Random long stories

johns journey part !

This could be a new book teaser could be or not :)

John's life was a monotonous blur of textbooks and cafeteria lunches. He was the kid who sat at the back of the classroom, lost in daydreams of epic battles and alternate realities. His fascination with anime and novels had always been his escape from the mundane.

As the final school bell rang, John stepped out into the warm afternoon sun. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and freedom. He slung his backpack over one shoulder, its weight a familiar comfort. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement as he walked the familiar route home.

And then he saw her—a lone figure hunched over in the middle of the street. John's first instinct was to ignore her, to keep walking. But something about the way she moved caught his attention. She was too slow, too disjointed. Her skin was gray, her clothes torn. And her eyes—those milky, vacant eyes—locked onto him.

Fear surged through John's veins as he realized this wasn't a person. It was a zombie. His mind raced, pulling from all the anime and novels he'd consumed over the years. He had no sword, no magical powers. Just a backpack and the adrenaline-fueled desperation to survive.

John swung his backpack like a makeshift weapon, aiming for the zombie's head. The impact jarred his arms, but he didn't stop. The creature stumbled, its teeth snapping at the air. John's heart pounded in his chest. He had to end this.

The creature stumbled, its decayed limbs flailing. John's backpack was an unlikely weapon, but it was all he had. The textbooks inside added some heft, and he aimed for the zombie's head.

The impact jarred his arms, and the creature's teeth snapped at the air. John's mind raced. He'd seen enough anime and read enough novels to know that these things craved human flesh. But why? How had the world gone from mundane to apocalyptic so quickly?

The zombie lunged again, and John sidestepped, narrowly avoiding its grasp. His backpack swung like a pendulum, and he wondered if this was how heroes felt—their hearts pounding, their every move a desperate bid for survival.

He needed a better weapon. John's eyes darted around. There, in the alley—something glinted. A broken pipe rusted but solid. He dropped the backpack, adrenaline fueling his movements. The pipe fit snugly in his hand, and he turned to face the zombie.

Its milky eyes locked onto him; hunger evident. John took a deep breath. He'd never fought anything before—not even in self-defense. But this was different. This was life or death.

The zombie lunged again, and John swung the pipe with all his might. It connected with the creature's skull, and he felt the satisfying crunch. The zombie staggered, but it didn't go down. John hit it again, and this time, it collapsed in a heap.

He stood there, panting, pipe in hand. The void had swallowed him whole, and now he was fighting for his life. John wiped the sweat from his forehead, wondering if there were others out there like him—people who'd become characters straight out of their own fascination, battling the undead and clinging to hope. 

John's mind raced as he thought of his friends. The void had thrust him into this nightmare, but their faces remained vivid—etched in memories of laughter, shared secrets, and countless afternoons.

Josh, the awesome buddy with a perpetual grin. He'd once joked about becoming a baseball player, swinging a bat like a pro. John wondered if Josh was out there, wielding that same enthusiasm against the undead.