nahh nah nah
Written while very sleepy so hope it's ok. This is a nah-nah-nah :pPpPp to Dibbs who is convinced of the superiority of Zombies.
Title - Being Other, or of choosing your other-life cliche.
Words - 1334
This place was just like all the others. It was depressing.
People used to think of death as escaping the toil and burdens of life and greeting the splendiferous or sulphur soaked afterlife. Now being one of the other-lifers merely meant joining a new cliché; Zombie, Vampire or Other.
Vampires were frequently in vogue. With the debut of any pretentious new film or novel, humans became obsessed with the supposed romance of tortured souls, and sun shunning blood suckers. They imagined a dark allure; adopted dodgy accents, donned black clothing, gave themselves fancy, often unpronounceable names. It kept the cosmetic counters in business with rushes for white powder, black eyeliner and occasional glitter.
Reality often leaves a person wanting. In the newbie vampire’s case that wanting came with a ravenous hunger for blood, not to mention the allergies and missing out on morning sales. And surfing. Surfing didn’t have the same vibe in the dark of night and the Siren’s having excellent vision, something not all vamps had, were guaranteed to heckle loudly. No other being could heckled like a Siren. Their voices fluctuating from haunting melodic love songs to scratchy shrieks that caused eardrum bleeds.
He should in theory feel a comradery to Zombies. According to that scientist guy on the telly who had a whole series devoted to pointing out the similarities. Unfortunately his research was based on a bunch of old slasher films. Not even the type of slash he would find enjoyable either. But then the prissy scientist guy was kind of hairy which made him think of near Yeti ancestry and what would that abominable lot know about the complex aspects of other-lifer society? Most of them stuck to mountain tops and lived in frozen caves.
Zombies were currently the flavour of the month. This bar now, it was full of Zombies. The traditional lumbering breed and the more modern ones with their neat stitching and careful wording. Some barely drawled at all, or drooled. They thought they were so discreet and clever about their removable body parts, watching them shifting in their seats and smirk to each other he felt the onset of a headache.
No way was he a lesser form of them. He could see them thinking it. Literally in the sense of that one Zombie with a head wound - his brain was visible, flexing as slow ponderous thoughts crawled across his features. Slower than a backwards strolling snail. A number of the less reformed Zombies smacked their lips together and mumbled a deep droning word at the sight. Always that primordial fascination with brains!
It was so distasteful, and for all the wry jokes who really wanted a date who might eat you? Their way of eating could be too literal, they sometimes missed the cue to stop!
He was fed up with being considered An Other. It was insulting. He was intelligent. He never lisped or slurred his words. He spoke in dry, refined husk. When he’d tried the phone chat lines he’d been told it was sexy as hell. Before they’d discovered what he was.
His skin was neither sun starved white or an unhealthy flaking grey. It was a smooth excellently preserved ebony. Ok, so admittedly, nobody could actually see it, because he liked to keep wrapped up. But it was cold out. Not everyone was an exhibitionist. The Nymph taking over the dance floor was wearing revealing enough attire for any pervy watcher and loosing layers of scanty covering he couldn’t spare, as he floated from one lust-lorn admirer to the next.
He rearranged his bandages reassuringly and watched the pretty slut. He wasn’t jealous.
‘Good Evening’
A man came to sit opposite him dragging him from his morbid thoughts, he had a warm honey voice, cultured and dripping with good breeding. For a moment he thought Vampire but the man had dark chocolate skin. His eyes were the dark abysses where fear grew and when he reached a long slender hand out for a polite shake, his shadows did weird things. Shadows plural, had more than one of them and misshapen claws reflected of the polished table, his tall straight back hunched, stretched and wavered, his smile hinted at numerous lethal teeth. Then with a slow blink it was gone and he was faced with a pleasant gentleman in a well cut suit.
A Bogeyman. A multitude of cold shivery fingers danced up and down his spine. Delicious.
‘I’m known as Bwgwl Bunyip’
‘Known as?’
‘Friends call me Boo’ an eyebrow rose and there was the chill of an old tomb in that narrow arching brow then it disappeared and his smile was soft and wry.
‘And you are?’ he prompted. A bogeyman could present the horror of a head teacher calling a person to front of class, cane at he ready; they could evoke the distain of eyeing snot under a microscope. Boo’s voice was a caress. Careful and suggesting genuine interest.
‘Sam’
Sam smiled back as that got a low chuckle. Not that Boo would see that under his bandages. People always expected Amenhotep or Bastet or Tut-bloody-ankhamun. His original name was in fact Shabaka but Sam suited him better.
‘A pleasure to meet you Sam’
‘And you ..Boo’ It felt like the truth too.
