( For Al, who understood that a father is more than flesh and blood. )
Memories | 5 comments | Leave a comment
Spinner's End
30 August 2007 @ 05:51 pm
Father
Amidst the atrocities that we commit against one another, it is a tribute to the enormous potential of humankind when a man who has witnessed the horrors of war and death can take a little girl, not of his flesh or of his blood, into his arms and call her daughter.
( For Al, who understood that a father is more than flesh and blood. )
( For Al, who understood that a father is more than flesh and blood. )
14 June 2007 @ 10:50 am
Non-fic: Widespread Infection
I'm at the Twentynine Palms Marine Base, high in the Mojave Desert, writing what may be the only account I will ever give of last night's events. On any other morning, they wouldn't allow us to use these computers; but this morning isn't any other morning.
It happened last night. I'd read about other things happening in other cities and thought it was just a joke until I woke to the sound of screaming.
The house across the street was in flames; I could see the orange glow on my bedroom wall. I went to wake my housemates, but they weren't home, so I ventured outside to see why the fire department wasn't there yet. The fire truck was a pile of twisted metal at the end of the block, collided with a truck. Someone was staggering away from the wreckage, and I took a step forward to help- but it looked straight at me and I knew.
Every nerve in my body sparking with panic, I ran back inside, uselessly locking the front door behind me and thanking a god I don't believe in that I hadn't decided to sleep with the sliding glass door open. Tore through closets, found the Colt revolver, but no ammunition. That was when the window in the kitchen shattered.
Ten seconds, that's all it takes for a human to get from the kitchen to the bedroom. Ten seconds, because these things don't move like you think they should. Ten fucking seconds.
It's more time than it seems, but it passes too quickly when you can hear them crying as they cross the kitchen floor. They don't growl or groan or do any of the things you'd expect them to; they sob. When I was little, my grandmother told me stories about the banshee's wail, and I'd never understood how a sound could be so terrifying until last night.
( They Say I'm Not Infected )
It happened last night. I'd read about other things happening in other cities and thought it was just a joke until I woke to the sound of screaming.
The house across the street was in flames; I could see the orange glow on my bedroom wall. I went to wake my housemates, but they weren't home, so I ventured outside to see why the fire department wasn't there yet. The fire truck was a pile of twisted metal at the end of the block, collided with a truck. Someone was staggering away from the wreckage, and I took a step forward to help- but it looked straight at me and I knew.
Every nerve in my body sparking with panic, I ran back inside, uselessly locking the front door behind me and thanking a god I don't believe in that I hadn't decided to sleep with the sliding glass door open. Tore through closets, found the Colt revolver, but no ammunition. That was when the window in the kitchen shattered.
Ten seconds, that's all it takes for a human to get from the kitchen to the bedroom. Ten seconds, because these things don't move like you think they should. Ten fucking seconds.
It's more time than it seems, but it passes too quickly when you can hear them crying as they cross the kitchen floor. They don't growl or groan or do any of the things you'd expect them to; they sob. When I was little, my grandmother told me stories about the banshee's wail, and I'd never understood how a sound could be so terrifying until last night.
( They Say I'm Not Infected )