Diary of a Young Girl, or Love in a Time of Zombies
Dear Diary,
My dad is trying to ruin my life. Destroy it utterly. One ‘suspicious’ news report, and I’m confined to quarters. Well, the house, anyway, which is just as bad. McD’s is nowhere near Longcrest St, it’s all the way across town, and I would be perfectly safe, if anything is even really going on. D is going to be there tonight. The Bitch will be there, too, but I know if I could just talk to D, he’d forget all about her. She’s head cheerleader, shouldn’t she be dating the quarterback or someone equally brainless? People should date their intellectual equals. I truly believe that. Dad is so paranoid. If I hadn’t seen that news report myself, I would think he just made it up to keep me from having a life. He told me I could date once I turned 16, and that’s only a few weeks away. Just in time for prom. And if I want to go with an actual guy, I have to start working on potential dates now. Dad just does not understand that. He probably doesn’t want me to date until I’m 30. But, really, I bet he’s been reading that stupid guide again. Like I said, paranoid. I’d burn that fucking book if I didn’t think he had it practically memorized anyway. Sometimes I think Mom was right when she told the judge Dad was nuts. But not too crazy to make lots of money, which Mom really loves, because she only makes an appearance when she wants more. Great, I’m thinking about my bitch mother again. Like I’m not already depressed tonight. Better go call Em and let her know I can’t go to McD’s as planned, thanks Dad.
Dear Diary,
One benefit of having a crazy father is I didn’t have to go to school today. No school, yay, but stuck in the house, boring. Em’s bringing my assignments, and she’s going to tell me all about McD’s last night. Maybe D dumped the Bitch right in front of everyone. Right, and maybe the dead really are walking.
--
It’s official, insanity is a communicable disease. (See, Mr. L, I can spell it if I feel like it) Dad’s buddies came over today, and I don’t think they’re leaving, since they brought their assorted wives, children and belongings. I am not sharing my room with any runny nose brats. Maybe when Em comes over, I can talk Dad into letting her stay for a while, since an ‘outbreak’ is, well, breaking out. Now they’re all sitting around trying to decide what class this outbreak is. Apparently, four is bad. My vote is class zero, because Dad and his buddies are loonies, and there are no such things as zombies. At least they have a specific psychosis and they aren’t running around biting people at random like those guys on the news. Hell, I learned not to bite when I was 2. Grow up. At least they’re not shooting people, those crazies. I mean the ones on the street, not the ones in the house. Maybe I should be worried, Dad and his buddies have a lot of guns.
--
So Em finally got here with my schoolwork, way more than there should be. Nothing monumental happened at McD’s last night, figures. I didn’t miss anything except a chance to get D to notice me and how much smarter than the Bitch I am. Em said a lot of kids didn’t show up at school today, and some who did were all bandaged, like on their hands or arms. Em was even attacked by one of those loonies last night! Well, not really attacked, but one of them did scratch her wrist a little when he tried to grab her. The police were trying to round him up, and Em and the rest of them stopped to watch. The police stopped him before he could really do any harm, though. I could tell Em was a little freaked out, and considering how hysterical her mother is, I’m surprised she let Em go to school today. It’s only a little scratch, but it did look really red. I helped Em clean it up and changed her bandage, and then she wanted to go home. I think she had a fever, too. I hope she’ll be all right. Can zombies be made through scratches? Maybe I’ll read Dad’s stupid book.
Dear Diary,
Well, the news didn’t come out and say zombie, but the phrase ‘dead people getting up and walking around, attacking the living’ does bring the word to mind. I guess Dad isn’t psycho. I called Em’s house, but no one answered. I even worked up the nerve and dialed D’s number, too, but I got the machine. I suppose all this stuff going on, zombies and everything, means that prom is cancelled. I had this great dress picked out, too. My date wouldn’t have looked at any other girl, and if I just went with Em like we talked about, it would have made all those boys who didn’t ask me wish they had. Em and I were going to the mall today to see if it’s still there. The dress, I mean. I guess I won’t be going anywhere with Em ever again, though. I’ll never have a boyfriend.
Dear Diary,
Dad is making me stand a watch. Sure, I can shoot and all that, I mean, Dad started teaching me when I was little, but why do I have to stand around in the dead of night and be all bored? None of the Wives are taking a watch, just because they’re taking care of the household chores and the kids, blah blah blah. Well, being on watch is better than washing dishes.
