Halifax: 11 July, 2010
[Originally sent as an email to a few friends, since I have basically forgotten that I have a livejournal. Tsk!]
I had put the kettle on to boil, and sat back down to read. Outside, there was some kind of whooping hollering noise under the sound of rainfall, which being that I live on bar-central, I paid no mind: assuming that A Game had just finished and folks were getting an early start to drinking.
Then the kettle went. So, I followed that shrieking into the kitchen, and silenced it by filling my mug. I brought said mug over fridgeward, for milk, accompanied by louder and less celebratory shrieking from outside. "What, 'zit the zombie apocalypse?" I thought to myself while turning and crossing to the window.
It was.
My face froze in gleeful surprise as a parade of very damp human forms strolled, lurched, waved unevenly, and altogether SHAMBLED (in a reasonably tidy way along the sidewalk, with ambling police escort; this is Canada after all).
Among the fallen, I saw: a doctor in scrubs, a painter with gore streaked pallette, a housewife, little girl in pigtails with teddybear, one-armed man, and someone with his umbrella wrong-way up, besides innumerable red-streaked t-shirts and face paint. There was also a stroller with an actual child in, but the awning-top-portion prevented me from seeing whether it was conventionally alive.
When the several blocks worth of contagion had passed, and the screams and groaning faded into the distance -- intermittent shouts bursting through the downpour from blocks away-- , I remembered my tea, added milk, and sat to carefully peck out this account of events. [Original email was from the Wii, since I was without a computer at home for three weeks.]
I leave you with a cautionary consideration. Do you know where your weapons are?
I had put the kettle on to boil, and sat back down to read. Outside, there was some kind of whooping hollering noise under the sound of rainfall, which being that I live on bar-central, I paid no mind: assuming that A Game had just finished and folks were getting an early start to drinking.
Then the kettle went. So, I followed that shrieking into the kitchen, and silenced it by filling my mug. I brought said mug over fridgeward, for milk, accompanied by louder and less celebratory shrieking from outside. "What, 'zit the zombie apocalypse?" I thought to myself while turning and crossing to the window.
It was.
My face froze in gleeful surprise as a parade of very damp human forms strolled, lurched, waved unevenly, and altogether SHAMBLED (in a reasonably tidy way along the sidewalk, with ambling police escort; this is Canada after all).
Among the fallen, I saw: a doctor in scrubs, a painter with gore streaked pallette, a housewife, little girl in pigtails with teddybear, one-armed man, and someone with his umbrella wrong-way up, besides innumerable red-streaked t-shirts and face paint. There was also a stroller with an actual child in, but the awning-top-portion prevented me from seeing whether it was conventionally alive.
When the several blocks worth of contagion had passed, and the screams and groaning faded into the distance -- intermittent shouts bursting through the downpour from blocks away-- , I remembered my tea, added milk, and sat to carefully peck out this account of events. [Original email was from the Wii, since I was without a computer at home for three weeks.]
I leave you with a cautionary consideration. Do you know where your weapons are?