, a place of grey shadows and swirling dank mist that makes my spirit body recoil at its touch and there is nothing I recognise or can relate to. It causes me constant pain to be trapped and imprisoned here and a fear is growing within me. I am trapped in a nightmare that will never end even after my soul fades to nothingness. What if even after my soul death my essence doesn’t escape to return to my own world. I fear I may end up trapped, never able to return to my ancestors and take my place back in the cycle of life.
My world isn’t perfect by any means, life there is hard and can be brutal. My people make the best of what we have and we survive where many have failed. Those who rule our world recognise the gift my tribe have and we are protected by them and in return we gladly go to serve them. We live on a world that was not meant to hold life, it is a mainly barren land that allows us to scrape through life. Our legends tell us that long ago we were cast out of our true home and forced to flee, our people defeated in a mighty war. Yet the war never ended and our enemy hunts us still. Even in our exile and defeat they try to pierce our protective spells, to reach us and drag us away. Many of our kind have gone that way while we live in our exile, taken to become the Rephaim, the dead ones. This is the fate I now suffer, our bodies left comatose, the spirit removed. Once we were mighty and lived in paradise, we stood tall to touch the stars. The Lord Morningstar stood as the right hand and we, his people stood with him, first amongst the Host. Then the dark days came and his brother raised sword and bloody war against us. Great battles raged across the heavens until finally the Lord Morningstar was smitten and our resistance crumpled. Injured to the point of death Lord Morningstar led the survivors to a new home, a place of safety from those who gave chase. Now the Lord Morningstar sleeps, unable to heal or die and we await his return to lead his people again. For an age we have been the fallen people, cast out and hunted, we are now the Emim, the fearful ones.
Why I was taken is beyond me, I am not special. Some amongst my tribe have a gift that our leaders can use in the defence of our people. While I showed early promise my gift faded as I grew into adulthood so I was not taken to serve. I became a simple farmer who worked in the fields with the rest of my tribe. Why would our enemy target a simple farmer who wanted to do nothing but live my life with my mate and child. In fact my daughter was the most amazing thing in my life, the first girl born in our village in seven harvests.
When I was taken I was with my family, my mate preparing the night time meal while I kept our daughter amused. This is the time of day that is most important, a child is a rare blessing for our kind and time spent with them is never wasted. With the days chores completed our tribe retreat to our communal dwelling, a large cave with individual living recesses around the communal central area. This was home, the place where we gathered to experience the little joy in our lives. My mate moved around the food area, her eyes a clear vibrant blue as she watched me play with our child. Our people are an open book, you just look to the colour and brightness of our eyes to read our moods. My mates eyes always seemed to glow blue with happiness, I think the only time I ever remember them changing colour was in childbirth when they turned purple with the pain and glowed like hot coals in the dark.
One minute I was sitting watching my daughter as she smiled up at me and then I heard strange voices and my head began to swim. There was a pain, a burning pain in my head that was quickly followed by a sensation of disorientation. I remember falling to my knees at the pain, the dizziness making me retch as a darkness raced up to greet me. The last thing I saw with my own eyes was the face of my screaming daughter, her eyes glowing bright orange in fear as she tried to reach me but my wife held her back, her own eyes also the same shade of orange. Then I was violently dragged away, my soul severed from my body and everything went as black as the deepest tunnel in a cave that has never seen the light. I felt myself burn, my thoughts turning numb and scattering in panic, an attempt to block it out but the pain followed my consciousness even as it tried to find a place to hide within my mind. Then I was in the grey place where my soul slowly began to die, ripped away from my family and life I was alone apart from my growing fear.
I could hear strange voices asking if anyone was there, they spoke of it not working, of the ouija board being rubbish. As I listened i discovered they had dragged me from my life and family for amusement, they were killing me for some sort of game. But I will make those that brought me here suffer for what they have done, for the life they have taken from me. I have chosen the target of my vengeance and I will kill her just as she and her friends who brought me here have sentenced me to death. They are responsible for my plight and have my blood on their hands, I didn’t start this. I never asked for this fight, I didn’t want it but I will not fade away quietly, I will have vengeance, I will possess this girl and destroy her.
I don’t belong here, wherever this place is. It’s alien to everything that I am, like being immersed in an acidic mist that begins to rot the flesh off your bones. I know I will die unless I can escape as I can feel that it is slowly killing me. Not my body as I can tell my body is elsewhere, it is my soul and consciousness that is being eaten away. It was my soul they stole, dragging it out of my body and casting it here for reasons unknown.