Zombies killed: 3 (none by me)
Dear Diary,
I shot a zombie today. It is so much easier to hit a paper target than a moving one. I guess I should have let Dad take me hunting all those years ago, but, eww, gross, I didn’t want to shoot any defenseless animals. Still, I’d know how to hit a moving target if I had. Whatever, it isn’t like I won’t get plenty of practice now. All this stress is making me break out so bad. I’m going to run out of concealer, and I don’t think Dad will make a supply run for makeup, no matter how awful I look.
Zombies killed: 10 (1 mine - Mrs. Ellis from down the street, mean old bitch)
Dear Diary,
Some of the neighbors tried to get in today, but most of them were obviously bitten and Dad wouldn’t let them. They kept pounding on the gate and whining to be let in, so Dad took a shot at them to make them leave. I told him to just shoot them now and save us the trouble later, but Dad is so squeamish. Whatever, what do I know? What I do know is, all the racket attracted more dead-heads (my own word).
Zombies killed: a lot (5 mine for sure - no one familiar, but one had a fucked-up face so I couldn’t be sure)
Dear Diary,
I shot the Bitch today. She, or her corpse, whatever, came stumbling down the street, right up to our place. Nailed her right between her big, formerly blue, eyes. Brainless, even as a zombie, she just stood there while I took aim. It’s not every day a teenage girl’s dream comes true. Ding-dong, the Bitch is dead. I started to call Em, but then I remembered she’s probably dead. The phones are out anyway.
Zombies killed: 12 (only 2 mine, but the Bitch makes up for it)
Dear Diary,
I was right. Em is dead, and now she’s really dead. I didn’t think I would have such a problem putting her down, but I couldn’t do it. One of Dad’s buddies did it. I don’t feel much like writing anymore today.
Zombies killed: EM
Dear Diary,
We had a burning today. Dad said it was a calculated risk, but leaving all those corpses around was a health hazard for sure. No one got hurt, but all that smoke and noise, whatever, really pulled in the dead-heads. Every shot just brings more, too. They must be really close. I don’t think we’ll get much sleep tonight, there’s too much noise. The little snots are all sniveling with their mommies. I learned how to shoot when I was the same age as some of the older kids, why can’t they?
Zombies killed: who knows, but a lot mine (Dad calls me Dead-eye, like when I was little)
Dear Diary,
I saw D. today! Even as a zombie, he is so cute. With all the dead-heads around, no one noticed that I didn’t shoot him. I wish. . . It doesn’t matter, but I can still look at him. Em would. . . None of it matters.
Zombies killed: didn’t bother to count
Dear Diary,
Dad raised another group of survivors on the radio today, and we’re going to join forces or whatever. They don’t have a safe place, so they’re coming to us. I guess that means I have to share my room for sure now. I hope there’s another girl my age in the group, but they’re probably all old guys like my dad and his buddies. Maybe I won’t have to stand watch when they get here, not that I mind doing it so much anymore, it’s the only way I have any time to myself.
Zombies killed: gazillions, don’t I wish
Dear Diary,
We cleaned out the neighborhood pretty good today, just to clear the way for the group coming in. Dad led a team out and I posted on the roof. Dad says I’m the best sniper we’ve got. He’s right. We probably didn’t get them all, but one or two will be a lot easier to handle than a horde. And I didn’t see D. at all. Maybe he’s still out there. I kinda hope so.
Zombies killed: a shitload
Dear Diary,
It’s been a crazy few days. The travelers came in running and led a new bunch of dead-heads right to our door. Not really a big deal, but, please, a day or two without them would be nice. Some of them were bit, so Dad wouldn’t let them in no matter how much their friends yelled at him. Duh, don’t they know bite=dead? Like I said, a lot of yelling, but finally one guy, the leader I guess, just said fine and they left their wounded outside. And of course, all this was happening with the dead-heads breathing down their necks. Or moaning, whatever. Once they were all in, I put the wounded out of their misery. I was right, not one girl my age in the group. There is this one guy, though. He’s no D, but D. isn’t looking so hot these days, either. I think I’ll put him out of his misery if I ever see him again. I wonder how old this new guy is.
Zombies killed: not enough
***********
First time posting on LJ, hope I didn't screw it up.
So, here's something I wrote a few years ago. It's got zombies, which seems to be what I'm writing, when I write at all.
