A Tale of a Modern Knight

I had finished dinner and was taking my evening constitutional under the moonlit (and floodlit), leaf-strewn and yellow-petaled pathway of our hallowed halls of learning when I heard the cry for help, "Vikram (name changed)! Help me!". Again, the plea sounded. In front of the Illuminati Room building, dimly lit by the dull burning streetlamp and the curtain-filtered light from the aforementioned, accursed room, were dark silhouettes of a handful of people. From where I stood, peering at the knot of figures, I could not discern their identities. But anon, the pleading cry sounded. Perplexed as I was, I hitched up my shorts and strode purposefully towards the group, my duty was towards the damsel in distress, of this much, I was sure. As I neared the Physics block, the wind seemed chilly all of a sudden. The distance closed and my eyes adjusted to the gloom of my surroundings. To my utter astonishment it was a fair maiden. Soon, it became evident to me, the reason for her pleading. She was surrounded by those beastly, those absolute nuisances, those depraved, maniacal, perverted gang of youth of our institution of scholars; those poor excuses for young men that claim to be best among their peers by counting the number of "years-back" successfully obtained. There she stood, beautiful as ever in the moonlight, completely surrounded by those witless, spineless specimens of homo erectus. Rather like a woodland nymph of the ancient Greek islands surrounded by marauding minotaurs. Or a wide-eyed wildebeest fawn completely surrounded by madly-laughing hyenas. So, I re-hitched my shorts  up and continued with my ever-purposeful stride. I came up to the gaggle and inquired as to the problem. The fair lady poured her tale of woe to me. She had been working late in the cursed dungeon that some know as the Illuminati Room, and in my opinion, is aptly named ill room, when she had been rudely accosted by the cads. The ungentlemanly bunch proceeded to harass her with lewd jests and even went to the extent of questioning her sanity. She had been at her wits end and had tried every possible method to extricate herself from their disreputable company, when she sighted me in the distance and called out for aid. I took charge of the situation and gently chided the knaves with a terse "Shut up!" and turned to the fair maiden and informed that I would escort her to her steed. Then, I walked her to her faithful steed Activa, a jet black mare, and sent her on her way after brushing away her heartfelt thanks with a "Oh, it was nothing!" She thanked me nevertheless and left me saying she hoped our paths may cross again in the future. The hope, springing, eternal, as many have pointed out before me, warmed me for the remainder of the chilly, black night as I continued with my interrupted walk.

Last Message from a Dying Planet

March 14th, 2013, Safe-house. Just another normal day. Killed a dozen today. Wiped out a nest of the filth. They are everywhere. Thank God-who-no-longer-exists they haven't learnt how to unlock doors and hot-wire cars. That'll be the end of the world. Not that it hasn't already happened. I don't quite see the reason for my carrying on, living like this. Perhaps my saneness left me when Lazlo died, bitten to death by the very kind of monsters I had the pleasure of eliminating today. As I do everyday. Lazlo - the Hooch to my Turner, my own faithful Watson, my German Shepherd - Timber Wolf crossbred friend.

I'm pretty sure I am THE LAST human on the Earth. I have tried all forms of communication. Never had any answer from anyone anywhere in the bloody world. I've sent emails to random addresses, regularly and religiously updated my social network website statuses, called up all the numbers in the phonebooks of every single cell phone I've come across. As I said, no answer. If you've spent the last half year buried under a rock, let me update you: On September 15th, last year, a fifty-year old overweight Sydneysider ate a stale hamburger and became the first victim of a new epidemic. Why is it almost always a hamburger? How clichéd. The epidemic turned out to be a mutated strain of those rabies-causing bacteria or virus or whatever. Thing is, these little buggers don't just cause lockjaw and hydrophobia. They altered your mind and body. Made you very like the zombies you see in low-budget Hollywood movies. Well, the aforementioned Sydneysider decided he liked human flesh better than the pork in his burger and went on a biting spree chomping on 23 fellow citizens before he could be suppressed and sedated. Stupid Australians put all the 23 bite victims in the same hospital. A few hours later, there were 24 zombies running amok in Sydney's top hospital. Two hours later, Sydney's finest had managed to account for all the 24 zombies. But by then, the bite-o-meter read 413.

When humans turn, they just turn. Nothing of the persons they were seconds ago is left within the vestiges of their minds. Physically, they maintain their appearances, but not for long. Pretty soon, their faces are smeared with blood as they launch themselves into the feeding frenzy. I have had the opportunity to study these new creatures at close quarters. It seems they have only one aim in life – to bite and feed. I have no clue about their reproduction methods – or indeed, if they ever engage in sexual activities. I have never seen a zombie even show a smidgen of fondness or emotional understanding towards one of its fellows. I’m forced to conclude that they don’t even differentiate between males and females and depend entirely on biting and transferring the virus in order to propagate their species.

I wonder where it will go now that every human in the world, except for me, has been infected and turned into a zombie. Isn’t this like an evolutionary dead-end? Are these zombies like a black plague that cleans up the system and then just dies away slowly? Is the Earth merely purging itself of all its unwanted life-forms? Am I wrong to still cling on to life when it’s so much simpler to just let go? All I have to do is open the door, get in the elevator and go down into the street. They are there. The band of 20 led by the tall, thin male. They have been following me for some days now. They are wary of me, for I pick off any of their members foolish enough to stick his ugly face around the side of dilapidated buildings that encompass narrow alleyways that the zombies skulk in. I always wanted to be good with a gun. Six months battling off zombies and fighting for survival have rendered me more than proficient with several types of weapons. My safe-house, which happens to be the penthouse suite of a plush five-star hotel, is a veritable arsenal of guns and blades. I finally feel like a hero – all set to protect the innocent and smirk at the face of evil. Here I am, battling an entire world of evil zombies and there is not a single girl who I can show-off for. Typical. Strangely enough, the viral strain that’s messed up every human being seems to be dormant when in other animals. I mean, I haven’t seen a zombie cow or anything. There might be a zombie mosquito but that will hardly make any difference.

Well, whoever you are, if you are reading this, you are reading my blog. You are alive. You are human. You are not alone. Please leave a comment. I will read it because I keep my blog updated. Please be alive!

Its time I went for a drive. I have to check out something. Yesterday, on my way back from some shopping – which, by the way, involves walking into a supermarket and picking up any carton that hasn’t been vandalized and checking to see if its past expiry date – I spotted an office building with a light still burning inside. Maybe there’s somebody alive there. Maybe.

Stray Cat Strut

Black & orange stray cat sittin' on a fence, Ain't got enough dough to pay the rent, I'm flat broke; but I don't care, I strut right by with my tail in the air. Stray cat strut; I'm a ladies' cat, I'm a feline casanova; hey man! That's that, Get a shoe thrown at me from a mean old man, Get my dinner from a garbage can. Meow! Yeah, don't cross my path! I don't bother chasing mice around, I slink down the alley lookin' for a fight, Howlin' to the moonlight on a hot summer night, Singin' the blues while the lady-cats cry, "Wild Stray Cat! You're a real gone guy!" I wish I could be as carefree and wild, But I got cat class and I got cat style.

--- Brian Setzer, The Stray Cats