A Rapidly Realistic and Quite Unromantic Zombie Tale.

Once upon a time, in order to get her partner Beth off her back, Jenny decided she would attempt to write a retarded story about a retarded fear everyone but her seemed to like to indulge in.

The fear surrounded the dystopic posthuman monster category known as zombies.  Jenny didn’t think zombies were very interesting, in fact, she thought they were about the most bland monster anyone could conjure up in their imaginations.  She thought they were about the most absurd form of fear anyone could have, because as a rule Jenny did not think people would devolve, or turn into rabid raging savages as time passed.  The concept of “The Road” was not exactly what Jenny believed would happen in the future, and to drag on and on the likely 1950‘s-imagined-and-created monster which first represented communism and later represented savage capitalism really didn’t interest her at all.

Most of Jenny’s friends loved the idea of zombies.  For Jenny, the Zombie Apocalypse wasn’t something to look forward to, nor was it something that ever seemed even remotely biologically possible.  It goes against all manner of viral life and biology to have something ‘return’ from the dead and walk around, attempting to ingest all other humans and turn it into itself, thus rendering no possibility for long-term life overall, as matter will decay, including zombie bodies.  No one ever goes into the rate of decay of the human body, and the explanations of zombies still existing months after viral infection is completely absurd - the lack of circulation because of the heart stopping would almost immediately result in a rate of decay which would override the viral infection in the brain, thus rendering skeletons, not zombies.  I can hardly imagine a mind such as mine could ever outdo the likes of Larry Blamire in a tale, as I cannot recreate or improve on “The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra,” and that’s about as retarded as a real live zombie possibility would literally be.

So, no, I don’t want to write about zombies.  I mean, all I could say was:

Once upon a time, there was a virus that wiped out the brains of some cannibals in a forest.  This virus, which was actually a prion, but let’s not get too technical as most people can’t even fathom a protein which behaves as though it is biologically capable of reproducing without all the necessary ingredients for the comprehension of ‘life’ according to the ‘experts.‘  So for the sake of the fact that most people reading anything are fairly more intelligent than those who do not read, but most people reading fiction are likely less intelligent than those who read nonfiction as they would prefer to hide in entertainment, and so they don’t want to think, ergo we will call our brain-prion a ‘virus.‘  

This ‘virus’ infected some pigmies who were still maintaining the restrictive shamanistic practice of ritualistic cannibalism.  In so doing, a small number of human beings contracted the illness, because only a few of them were actually allowed to be high enough in the hierarchy to participate in the rite, thus making all of these persons also male.  

The ‘virus’ took several years if not decades to manifest, and when it did, the persons affected were so debilitated by it that they could barely move.  The lack of food going into them resulted in a weakening of the body, as the ‘virus’ caused enough nausea to reduce apetite, due to the fact that it was slowly ingesting brain tissue, which would naturally make these ‘zombies’ dizzy and unable to eat, much less be able to tell their legs to move properly.  

I would imagine the effects of the zombie ‘virus’ would assuredly induce an overall lack of the central nervous system to convey the proper signals to the external organs and limbs of the infected person, creating numbness and tingling, and likely paralysis, which means that the ‘zombie’ would just lie there, moaning and groaning for want of nutrients and water, and eventually succumb to comatose paralysis and death.  If the ‘virus’ at that point switched into its desire to reproduce, and if that reproduction for some bizarre reason took the pathway of induction into another host by way of a bite festering with particulates located in the saliva, well, I suppose the now-paralyzed-semi-corpse would gnash it’s teeth, and most family members would probably have enough agility to avoid a bite from their once virile kindred.  Caretakers of an ill person who dies yet still maintains mobility to gnash and thrash will likely listen to their natural aversion and behave accordingly with avoidance and quite possibly extermination of the ‘mobile’ corpse by way of fire or decapitation.  Such an act of extermination would render the 

‘virus’ unable to reproduce, and there the story would likely end.