My dad is trying to ruin my life. Destroy it utterly. One ‘suspicious’ news report, and I’m confined to quarters. Well, the house, anyway, which is just as bad. McD’s is nowhere near Longcrest St, it’s all the way across town, and I would be perfectly safe, if anything is even really going on. D is going to be there tonight. The Bitch will be there, too, but I know if I could just talk to D, he’d forget all about her. She’s head cheerleader, shouldn’t she be dating the quarterback or someone equally brainless? People should date their intellectual equals. I truly believe that. Dad is so paranoid. If I hadn’t seen that news report myself, I would think he just made it up to keep me from having a life. He told me I could date once I turned 16, and that’s only a few weeks away. Just in time for prom. And if I want to go with an actual guy, I have to start working on potential dates now. Dad just does not understand that. He probably doesn’t want me to date until I’m 30. But, really, I bet he’s been reading that stupid guide again. Like I said, paranoid. I’d burn that fucking book if I didn’t think he had it practically memorized anyway. Sometimes I think Mom was right when she told the judge Dad was nuts. But not too crazy to make lots of money, which Mom really loves, because she only makes an appearance when she wants more. Great, I’m thinking about my bitch mother again. Like I’m not already depressed tonight. Better go call Em and let her know I can’t go to McD’s as planned, thanks Dad.
Dear Diary,
One benefit of having a crazy father is I didn’t have to go to school today. No school, yay, but stuck in the house, boring. Em’s bringing my assignments, and she’s going to tell me all about McD’s last night. Maybe D dumped the Bitch right in front of everyone. Right, and maybe the dead really are walking.
--
It’s official, insanity is a communicable disease. (See, Mr. L, I can spell it if I feel like it) Dad’s buddies came over today, and I don’t think they’re leaving, since they brought their assorted wives, children and belongings. I am not sharing my room with any runny nose brats. Maybe when Em comes over, I can talk Dad into letting her stay for a while, since an ‘outbreak’ is, well, breaking out. Now they’re all sitting around trying to decide what class this outbreak is. Apparently, four is bad. My vote is class zero, because Dad and his buddies are loonies, and there are no such things as zombies. At least they have a specific psychosis and they aren’t running around biting people at random like those guys on the news. Hell, I learned not to bite when I was 2. Grow up. At least they’re not shooting people, those crazies. I mean the ones on the street, not the ones in the house. Maybe I should be worried, Dad and his buddies have a lot of guns.
--
So Em finally got here with my schoolwork, way more than there should be. Nothing monumental happened at McD’s last night, figures. I didn’t miss anything except a chance to get D to notice me and how much smarter than the Bitch I am. Em said a lot of kids didn’t show up at school today, and some who did were all bandaged, like on their hands or arms. Em was even attacked by one of those loonies last night! Well, not really attacked, but one of them did scratch her wrist a little when he tried to grab her. The police were trying to round him up, and Em and the rest of them stopped to watch. The police stopped him before he could really do any harm, though. I could tell Em was a little freaked out, and considering how hysterical her mother is, I’m surprised she let Em go to school today. It’s only a little scratch, but it did look really red. I helped Em clean it up and changed her bandage, and then she wanted to go home. I think she had a fever, too. I hope she’ll be all right. Can zombies be made through scratches? Maybe I’ll read Dad’s stupid book.
Dear Diary,
Well, the news didn’t come out and say zombie, but the phrase ‘dead people getting up and walking around, attacking the living’ does bring the word to mind. I guess Dad isn’t psycho. I called Em’s house, but no one answered. I even worked up the nerve and dialed D’s number, too, but I got the machine. I suppose all this stuff going on, zombies and everything, means that prom is cancelled. I had this great dress picked out, too. My date wouldn’t have looked at any other girl, and if I just went with Em like we talked about, it would have made all those boys who didn’t ask me wish they had. Em and I were going to the mall today to see if it’s still there. The dress, I mean. I guess I won’t be going anywhere with Em ever again, though. I’ll never have a boyfriend.
Dear Diary,
Dad is making me stand a watch. Sure, I can shoot and all that, I mean, Dad started teaching me when I was little, but why do I have to stand around in the dead of night and be all bored? None of the Wives are taking a watch, just because they’re taking care of the household chores and the kids, blah blah blah. Well, being on watch is better than washing dishes.