Time passed pleasantly in idle conversation. Boo was courteous and well read, Sam found himself caught up in friendly debates. He wondered how anyone could think Bogeymen cold, Boo’s eyes held the heat of a bubbling tar pit, sparking as he offered a low laugh. His smile was ever gentle and his long fingers where a welcome weight on Sam’s hand, where it rested between them on the table.
Enjoying himself for the first time in ages Sam allowed himself to unwind a little. Just enough to hint at his smooth ebony skin and allow Boo to see his smile.
The Zombie crowd was growing. Since some clever human had declared November Zombie month they used the excuse for a month long party, and the things he’d heard of Zombie parties were best not examined. The words were said in a lumbering voice and carried over from the corner. It was a familiar slur but hurt all the same.
‘Mummies’ scoffed the unseen speaker ‘They’re just a poor man’s Zombie’
‘Or’ Boo declared, in a soft but carrying whisper ‘A very, very lucky, Bogeyman’s date’
Sam blinked back sudden dampness to his eyes before the fresh cream bandages over his face could absorb them. Boo was no poor man, he was a king among monsters.
The snide words were a familiar saying, despite the blatant inaccuracy. Only well-to-do respected humans were ever mummified. Sam’s Canopic jars were engraved with time consuming detail and love. The process was lengthy and required dedication. Not a quick horrific munching. His parents had wanted his happiness and at home his Cat Bessy stalked in bandaged splendour, he rather thought lately, she had designs on the neighbour’s dog.
The bar was suddenly everything that felt wrong, Sam felt a dampness that was his bandaging soaking up spilt booze. Looking at Boo he felt the connection and took a risk.
‘Would you like to come see my Beetle collection?’ he asked shyly ‘I have a number of Scarabs’
Boo’s eyes crinkled at the corners ‘I’d be delighted’ he assured, rising at the same time and wrapping Sam up protectively in his loosened bandages ‘Lets keep you warm’ he said ‘we can maybe try some unwrapping latter’ he winked and the promise of lots of bandage bound pleasure was heavy in the air between them. They touched lips briefly and moved towards the door.
As they left a terrified scream rendered the air from the corner and the bar temperature dropped considerably. Several Zombies looked scared and the barman could be seen reaching for his favourite pitchfork.
Sam giggled and rested his head on Boo’s shoulder. Bogeymen were not monsters to mess with, he felt a very lucky Mummy.
x
Title - Being Other, or of choosing your other-life cliche.
Words - 1334
This place was just like all the others. It was depressing.
People used to think of death as escaping the toil and burdens of life and greeting the splendiferous or sulphur soaked afterlife. Now being one of the other-lifers merely meant joining a new cliché; Zombie, Vampire or Other.
Vampires were frequently in vogue. With the debut of any pretentious new film or novel, humans became obsessed with the supposed romance of tortured souls, and sun shunning blood suckers. They imagined a dark allure; adopted dodgy accents, donned black clothing, gave themselves fancy, often unpronounceable names. It kept the cosmetic counters in business with rushes for white powder, black eyeliner and occasional glitter.
Reality often leaves a person wanting. In the newbie vampire’s case that wanting came with a ravenous hunger for blood, not to mention the allergies and missing out on morning sales. And surfing. Surfing didn’t have the same vibe in the dark of night and the Siren’s having excellent vision, something not all vamps had, were guaranteed to heckle loudly. No other being could heckled like a Siren. Their voices fluctuating from haunting melodic love songs to scratchy shrieks that caused eardrum bleeds.
He should in theory feel a comradery to Zombies. According to that scientist guy on the telly who had a whole series devoted to pointing out the similarities. Unfortunately his research was based on a bunch of old slasher films. Not even the type of slash he would find enjoyable either. But then the prissy scientist guy was kind of hairy which made him think of near Yeti ancestry and what would that abominable lot know about the complex aspects of other-lifer society? Most of them stuck to mountain tops and lived in frozen caves.
Zombies were currently the flavour of the month. This bar now, it was full of Zombies. The traditional lumbering breed and the more modern ones with their neat stitching and careful wording. Some barely drawled at all, or drooled. They thought they were so discreet and clever about their removable body parts, watching them shifting in their seats and smirk to each other he felt the onset of a headache.
No way was he a lesser form of them. He could see them thinking it. Literally in the sense of that one Zombie with a head wound - his brain was visible, flexing as slow ponderous thoughts crawled across his features. Slower than a backwards strolling snail. A number of the less reformed Zombies smacked their lips together and mumbled a deep droning word at the sight. Always that primordial fascination with brains!