If the story did not end there, keep in mind that pigmies live near the equator, so there is a high rate of decay occurring due to the even amount of sunlight, heat, and moisture.  So, chances are this zombie would only last as long as the body was able to avoid decay, and if in the likely possibility these pigmies are living at a poverty level similar to that found in most developing countries, they are living in either squalor, or close enough to natures processes that decay would occur likely even more rapidly than it would in a developed and sterile nation such as the united states.  

If by some random chance the zombie bit and infected another human, chances are that human is either slow, immunocompromised, or stupid, in which case the ‘virus’ would not spread nearly as rapidly as hollywood projections would like us to imagine.  If in the highly unlikely chance that the ‘virus‘ were to infect someone in a developed country, it would be rapidly eradicated due to big-government infringement, and wouldn’t hardly even make the news.  If it hit someplace like the US, it would likely hit a coastal city, which as anyone with half a brain knows, a coastal ecotone means more moisture and thus a higher rate of decay, and once again we run into the inevitable reality that the bacteria which feed on dead flesh would outpace the ability for the ‘virus‘ to populate more hosts, and thus the zombie story ends rather uneventfully and quite unromantically.

The End. 

Mountainpeople vs. Invasiverich Part 2.

If the Invasiverich had adapted to the altruistic sense of the Mountainpeople, things would have been different. Had the Invasiverich not introduced the false sense of “those with the most toys win,” their demise wouldn’t have been so gruesome. The Invasiverich saw the mountains as a new opportunity, a new frontier. They loved visiting the quiet communities and longed to experience that community as their own. Their reasons for moving into the rural realm were not without merit, but they failed to adapt to the region, because they could not leave their concrete boxes. Each autumn they would return to their limestone castles and make the money by breaking the backs of the poor. That was the only way they could live in the hills, they thought. They couldn’t make a living in a tiny town, they couldn’t own the property without the enslavement of the many. They wanted to have their cake and eat it, too. And so, each day at their rat race grind, the Invasiverich worked perceptively ‘hard’ to live their mountainlives each spring. They played their game of Marie Antoinette, while all their peers struggled for food, struggled to make rent, enduring days of broken dreams under the feet of their wealthy masters.

The Invasiverich had forgotten that the mountains are not just meadows and deer; they failed to acknowledge the dark side of winter’s bite, of the carnal needs of survival. The Invasiverich had separated themselves from these animalistic tendencies, present in every human being when faced with strife. They failed to understand that the endurance of those they oppressed could only last so long, and that, one day, the Mountainpeople would have enough.

Having spent lifetimes of caste intermarriage, the Invasiverich had become weak of body and frame. They could not endure the carnal winter, but they could enjoy their bodies in the summer sun of mountain skies. The Mountainpeople had no time for play; their bodies were a byproduct of their continual survival and communal cooperation. Wood for winter warmth needed harvesting, and the only way to harvest was with strength of back and bodily girth. The Mountainpeople were as solid as the rocks they lived in, and once awakened, their seething physical might would easily crush any force that came between them and that nature they loved.

The Mountainpeople didn’t believe the Sky stories played across the ionosphere that December in 2012. They figured something was off, that something was manipulated. They had experienced the machinations of the Megarich each summer for decades; they observed the patterns of the Elite, they saw their empty concrete hearts and their failed attempts at filling their gaps. The Invasiverich were more like the deer than the cougar, and the Mountainpeople knew this. They had become weathered like the granite of the peaks, and they knew the difference between true strength and weakness masquerading in the paper facade of money. When the cities were placed under marshal law, the Invasiverich took to their castles in the meadows. They had been planning, they had been stockpiling for this; they knew of the storm before the commonpeople. Their mansion arsenals were great, but their skills in marksmanship lacked as they hadn’t been spending a lifetime seeking food for their table with a gun. Their bars of gold meant nothing to the Mountainpeople, who were more interested in taking in the refugees of the cities than the Invasiverich who oppressed those refugees for so long. The Mountainpeople knew the plight of the cityfolk; they knew their skills would be greater than the elite, and they would unite with them.

