Post by Zane Norrison on Dec 29, 2018 23:59:22 GMT -8
"Is that a corpse?"
"You're standing in a morgue, Steve."
"I am?"
"Yes, you are."
"I thought this was just some sort of medical facility."
"It is a medical facility. For the dead. We process corpses here. Weigh their organs, record their information and then store them, till it's time for them to get picked up. This place is like the harbor for the recently deceased. They port here on their final journey. This is also where I do some of my 'grocery shopping' so to speak."
"You steal brains from the dead."
"Would you prefer if I took them from the living?"
I laughed. Steve was starting to look mighty anxious and uncomfortable. He eyeballed the cadaver that was resting on the table in front of me, nervously as he tugged at the bottom of his jacket. You would think that being a reporter for the XWF would have desensitized him to the sight of corpses, by now. Doing my best to be sympathetic to Steve, I attempted to solve this predicament by pulling a sheet over it. One quick tug and the body was hidden from sight. There. Problem solved. It was then that I noticed that Steve's eyes were no longer focused on the corpse but rather they were now placed on the lime green, plastic tupperware container, sitting on the cabinet behind me. A nice chunk of human cerebellum, very visible inside of it. Swiftly, I snapped the lid onto the container and then shoved it into the fridge, next to the cabinet. Turning back to Steve, I saw him awkwardly shuffling in place and gave a sheepish grin.
"For the record. I was joking. I wouldn't ever hunt down and kill the living for their brains."
"You only take them from the dead?"
"Right. Only the dead. They aren't exactly using their brains anymore and I need them, seems like the perfect solution. To me anyway. Are you going to be okay, you're looking awfully pale. Do you need to sit down? Can I get you some water?"
Steve was looking as white as a ghost and trembling. Feebly he made his way to a nearby swivel chair and sat down. Without thinking, I opened the fridge again and grabbed a bottle of water. Steve's eyes were once again, trained on the tupperwear. Abruptly, I shut the refrigerator and handed the bottle to Sayor's. He stared at my hand, like it was coated in contamination and disease. Yet he eventually took the bottle, opened it and drank down a large swallow.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes and no."
"Did you know that I was a zombie? For real?"
Taking another sip of water, Steve shook his head "no" as he eyed the exit. His eyes darted back to me, just as quickly. I could imagine his mind racing. Fear coursing through him. More than that, I could smell it. The scent of terror and adrenaline. Fight or flight kicking in but with me blocking his path, he couldn't do anything besides give the door a woeful, glance. I didn't like making people afraid. It didn't bring me joy or pleasure. I just wanted to be accepted. Oh well...
"I seen footage of your matches. Part of me thought it was all pretend. A way to get ratings. If you aren't a zombie, you're a very sick, deeply disturbed man that eats human brains. I'm not sure which is worse."
"Here. Check this out."
I rolled up my sleeve and grabbed Steve's hand, placing it firmly around my wrist, in the fashion one might do when they check someone's pulse. In that moment, Steve shifted through a wide variety of emotions. From confusion, to shock, disbelief, back to confusion and then, ultimately fear. Pulling his hand back, he scooted his chair away from me, till he was literally, smashed up against the wall. He was in such a state, that when his chair collided with the wall, he jumped. There was some definite distance gained between ass and chair as well. It was on wheels too, so his landing wasn't exactly stable. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair! I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish by doing that. It was very apparent, that he didn't want to be there, conducting an interview though.
"Why don't you have a pulse?"
"Because I'm dead... well, undead. I'm a zombie. Surprise. It's not an act or make believe."
That's when he whimpered. Lip quivering, full on whimpered.
"Please don't eat my brains, I have so much left to live for."
This was too much. He actually fought back a sob. I really didn't think I was that frightening. Maybe if I was staggering around and pieces of me were rotting away and falling off, while I groaned and made my way over to him, in order to crack his skull open, that would be one thing but I was just standing there, calmly talking. All that happened was that I made him aware of the fact that I didn't have a pulse. There were vampires, werewolves and aliens in the XWF. Was being a zombie really that taboo?
"Come on, Steve. If I was going to do that, it would have happened already. I told you. I only feast on the brains of the dead. It gives me the same sustenance, similar if I were to eat that of the living and keeps the monster at bay."
"Monster at bay?"