I don’t know how long ago I was taken, time is all mixed up. Was it just a moment ago or has my world fallen to ruin and ages passed? This place is so different, a place of grey shadows and swirling dank mist that makes my spirit body recoil at its touch and there is nothing I recognise or can relate to. It causes me constant pain to be trapped and imprisoned here and a fear is growing within me. I am trapped in a nightmare that will never end even after my soul fades to nothingness. What if even after my soul death my essence doesn’t escape to return to my own world. I fear I may end up trapped, never able to return to my ancestors and take my place back in the cycle of life.
My world isn’t perfect by any means, life there is hard and can be brutal. My people make the best of what we have and we survive where many have failed. Those who rule our world recognise the gift my tribe have and we are protected by them and in return we gladly go to serve them. We live on a world that was not meant to hold life, it is a mainly barren land that allows us to scrape through life. Our legends tell us that long ago we were cast out of our true home and forced to flee, our people defeated in a mighty war. Yet the war never ended and our enemy hunts us still. Even in our exile and defeat they try to pierce our protective spells, to reach us and drag us away. Many of our kind have gone that way while we live in our exile, taken to become the Rephaim, the dead ones. This is the fate I now suffer, our bodies left comatose, the spirit removed. Once we were mighty and lived in paradise, we stood tall to touch the stars. The Lord Morningstar stood as the right hand and we, his people stood with him, first amongst the Host. Then the dark days came and his brother raised sword and bloody war against us. Great battles raged across the heavens until finally the Lord Morningstar was smitten and our resistance crumpled. Injured to the point of death Lord Morningstar led the survivors to a new home, a place of safety from those who gave chase. Now the Lord Morningstar sleeps, unable to heal or die and we await his return to lead his people again. For an age we have been the fallen people, cast out and hunted, we are now the Emim, the fearful ones.
Why I was taken is beyond me, I am not special. Some amongst my tribe have a gift that our leaders can use in the defence of our people. While I showed early promise my gift faded as I grew into adulthood so I was not taken to serve. I became a simple farmer who worked in the fields with the rest of my tribe. Why would our enemy target a simple farmer who wanted to do nothing but live my life with my mate and child. In fact my daughter was the most amazing thing in my life, the first girl born in our village in seven harvests.
When I was taken I was with my family, my mate preparing the night time meal while I kept our daughter amused. This is the time of day that is most important, a child is a rare blessing for our kind and time spent with them is never wasted. With the days chores completed our tribe retreat to our communal dwelling, a large cave with individual living recesses around the communal central area. This was home, the place where we gathered to experience the little joy in our lives. My mate moved around the food area, her eyes a clear vibrant blue as she watched me play with our child. Our people are an open book, you just look to the colour and brightness of our eyes to read our moods. My mates eyes always seemed to glow blue with happiness, I think the only time I ever remember them changing colour was in childbirth when they turned purple with the pain and glowed like hot coals in the dark.
One minute I was sitting watching my daughter as she smiled up at me and then I heard strange voices and my head began to swim. There was a pain, a burning pain in my head that was quickly followed by a sensation of disorientation. I remember falling to my knees at the pain, the dizziness making me retch as a darkness raced up to greet me. The last thing I saw with my own eyes was the face of my screaming daughter, her eyes glowing bright orange in fear as she tried to reach me but my wife held her back, her own eyes also the same shade of orange. Then I was violently dragged away, my soul severed from my body and everything went as black as the deepest tunnel in a cave that has never seen the light. I felt myself burn, my thoughts turning numb and scattering in panic, an attempt to block it out but the pain followed my consciousness even as it tried to find a place to hide within my mind. Then I was in the grey place where my soul slowly began to die, ripped away from my family and life I was alone apart from my growing fear.
I could hear strange voices asking if anyone was there, they spoke of it not working, of the ouija board being rubbish. As I listened i discovered they had dragged me from my life and family for amusement, they were killing me for some sort of game. But I will make those that brought me here suffer for what they have done, for the life they have taken from me. I have chosen the target of my vengeance and I will kill her just as she and her friends who brought me here have sentenced me to death. They are responsible for my plight and have my blood on their hands, I didn’t start this. I never asked for this fight, I didn’t want it but I will not fade away quietly, I will have vengeance, I will possess this girl and destroy her.