Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is too obscene to be real, but there is definitely someone behind you now, just within earshot. But what you hear is not another midnight traveler’s tracing of your footsteps along the sidewalk, it is the distinct noise of a pained gait, as if they were limping and crying out a dull moan to accentuate their plight. You look back to see…nothing. Shrugging it off as a trick of the wind, you forge ahead, close enough now to see your doorstep, but far enough away to lack its reassurance. The wind continues its trickery, seeming to call upon its gusty brethren to echo its increasingly convincing call. You pick up your pace, almost running now, as the trees shout at your passage, calling out for you, pleading with you to stop, if only for a moment, so that they may have a word with you. And what word might that be, you question to yourself as you break into a full sprint. Then, as if in direct response to your thoughts, they all call out in unison, “Brrrraaaaaaaaiiiiinnns…”
By the time you figure out wh...
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...ed encounter of our late night walker, how should they have handled that situation? That’s correct; they should have stayed inside and not been out on the streets in the middle of a zombie apocalypse like an idiot. I’m glad to see that you’ve learned a lesson or two; or at the very least you’ve gone from “A zombie outbreak could never happen and probably wouldn’t even be a big deal even if it did” to “Aaaaaahhhh! Zombies! What a terrifying and startling turn of events that I am now prepared for!” Now then, on a totally unrelated topic, I was out walking the streets last night when this guy runs up to me and tries to bite me! It was really weird; he was covered in blood or something and he smelled like a dead horse, but maybe it was just dirt. He did look bewilderingly homeless, so that could explain it. He was probably just crazy or something. Can you believe that?
The realm of myths and magic have captivated the attention of masses for decades. Most of the myths and creatures originated from folklore from diverse cultures around the world. The mythological world usually contains myths and stories about fantastic beasts, immortal gods and goddesses, unearthly beings, and bizarre creatures that rule or roam the depths of the earth. Since the rise of the internet, classic myths like mermaids, vampires, dragons, werewolves, zombies, and unicorns continue to have a certain appeal to the public. Due to this advancement of technology, myths like vampires and zombies can tap into people’s needs or yearnings. Either by filling a psychological need, symbolizing the rejected and inexpungable or by creating an
Do you ever wonder what you would do if you were being chased by a zombie? Last October on the weekend before Halloween, I got to find out the answer to that very important question. My friends Ashley, Anna, Vikram, and I decided to go to the Great America Fright Fest. It’s a very unique event where the whole park is decorated for halloween and filled with lots of scary attractions for the entire month. It had been a sweltering day for late October filled with lots of cotton candy and rollercoasters, and as the sun sank lower into the sky the real fun began.
... middle of paper ... ... Works Cited Bateman, Daniel. A. “Dead Easy to Fight Zombies.” Townsville Bulletin 29 Mar. 2008: 441.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
I stepped into the middle of the road and just stood there, the lights stretching in either direction, glowing in the deep chilly air. I could see my own breath, could feel my own warmth as it formed right there in front of me. Behind me, our house looked dark, faint lingering of I'd walk a million miles, and I wasn't even sure if it was really playing or if I was imagining the familiar, the same way a bright light remain when you close your eyelids, the way I imagine that the sight of an eclipse would burn its image into your eyes forever(pg.
“Its deserted streets are a potent symbol of man and nature 's indifference to the individual. The insistence of the narrator on his own self-identity is in part an act of defiance against a constructed, industrial world that has no place for him in its order” (Bolton). As the poem continues on, the narrator becomes aware of his own consciousness as he comes faces nature and society during his walk. He embraces nature with the rain, dark and moon but he also reinforces his alienation from society as he ignores the watchman and receives no hope of cries for him. The societal ignorance enforces our belief that he is lonely on this gloomy night. “When he passes a night watchman, another walker in the city with whom the speaker might presumably have some bond, he confesses, ‘I… dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.’ Likewise, when he hears a voice in the distance, he stops in his tracks--only to realize that the voice is not meant "to call me back or say goodbye" (Bolton). The two times he had a chance to interact with the community, either he showed no interest in speaking or the cry wasn’t meant for him. These two interactions emphasize his loneliness with the
A zombie apocalypse is absolutely a possibility. When take a closer look there are many possibilities to which an apocalypse could happen. All though it may not be as Hollywood or video games have led us all to believe. The whole lumbering, brain-dead corpse thing has become a little overrated now-a-days, at least for me anyway. Today when we think about a zombie apocalypse we think of popular video games or movies released by some truly sick and demented people, who by the way probably have way too much time on their hands. There are many possibilities to where a human can be turned into a “zombie”. Disease, disease has been with humans as long as humans have lived in this Earth. When we look all throughout history we can see the evolution of disease. In England during the Middle Ages the Bubonic Plague is a perfect example. It hit the British pretty hard, took them absolutely by surprise. They had never seen anything like that in the past, there was never any way to treat the disease, you just avoided it, and as soon as you were infected, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, you were already dead. Egypt, another good example, there has been recently discovered hieroglyphs revealing a depiction of what appeared to be a horde of zombies. The scribes wrote it describing them as possessed and ferocious. Some people say zombies, while others say the product of an overactive imagination. Let’s take a look at today’s possible “zombie” diseases.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
The story “The Dead” by James Joyce is about the Christmas party, thrown by the Morkan sisters. But it is mostly about love, lost love and incapability to forget those who have been loved and lost. “He longed to recall to her those moments, to make her forget the years the years of their dull existence together and remember only their moments of ecstasy. For the years, he felt, had not quenched his soul or hers” (145). The relationship between Gabriel and Gretta is just one of the conflicts in this story. His selfishness and focusing on himself makes Gabriel blindness as ignorance of Gretta’s past life.
Now a high-school senior, I still remember my freshman year with a shudder; it was the year my friends and I joked about as the "Year of the Zombie." It wasn't that I had contracted a rare medical disorder that transformed me into one of the walking dead. I had done what many diligent students do: sacrifice most of my sleep time for the sake of academic success.
Concepts are how we give meaning to everyday things. We make, name, communicate, and imagine concepts all day everyday; concepts are vital to understanding this world we live in. A concept is an abstract idea or a cognitive unit of meaning. Zombies, for example, are a concept, but where did this concept of the living dead arise? Is there some religious link to this concept or is it an image of imagination?
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.
The night ebbed in the darkness brUGHT t about the memory of the most tragic event in the history of the small town of Greenville. Not knowing the tragedy that would unfold the citizens rested quietly in the slumber of that hot August night. Storm clouds loomed on the horizon with blazes of light that speckled the sky. In the distance the soft rumble of thunder brought no alarm to this quiet little town. Jenny and Blade lived in the rural area of green pine forests on the outskirts of this sleepy little town. Nowhere in the history of Greenville had such a tragedy happens, and no one was aware of the destruction that loomed on the horizon. As the night closed near the midnight hour, the wind seemed to awaken the lifeless living things in
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.