Original Post
[Wall of Text (Story)] This Nightmare's Something New
It's a zombie story. Read, enjoy if possible.
--
This Nightmare’s Something New
Prologue
Based on Tomorrow I’ll Be You by Dasutin.
(Fictionpress (dot) com/s/2354870/1/)
The cop dressed in his clean blue uniform walked casually up to the door of a white 92 Celica, the window was down and the man inside held out his licence bundled with scraps of paper that was his insurance.
“No need to ask... I was going 70 in a 45 because I like going fast.”
The officer gave the man a ‘well aren’t you special’ look with his stern white face, covering with a thin brown moustache but took the documents without word. He looked to the licence in his hand.
Name - Bryce Ridgeway
D.O.B. - 04/16/92
Hair Color - Brown
Eye Color - Green
6'0"212 lbs.
He looked back to the driver. Long, Curly brown hair with dark green eyes stared at the white line beside the highway he was parked upon. The eyes looked back to the officer, then to the hand holding his licence. On the back of his hand was a large, white bandage. The officer noticed him staring.
“A runaway cut me, trying to get away. Attacking an officer is a bad idea, I pulled out my pistol and capped his ass in self defense. Let that be a warning to you. In case you try to run.”
Bryce ignored his ‘warning.’
“Can I have my licence back yet?”
The officer gave him another dirty look. “I was going to let you off with a warning, I don’t like standing next to the highway, but if you’d like to be a little smart-ass we’ll see how you like a ticket.”
With that, the officer turned and walked to the white and black police car behind the Celica, lights still flashing. With a heavy sigh, Bryce leaned against the door and stared up to the sky through his front windshield. The clouds overhead were dark, blocking out the midday sun. Weird. The weather reported no chance of rain. But sure enough, dots of water began to strike the windshield.
The rain picked up over the course of 5 minutes, the police officer still hadn’t brought back his licence. They always took forever to run this through...
Through his rearview mirror, Bryce saw the officer get out of his car and walk back, writing the ticket. The uniform was soaked, the bandage on the officer’s hand was soaked too. Suddenly, the officer looked at his hand and fell to the ground. He screamed, screeched more or less, and rolled on the side of the road. Bryce got out of the car and ran to the office. Douchebag or not, the officer was only doing his job.
“Hey, Hey, what’s wrong?” Bryce asked the officer, kneeling to his side. The officer didn’t listen. He continued to flail around holding his hand. He ripped the bandage off, staring at the wound still screaming. He took one short look, then lost consciousness.
Bryce sat next to the officer, not knowing what to do. He snatched his licence from the ground where the officer had dropped it and pulled his phone from his pocket. His hair matted to his head, he wiped his hair from his face and dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello, emergency services, what is your emergency?” came a woman’s voice from the other side. Bryce replied calmly.
“An officer is wounded, he lost consciousness... I’m not sure what happened but he’s out cold on the side of Highway 54.”
“Paramedics will be there soon sir, please stay put. How was he wounded?”
“I’m not sure, he just started screaming and fell to the ground.”
“Alright. Stay put sir. We’ll ask more questions when we arrive.”
After maybe 5 minutes of watching the cop, his body began twitching and convulsing violently. After another 5 minutes, the paramedics arrived. They hoisted the officer up into the back on a stretcher and drove off, leaving Bryce without a ticket.
“Lucky break, I guess...” he said to himself as he approached the Celica. He drove home, a strange feeling that something bad was about to happen.
But he figured it was just him being paranoid.
That’s it.
Just paranoid.
--
This Nightmare’s Something New
Prologue
Based on Tomorrow I’ll Be You by Dasutin.
(Fictionpress (dot) com/s/2354870/1/)
The cop dressed in his clean blue uniform walked casually up to the door of a white 92 Celica, the window was down and the man inside held out his licence bundled with scraps of paper that was his insurance.
“No need to ask... I was going 70 in a 45 because I like going fast.”
The officer gave the man a ‘well aren’t you special’ look with his stern white face, covering with a thin brown moustache but took the documents without word. He looked to the licence in his hand.
Name - Bryce Ridgeway
D.O.B. - 04/16/92
Hair Color - Brown
Eye Color - Green
6'0"212 lbs.
He looked back to the driver. Long, Curly brown hair with dark green eyes stared at the white line beside the highway he was parked upon. The eyes looked back to the officer, then to the hand holding his licence. On the back of his hand was a large, white bandage. The officer noticed him staring.