It was so distasteful, and for all the wry jokes who really wanted a date who might eat you? Their way of eating could be too literal, they sometimes missed the cue to stop!
He was fed up with being considered An Other. It was insulting. He was intelligent. He never lisped or slurred his words. He spoke in dry, refined husk. When he’d tried the phone chat lines he’d been told it was sexy as hell. Before they’d discovered what he was.
His skin was neither sun starved white or an unhealthy flaking grey. It was a smooth excellently preserved ebony. Ok, so admittedly, nobody could actually see it, because he liked to keep wrapped up. But it was cold out. Not everyone was an exhibitionist. The Nymph taking over the dance floor was wearing revealing enough attire for any pervy watcher and loosing layers of scanty covering he couldn’t spare, as he floated from one lust-lorn admirer to the next.
He rearranged his bandages reassuringly and watched the pretty slut. He wasn’t jealous.
‘Good Evening’
A man came to sit opposite him dragging him from his morbid thoughts, he had a warm honey voice, cultured and dripping with good breeding. For a moment he thought Vampire but the man had dark chocolate skin. His eyes were the dark abysses where fear grew and when he reached a long slender hand out for a polite shake, his shadows did weird things. Shadows plural, had more than one of them and misshapen claws reflected of the polished table, his tall straight back hunched, stretched and wavered, his smile hinted at numerous lethal teeth. Then with a slow blink it was gone and he was faced with a pleasant gentleman in a well cut suit.
A Bogeyman. A multitude of cold shivery fingers danced up and down his spine. Delicious.
‘I’m known as Bwgwl Bunyip’
‘Known as?’
‘Friends call me Boo’ an eyebrow rose and there was the chill of an old tomb in that narrow arching brow then it disappeared and his smile was soft and wry.
‘And you are?’ he prompted. A bogeyman could present the horror of a head teacher calling a person to front of class, cane at he ready; they could evoke the distain of eyeing snot under a microscope. Boo’s voice was a caress. Careful and suggesting genuine interest.
‘Sam’
Sam smiled back as that got a low chuckle. Not that Boo would see that under his bandages. People always expected Amenhotep or Bastet or Tut-bloody-ankhamun. His original name was in fact Shabaka but Sam suited him better.
‘A pleasure to meet you Sam’
‘And you ..Boo’ It felt like the truth too.
Time passed pleasantly in idle conversation. Boo was courteous and well read, Sam found himself caught up in friendly debates. He wondered how anyone could think Bogeymen cold, Boo’s eyes held the heat of a bubbling tar pit, sparking as he offered a low laugh. His smile was ever gentle and his long fingers where a welcome weight on Sam’s hand, where it rested between them on the table.
Enjoying himself for the first time in ages Sam allowed himself to unwind a little. Just enough to hint at his smooth ebony skin and allow Boo to see his smile.
The Zombie crowd was growing. Since some clever human had declared November Zombie month they used the excuse for a month long party, and the things he’d heard of Zombie parties were best not examined. The words were said in a lumbering voice and carried over from the corner. It was a familiar slur but hurt all the same.
‘Mummies’ scoffed the unseen speaker ‘They’re just a poor man’s Zombie’
‘Or’ Boo declared, in a soft but carrying whisper ‘A very, very lucky, Bogeyman’s date’
Sam blinked back sudden dampness to his eyes before the fresh cream bandages over his face could absorb them. Boo was no poor man, he was a king among monsters.
The snide words were a familiar saying, despite the blatant inaccuracy. Only well-to-do respected humans were ever mummified. Sam’s Canopic jars were engraved with time consuming detail and love. The process was lengthy and required dedication. Not a quick horrific munching. His parents had wanted his happiness and at home his Cat Bessy stalked in bandaged splendour, he rather thought lately, she had designs on the neighbour’s dog.
The bar was suddenly everything that felt wrong, Sam felt a dampness that was his bandaging soaking up spilt booze. Looking at Boo he felt the connection and took a risk.
‘Would you like to come see my Beetle collection?’ he asked shyly ‘I have a number of Scarabs’
Boo’s eyes crinkled at the corners ‘I’d be delighted’ he assured, rising at the same time and wrapping Sam up protectively in his loosened bandages ‘Lets keep you warm’ he said ‘we can maybe try some unwrapping latter’ he winked and the promise of lots of bandage bound pleasure was heavy in the air between them. They touched lips briefly and moved towards the door.
As they left a terrified scream rendered the air from the corner and the bar temperature dropped considerably. Several Zombies looked scared and the barman could be seen reaching for his favourite pitchfork.
Sam giggled and rested his head on Boo’s shoulder. Bogeymen were not monsters to mess with, he felt a very lucky Mummy.
x