The rage of the Mountainpeople came like a blood-red dawn in the dead of winter. Their passion for equality was their purpose, and, united with the refugees, this passion tore into the empty material of the Invasiverich, like rays of sunlight burn through the morning’s fog. The fancy shotguns and AA-12’s belonging to the Invasiverich could hone down the enraged mob, but it couldn’t keep them from the marksmanship of the trophy-hunter, a single rifle shot silencing the hollow concrete heart of the pitiful affluence-hunter. In the end, every Invasiverich finally got the mountain experience they longed for: in every Bourgeoisie death came that final second of carnal survival they missed by avoiding the winters. In that last instant of breath, their concrete hearts were filled with the knowing that experience is greater than wealth.

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Lawspeakers were those who memorized, recited, and created the law in Iceland during the Viking era. Goði (pl. Goðar) were the chieftains in Iceland, who often held both secular and priestly power. I am using it in the sense that the oppressors often hold power which feels supernaturally strong to the oppressed, and to get as far as most wealthypersons do, one must become sort of a believer in the materialistic dogmas of our era.

Mountainpeople vs. Invasiverich Part 1.

Once upon a dystopian future, the unspoken American class struggle finally came to a head. The raging civil war began not in the streets of cities, but in the rural West. Not long before the collapse and mockery of Belief played upon the blazing sky, a holographic portrayal of all hopes and fears reinvented on the largest plasma screen the world had, the wealthiest classes sought solace from the Rat Race by buying up mountain property.

The mountains, once a haven for persons who never fit into the concrete boxes of the cities, slowly morphed from a quiet place full of countrywomen and good ol’ boys to a bustling venue of Prada-ladies and import-SUV owners. The unbalanced and unhappy Elite brought their fast-paced Materialism with them, and with that came hikes in property values and a drop in available jobs outside of the service positions.

The Mountainpeople were those who stuck it out through the winters. They didn’t mind cold temperature extremes. Hunting and skiing, fishing and rock climbing was second nature to them, although many could no longer afford the slopes and resort-towns, which were teeming with Bourgeoisie. The Mountainpeople began to get angry, but like the geographic positions they had chosen, it took a lot to move them to act on emotion. Their anger was like a seething volcano, brewing over coffee in the small town cafes where local ranchers and servicepersons would mingle and discuss the changes they had endured. Most of the time, their communities functioned with flawless precision. They came together when the going was tough, and they endured the hard times like the mighty aspen endure harsh winds. The Invasiverich began to encroach upon their communities. At first, the Mountainpeople accepted them, although warily so. Many of the Mountainpeople had also moved into the hills to avoid the noise and hastiness of the cities, but when they came, they didn’t bring the city with them.

The Invasiverich settled like pestilent insects blown in from a foreign ecotone. Their hearts were as empty as the concrete boxes from whence they came, but their pockets were laden with the wealth of profits gained from stepping on the backs of the many. The Mountainpeople were enticed by this bounty, but it soon became apparent that with the money came inevitable segregation. The Invasiverich brought their lawyers with them, and soon began to mutilate the country laws to fit their interests. Millionaires began to be pushed out by billionaires, and whoever had the greater Lawspeaker* was the greater Goði*. The Invasiverich introduced their social Darwinism to the community ecology of the hills, and the ‘fittest will survive’ became the predominant theme, defiling the mountains’ dynamic and endemic diversity like an animal gene defiles a Monsanto seed.

The Mountainpeople had their land taken from them. Properties were deemed ‘condemned,’ ranches that were struggling were foreclosed. Mountainpeople began having to rent from the Invasiverich, or share homes amongst many kindred; they had to move into tiny cities in order to find the work to play and meditate in the hills they so loved. Persons born in small towns were pushed out of their orgin-community by rising costs. The Invasiverich’s houses were emptied with the coming winter weather, and the local economies suffered. Mountainpeople had grown accustomed to believing that they needed the Invasiverich. They adapted to the trickle down of dollars, and because there were no positions left save servitude, this became their daily grind. Serving those who pushed them out. Serving those who bought their land from underneath them, and not knowing what to do to revolt.