"If I don't feed, there's a chance that I can go feral and attack the living. For instance, when Robbie Bourbon dislocated my neck, if I hadn't already eaten that day, I would have most assuredly, infected him. Even with my head spun around, I would have viciously attacked him. Relentlessly. He would have had to kill me, to stop me. I keep that under control though, never do I go longer than a day without eating, so I'm all good. You needn't worry. What you seen me put in the fridge was for my breakfast tomorrow. I'm thinking of trying cinnamon rolls."
"Cinnamon rolls?"
"Yes. Cinnamon rolls. From scratch, this way when I make them, more than cinnamon gets used in the process. Helps me feel normal and less like an abomination."
"There's still human brains mixed in your food."
"I know. This way lets me fool myself, if only for a moment."
A bittersweet chuckle.
"If you think the concept of eating brains is hard to accept, try doing it every day for two years. Telling yourself that you're only doing it because you have to, till one day you realize you've developed a taste for them. That you're not masking them anymore, you actually look forward to them accenting your meal because you like the flavor. Still, even with that being the case, you can't bring yourself to chowing down on just brains. By themselves. Cause then that means you've truly conceded to being a hideous creature, a thing of horror movies and that's something far harder to swallow than some brains baked into a cinnamon roll. I suppose there's always the alternative but you know what Steve, I don't want to die. I don't want to eat a bullet and end it all. I want to live. For the most part, that's what I'm doing."
"Sounds like you have a very complicated existence."
"Welcome to my afterlife."
Steve slowly pushed away from his place next to the wall, gradually rolling back over to me. He appeared to be less troubled, more composed than a few minutes ago. At least that was something to be said in my favor, I contained the situation somehow.
"I may have overreacted a little."
"It happens, Steve."
"Would you still be fine with taking part in an interview, despite that fact?"
"Sure."
"Can you keep the dead body covered?"
"I can do much better than that."
Opening a door on one of the refrigerated storage units; on the far end of the room, I wheeled the examining table over, unlocked the top portion and slid the cadaver inside. Promptly shutting the door right after.
"I'll take my break. Lets move this interview location to somewhere amongst the living and go to the coffee shop. I could go for a fix of caffeine."
To be continued...
"You're standing in a morgue, Steve."
"I am?"
"Yes, you are."
"I thought this was just some sort of medical facility."
"It is a medical facility. For the dead. We process corpses here. Weigh their organs, record their information and then store them, till it's time for them to get picked up. This place is like the harbor for the recently deceased. They port here on their final journey. This is also where I do some of my 'grocery shopping' so to speak."
"You steal brains from the dead."
"Would you prefer if I took them from the living?"
I laughed. Steve was starting to look mighty anxious and uncomfortable. He eyeballed the cadaver that was resting on the table in front of me, nervously as he tugged at the bottom of his jacket. You would think that being a reporter for the XWF would have desensitized him to the sight of corpses, by now. Doing my best to be sympathetic to Steve, I attempted to solve this predicament by pulling a sheet over it. One quick tug and the body was hidden from sight. There. Problem solved. It was then that I noticed that Steve's eyes were no longer focused on the corpse but rather they were now placed on the lime green, plastic tupperware container, sitting on the cabinet behind me. A nice chunk of human cerebellum, very visible inside of it. Swiftly, I snapped the lid onto the container and then shoved it into the fridge, next to the cabinet. Turning back to Steve, I saw him awkwardly shuffling in place and gave a sheepish grin.
"For the record. I was joking. I wouldn't ever hunt down and kill the living for their brains."
"You only take them from the dead?"
"Right. Only the dead. They aren't exactly using their brains anymore and I need them, seems like the perfect solution. To me anyway. Are you going to be okay, you're looking awfully pale. Do you need to sit down? Can I get you some water?"
Steve was looking as white as a ghost and trembling. Feebly he made his way to a nearby swivel chair and sat down. Without thinking, I opened the fridge again and grabbed a bottle of water. Steve's eyes were once again, trained on the tupperwear. Abruptly, I shut the refrigerator and handed the bottle to Sayor's. He stared at my hand, like it was coated in contamination and disease. Yet he eventually took the bottle, opened it and drank down a large swallow.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes and no."
"Did you know that I was a zombie? For real?"