“A runaway cut me, trying to get away. Attacking an officer is a bad idea, I pulled out my pistol and capped his ass in self defense. Let that be a warning to you. In case you try to run.”
Bryce ignored his ‘warning.’
“Can I have my licence back yet?”
The officer gave him another dirty look. “I was going to let you off with a warning, I don’t like standing next to the highway, but if you’d like to be a little smart-ass we’ll see how you like a ticket.”
With that, the officer turned and walked to the white and black police car behind the Celica, lights still flashing. With a heavy sigh, Bryce leaned against the door and stared up to the sky through his front windshield. The clouds overhead were dark, blocking out the midday sun. Weird. The weather reported no chance of rain. But sure enough, dots of water began to strike the windshield.
The rain picked up over the course of 5 minutes, the police officer still hadn’t brought back his licence. They always took forever to run this through...
Through his rearview mirror, Bryce saw the officer get out of his car and walk back, writing the ticket. The uniform was soaked, the bandage on the officer’s hand was soaked too. Suddenly, the officer looked at his hand and fell to the ground. He screamed, screeched more or less, and rolled on the side of the road. Bryce got out of the car and ran to the office. Douchebag or not, the officer was only doing his job.
“Hey, Hey, what’s wrong?” Bryce asked the officer, kneeling to his side. The officer didn’t listen. He continued to flail around holding his hand. He ripped the bandage off, staring at the wound still screaming. He took one short look, then lost consciousness.
Bryce sat next to the officer, not knowing what to do. He snatched his licence from the ground where the officer had dropped it and pulled his phone from his pocket. His hair matted to his head, he wiped his hair from his face and dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello, emergency services, what is your emergency?” came a woman’s voice from the other side. Bryce replied calmly.
“An officer is wounded, he lost consciousness... I’m not sure what happened but he’s out cold on the side of Highway 54.”
“Paramedics will be there soon sir, please stay put. How was he wounded?”
“I’m not sure, he just started screaming and fell to the ground.”
“Alright. Stay put sir. We’ll ask more questions when we arrive.”
After maybe 5 minutes of watching the cop, his body began twitching and convulsing violently. After another 5 minutes, the paramedics arrived. They hoisted the officer up into the back on a stretcher and drove off, leaving Bryce without a ticket.
“Lucky break, I guess...” he said to himself as he approached the Celica. He drove home, a strange feeling that something bad was about to happen.
But he figured it was just him being paranoid.
That’s it.
Just paranoid.
Last edited by MowsysWrath; Jul 24, 2008 at 12:04 PM.
Reason: Paragraphs don't work.
Chapter 1
The Newest Nightmare
The smell filled his lungs. The screams filled his ears. The blood, the stench, the sound, the pure horror of it all confused him. He didn’t know where he was, it was too dark. But he could feel people pushing past him, running by, and he was facing the wrong direction. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he was alone. Then the groaning started. Along the horizon came the figured of humans. Corpses, some running and some shambling and even some crawling. Some crawled on the ground and some crawled on the walls of the dark buildings alongside the streets. Some jumped, some hopped, and some were in a dead sprint. Behind the mob, Bryce could see lightning strike. He heard the thunder roar and it began to rain. He didn’t move, he stood in the rain and when they reached him, he opened his eyes.
He threw the covers off himself and rolled over in a panic. That awful smell still haunted him after the... dream? No. Nightmare. Bryce hung his head off the side of his bed and felt his midnight snack leave him and become a stinking pile on the floor. But even the smell of his vomit was one-upped by this smell. Was it really from the nightmare?
Bryce crawled to the opposite side of the bed, deciding he would investigate this stench. He closed his nose, breathing only through his mouth. He could taste it, but it wasn’t half as bad as smelling it. He couldn’t even describe the stench.
He stumbled from his room, grabbing the wall for support and holding back a fresh new wave of vomit. The smell was still getting to him. He shambled down the hallway, coughing and nearly throwing what was left in his stomach.
“Mom! Dad? What’s that smell?”
No reply.
“Mom? Dad? Hello?”
He made his way to the kitchen, bare feet left soft carpet and hit hard tile. But there was nobody in here. The light was off, as was the ceiling fan, but neither responded to the flick of a switch. He checked the room just outside the kitchen; his parent’s room. Nothing. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it seemed normal.