Zombies killed: 3 (none by me)
Dear Diary,
I shot a zombie today. It is so much easier to hit a paper target than a moving one. I guess I should have let Dad take me hunting all those years ago, but, eww, gross, I didn’t want to shoot any defenseless animals. Still, I’d know how to hit a moving target if I had. Whatever, it isn’t like I won’t get plenty of practice now. All this stress is making me break out so bad. I’m going to run out of concealer, and I don’t think Dad will make a supply run for makeup, no matter how awful I look.
Zombies killed: 10 (1 mine - Mrs. Ellis from down the street, mean old bitch)
Dear Diary,
Some of the neighbors tried to get in today, but most of them were obviously bitten and Dad wouldn’t let them. They kept pounding on the gate and whining to be let in, so Dad took a shot at them to make them leave. I told him to just shoot them now and save us the trouble later, but Dad is so squeamish. Whatever, what do I know? What I do know is, all the racket attracted more dead-heads (my own word).
Zombies killed: a lot (5 mine for sure - no one familiar, but one had a fucked-up face so I couldn’t be sure)
Dear Diary,
I shot the Bitch today. She, or her corpse, whatever, came stumbling down the street, right up to our place. Nailed her right between her big, formerly blue, eyes. Brainless, even as a zombie, she just stood there while I took aim. It’s not every day a teenage girl’s dream comes true. Ding-dong, the Bitch is dead. I started to call Em, but then I remembered she’s probably dead. The phones are out anyway.
Zombies killed: 12 (only 2 mine, but the Bitch makes up for it)
Dear Diary,
I was right. Em is dead, and now she’s really dead. I didn’t think I would have such a problem putting her down, but I couldn’t do it. One of Dad’s buddies did it. I don’t feel much like writing anymore today.
Zombies killed: EM
Dear Diary,
We had a burning today. Dad said it was a calculated risk, but leaving all those corpses around was a health hazard for sure. No one got hurt, but all that smoke and noise, whatever, really pulled in the dead-heads. Every shot just brings more, too. They must be really close. I don’t think we’ll get much sleep tonight, there’s too much noise. The little snots are all sniveling with their mommies. I learned how to shoot when I was the same age as some of the older kids, why can’t they?
Zombies killed: who knows, but a lot mine (Dad calls me Dead-eye, like when I was little)
Dear Diary,
I saw D. today! Even as a zombie, he is so cute. With all the dead-heads around, no one noticed that I didn’t shoot him. I wish. . . It doesn’t matter, but I can still look at him. Em would. . . None of it matters.
Zombies killed: didn’t bother to count
Dear Diary,
Dad raised another group of survivors on the radio today, and we’re going to join forces or whatever. They don’t have a safe place, so they’re coming to us. I guess that means I have to share my room for sure now. I hope there’s another girl my age in the group, but they’re probably all old guys like my dad and his buddies. Maybe I won’t have to stand watch when they get here, not that I mind doing it so much anymore, it’s the only way I have any time to myself.
Zombies killed: gazillions, don’t I wish
Dear Diary,
We cleaned out the neighborhood pretty good today, just to clear the way for the group coming in. Dad led a team out and I posted on the roof. Dad says I’m the best sniper we’ve got. He’s right. We probably didn’t get them all, but one or two will be a lot easier to handle than a horde. And I didn’t see D. at all. Maybe he’s still out there. I kinda hope so.
Zombies killed: a shitload
Dear Diary,
It’s been a crazy few days. The travelers came in running and led a new bunch of dead-heads right to our door. Not really a big deal, but, please, a day or two without them would be nice. Some of them were bit, so Dad wouldn’t let them in no matter how much their friends yelled at him. Duh, don’t they know bite=dead? Like I said, a lot of yelling, but finally one guy, the leader I guess, just said fine and they left their wounded outside. And of course, all this was happening with the dead-heads breathing down their necks. Or moaning, whatever. Once they were all in, I put the wounded out of their misery. I was right, not one girl my age in the group. There is this one guy, though. He’s no D, but D. isn’t looking so hot these days, either. I think I’ll put him out of his misery if I ever see him again. I wonder how old this new guy is.
Zombies killed: not enough
***********
First time posting on LJ, hope I didn't screw it up.
So, here's something I wrote a few years ago. It's got zombies, which seems to be what I'm writing, when I write at all.