Taking another sip of water, Steve shook his head "no" as he eyed the exit. His eyes darted back to me, just as quickly. I could imagine his mind racing. Fear coursing through him. More than that, I could smell it. The scent of terror and adrenaline. Fight or flight kicking in but with me blocking his path, he couldn't do anything besides give the door a woeful, glance. I didn't like making people afraid. It didn't bring me joy or pleasure. I just wanted to be accepted. Oh well...
"I seen footage of your matches. Part of me thought it was all pretend. A way to get ratings. If you aren't a zombie, you're a very sick, deeply disturbed man that eats human brains. I'm not sure which is worse."
"Here. Check this out."
I rolled up my sleeve and grabbed Steve's hand, placing it firmly around my wrist, in the fashion one might do when they check someone's pulse. In that moment, Steve shifted through a wide variety of emotions. From confusion, to shock, disbelief, back to confusion and then, ultimately fear. Pulling his hand back, he scooted his chair away from me, till he was literally, smashed up against the wall. He was in such a state, that when his chair collided with the wall, he jumped. There was some definite distance gained between ass and chair as well. It was on wheels too, so his landing wasn't exactly stable. I thought he was going to fall out of his chair! I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish by doing that. It was very apparent, that he didn't want to be there, conducting an interview though.
"Why don't you have a pulse?"
"Because I'm dead... well, undead. I'm a zombie. Surprise. It's not an act or make believe."
That's when he whimpered. Lip quivering, full on whimpered.
"Please don't eat my brains, I have so much left to live for."
This was too much. He actually fought back a sob. I really didn't think I was that frightening. Maybe if I was staggering around and pieces of me were rotting away and falling off, while I groaned and made my way over to him, in order to crack his skull open, that would be one thing but I was just standing there, calmly talking. All that happened was that I made him aware of the fact that I didn't have a pulse. There were vampires, werewolves and aliens in the XWF. Was being a zombie really that taboo?
"Come on, Steve. If I was going to do that, it would have happened already. I told you. I only feast on the brains of the dead. It gives me the same sustenance, similar if I were to eat that of the living and keeps the monster at bay."
"Monster at bay?"
"If I don't feed, there's a chance that I can go feral and attack the living. For instance, when Robbie Bourbon dislocated my neck, if I hadn't already eaten that day, I would have most assuredly, infected him. Even with my head spun around, I would have viciously attacked him. Relentlessly. He would have had to kill me, to stop me. I keep that under control though, never do I go longer than a day without eating, so I'm all good. You needn't worry. What you seen me put in the fridge was for my breakfast tomorrow. I'm thinking of trying cinnamon rolls."
"Cinnamon rolls?"
"Yes. Cinnamon rolls. From scratch, this way when I make them, more than cinnamon gets used in the process. Helps me feel normal and less like an abomination."
"There's still human brains mixed in your food."
"I know. This way lets me fool myself, if only for a moment."
A bittersweet chuckle.
"If you think the concept of eating brains is hard to accept, try doing it every day for two years. Telling yourself that you're only doing it because you have to, till one day you realize you've developed a taste for them. That you're not masking them anymore, you actually look forward to them accenting your meal because you like the flavor. Still, even with that being the case, you can't bring yourself to chowing down on just brains. By themselves. Cause then that means you've truly conceded to being a hideous creature, a thing of horror movies and that's something far harder to swallow than some brains baked into a cinnamon roll. I suppose there's always the alternative but you know what Steve, I don't want to die. I don't want to eat a bullet and end it all. I want to live. For the most part, that's what I'm doing."
"Sounds like you have a very complicated existence."
"Welcome to my afterlife."
Steve slowly pushed away from his place next to the wall, gradually rolling back over to me. He appeared to be less troubled, more composed than a few minutes ago. At least that was something to be said in my favor, I contained the situation somehow.
"I may have overreacted a little."
"It happens, Steve."
"Would you still be fine with taking part in an interview, despite that fact?"
"Sure."
"Can you keep the dead body covered?"
"I can do much better than that."
Opening a door on one of the refrigerated storage units; on the far end of the room, I wheeled the examining table over, unlocked the top portion and slid the cadaver inside. Promptly shutting the door right after.
"I'll take my break. Lets move this interview location to somewhere amongst the living and go to the coffee shop. I could go for a fix of caffeine."
To be continued...