Tuesday, April 15, 2014

The NON-DECOMPOSING ZOMBIE, LARS, FEEDS A HUMAN TO SEBASTIAN ... 4/15/14

I am completely indifferent to the machinations of those coarse, base children. 'Mall rats,' I think they style themselves. Let them play. Let them tip-toe through the shadows with that addle brained 'Gary.' They are but gnats to me. I will kill them when it is necessary and convenient. I will rip off hunks of their flesh and swallow it. Let them tremble. Let them scream. Lobsters scream too when they're boiled... and they can't even close their eyes. 

Sebastian must be fed . You can watch. Look , like a medieval dragon-thing guarding treasure he is... Been here for generations, dining on British Fusiliers in the War of 1812 and stupid, hate riddled belligerents during the Kensington anti Catholic riots of 1844. I believe he took some tourists during the Centennial Celebration. That was 1876, for the numerically and historically challenged. Too many dates. Too many dinners. Those are just some I remember from the early days. He swallows things approximately every four months. And the things he swallows are 'you'... humans... What did you think? Takes five or six to fill him up now. Some nights I climb down and sleep with him. I straddle his back, just behind the neck, lie down and hug him. Got a head like the serpents on Aztec pyramids. So cold. So smooth. So strong. He doesn't purr. I do. 

He'll take a victim foot first when they're trussed up just right. More of a show that way. They groan. They scream. Takes a few minutes to suffocate in there. We stagger them. One foot-first. One head first. So they can shriek in each other's faces til they die. 

We have a good one tonight... a college kid... a verifiable 'student prince'... plucked from the cobbles of Penn's Campus. I believe he was part of that tragically misguided vampire, Tomas' resurrected 'Junto.' Good deeds, improve society and all that. Well, pity... Would have graduated next year. Now he's a snake's dinner.  Got two tiny cameras Krazy-Glued on his body. One on his head. We shaved that. And one on his foot. The right instep, I believe. Tiny things they are. Made for espionage and surveillance. Oh, they have pin lights too. Whole thing's gonna be streamed right to his father's smart phone. Maybe even You Tube. Who knows? My 'techie' zombies take care of that. Why does the world insist on thinking we fall apart like pot roasted chickens and shamble around all the time? Well, let them. Makes it easier for us. Element of surprise and all that.  Do you think the dad will watch? Oh, initially he won't. But I'd bet, after a while, he will. He'll sit there in the dark, by himself, late at night. The house will be quiet. Then he'll slip the phone out of his pocket... so big and heavy for a 'pocket' device, but that's where most men carry it, and he'll activate it... Hold it in his hand and watch. He'll see the quivering.... He'll hear the screams... the prayers... the coughing... the groans... but mostly just the shrieks... then breathing... then silence. But the battery lasts for hours... a long slow shot of an incrementally dissolving son. No, wait. That's not what he'll see. (Sigh), too late now, but next time we must mount the cameras differently.

I can't tell you exactly where we are. But I will give you a bit of a description.  The place used to be an ammunition factory. Molten dollops dropped from a height rocketed down a huge, round, brick ... well, 'chimney' I suppose you'd call it.  Twenty stories high, at least. By the time they reached the bottom, they were done... 'mini balls'... lead shot... slashed in a pool and collected later. No pool now. Just a pit. A vast, deep, smooth cement pit. That's where we keep the snake. There's a few cat walks up above and an eight story building abuts the tower.  All quite visible from The Delaware Expressway. 'I-95' I think they call it. Officially empty and deserted. Not the road, the building. Some historical society owns it. Do they know we're here? Well, in a word, yes. The director's youngest son is a zombie. Father hates it all. Doesn't approve. Still wants the kid to 'control' himself and take a seat on the exchange. You know, there's a stock exchange in Philadelphia too. Quite a respectable one. Kid took me once to pick out a meal.

Please excuse me for rambling so. But I do love to meet new people.  Though I've just received a note. The 'mall rats' and their addle-brained friend are in position. The scaffold is in place. They're climbing up. 

(Sinister smile) Soon they'll get their 'prize.'

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