Then a gust of wind blew against his back. Turning to see what was open, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. From the doorway of his parents’ room, he could see clearly into the front room. Red was smeared against the screen door that hung halfway open, blown from side to side by the wind. There was little light penetrating through the dark layer of clouds, but the rain had stopped. Outside, Bryce could see towers of smoke coming from houses on other streets.
“Maybe I’m not just paranoid...” he said. “But what could possibly be happening...”
He dashed to his room, the smell was still there but he could notice the stench of his own vomit. He ignored it as best he could and picked his katana from its resting place on his wall. The sheath was black but a few red dashes and marking gave it some life. The hilt was black, woven black strings left diamond openings. He had gotten this from his dad, just for the sole purpose of having it.
“Good thing I sharpened it...” he said to himself, unsheathing the steel blade. It was shining in what little light entered the room, the edge was sharp as if it had just been crafted. Bryce slid the blade back into the sheath carefully and held it ready in case something were to jump out at him. It was now his only means of defense.
Bryce walked out of his house, out the front door and tried to ignore the blood. He already knew his parents had either left him or were dead. He guessed they left him. His mother’s vehicle, a white jeep, was gone. Whoever had driven it was wounded, the blood from the front door trailed to where the vehicle was normally parked. So Bryce chose his one best move and reached into his pocket for his keys, carefully making his way to the Celica. As he approached it, however, he heard a scream that couldn’t have been called from human lungs. But it was. From the tree beside his house above his Celica dropped a woman figure. This woman had long brown hair and the same green eyes as Bryce himself. The woman was his mother.
Her face was torn, bloody, and her eyes were milky white. She had ungodly speed, she landed in front of Bryce and struck him to the ground with a hard backhand. Bryce screamed, hitting the gravel of his driveway. His mother jumped on top of him, her teeth had almost reached Bryce’s throat when he jammed the sheathed katana into her gaping mouth. Her teeth were bloody and smelled just like the stench in Bryce’s room. His mother bit on the sheath, but it held together nicely. Her hands clawed at his face, missing only slightly. Her nails were sharp and could easily rip him apart if he allowed her any closer.
Bryce couldn’t hold her back much longer, he struggled to move his legs under his mother’s stomach. He pushed as hard as he could, throwing his mother off of him and to the ground. She was back up on her feet almost immediately but Bryce was just fast enough to draw the katana from its sheath and hold it in front of him as his demented mother leapt at him. The blade jammed through her skull, her blood hit Bryce’s clothes, and he stared at the disfigured face, now impaled by his katana.
His arms were shaking, as were his legs, as he stood and pushed the corpse off the katana. The blood stained his blade, but what horrified him more was how he decided to wipe the blood off using his mother’s shirt. So this was what became of his home town? Mutants? Zombies? He could’ve called it when he had that dream. And well, he now knew that his dad was more than likely bitten, judging from the blood trail. If his dad had gotten away with Bryce’s two little brothers, they would no doubt be dead as well if his dad turned. Bryce guessed his dad escaped the house with the bite and the two kids, but unable to wake Bryce himself he had no choice but to leave him behind. The thought of his father, two brothers, and his mom all being dead brought tears to his eyes. But now wasn’t the time.
Reaching to the door of the Celica, Bryce took one last look as his dead mother. Then, he sat himself down and started the car up. He backed out of the driveway, set the katana in the passenger seat, and pulled out onto the road. He had his first idea of where to go.
The Newest Nightmare
The smell filled his lungs. The screams filled his ears. The blood, the stench, the sound, the pure horror of it all confused him. He didn’t know where he was, it was too dark. But he could feel people pushing past him, running by, and he was facing the wrong direction. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he was alone. Then the groaning started. Along the horizon came the figured of humans. Corpses, some running and some shambling and even some crawling. Some crawled on the ground and some crawled on the walls of the dark buildings alongside the streets. Some jumped, some hopped, and some were in a dead sprint. Behind the mob, Bryce could see lightning strike. He heard the thunder roar and it began to rain. He didn’t move, he stood in the rain and when they reached him, he opened his eyes.
He threw the covers off himself and rolled over in a panic. That awful smell still haunted him after the... dream? No. Nightmare. Bryce hung his head off the side of his bed and felt his midnight snack leave him and become a stinking pile on the floor. But even the smell of his vomit was one-upped by this smell. Was it really from the nightmare?
Bryce crawled to the opposite side of the bed, deciding he would investigate this stench. He closed his nose, breathing only through his mouth. He could taste it, but it wasn’t half as bad as smelling it. He couldn’t even describe the stench.
He stumbled from his room, grabbing the wall for support and holding back a fresh new wave of vomit. The smell was still getting to him. He shambled down the hallway, coughing and nearly throwing what was left in his stomach.
“Mom! Dad? What’s that smell?”
No reply.
“Mom? Dad? Hello?”
He made his way to the kitchen, bare feet left soft carpet and hit hard tile. But there was nobody in here. The light was off, as was the ceiling fan, but neither responded to the flick of a switch. He checked the room just outside the kitchen; his parent’s room. Nothing. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it seemed normal.
Then a gust of wind blew against his back. Turning to see what was open, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. From the doorway of his parents’ room, he could see clearly into the front room. Red was smeared against the screen door that hung halfway open, blown from side to side by the wind. There was little light penetrating through the dark layer of clouds, but the rain had stopped. Outside, Bryce could see towers of smoke coming from houses on other streets.
“Maybe I’m not just paranoid...” he said. “But what could possibly be happening...”
He dashed to his room, the smell was still there but he could notice the stench of his own vomit. He ignored it as best he could and picked his katana from its resting place on his wall. The sheath was black but a few red dashes and marking gave it some life. The hilt was black, woven black strings left diamond openings. He had gotten this from his dad, just for the sole purpose of having it.
“Good thing I sharpened it...” he said to himself, unsheathing the steel blade. It was shining in what little light entered the room, the edge was sharp as if it had just been crafted. Bryce slid the blade back into the sheath carefully and held it ready in case something were to jump out at him. It was now his only means of defense.
Bryce walked out of his house, out the front door and tried to ignore the blood. He already knew his parents had either left him or were dead. He guessed they left him. His mother’s vehicle, a white jeep, was gone. Whoever had driven it was wounded, the blood from the front door trailed to where the vehicle was normally parked. So Bryce chose his one best move and reached into his pocket for his keys, carefully making his way to the Celica. As he approached it, however, he heard a scream that couldn’t have been called from human lungs. But it was. From the tree beside his house above his Celica dropped a woman figure. This woman had long brown hair and the same green eyes as Bryce himself. The woman was his mother.
Her face was torn, bloody, and her eyes were milky white. She had ungodly speed, she landed in front of Bryce and struck him to the ground with a hard backhand. Bryce screamed, hitting the gravel of his driveway. His mother jumped on top of him, her teeth had almost reached Bryce’s throat when he jammed the sheathed katana into her gaping mouth. Her teeth were bloody and smelled just like the stench in Bryce’s room. His mother bit on the sheath, but it held together nicely. Her hands clawed at his face, missing only slightly. Her nails were sharp and could easily rip him apart if he allowed her any closer.
Bryce couldn’t hold her back much longer, he struggled to move his legs under his mother’s stomach. He pushed as hard as he could, throwing his mother off of him and to the ground. She was back up on her feet almost immediately but Bryce was just fast enough to draw the katana from its sheath and hold it in front of him as his demented mother leapt at him. The blade jammed through her skull, her blood hit Bryce’s clothes, and he stared at the disfigured face, now impaled by his katana.
His arms were shaking, as were his legs, as he stood and pushed the corpse off the katana. The blood stained his blade, but what horrified him more was how he decided to wipe the blood off using his mother’s shirt. So this was what became of his home town? Mutants? Zombies? He could’ve called it when he had that dream. And well, he now knew that his dad was more than likely bitten, judging from the blood trail. If his dad had gotten away with Bryce’s two little brothers, they would no doubt be dead as well if his dad turned. Bryce guessed his dad escaped the house with the bite and the two kids, but unable to wake Bryce himself he had no choice but to leave him behind. The thought of his father, two brothers, and his mom all being dead brought tears to his eyes. But now wasn’t the time.
Reaching to the door of the Celica, Bryce took one last look as his dead mother. Then, he sat himself down and started the car up. He backed out of the driveway, set the katana in the passenger seat, and pulled out onto the road. He had his first idea of where to go.
Last edited by MowsysWrath; Jul 24, 2008 at 12:05 PM.
Reason: I wish it would save indents too.
Originally Posted by MowsysWrath
Bryce got out of the car and ran to the office.
I have no idea why but I like to go around looking for typoes(sp?)
kac1010:How the (bleep) is this pedophile guy killing African children by clapping his hands?
wow that is insanley great are u planning on finishing this up if so good for you
WE ARE the Toxic [Evolution]
