Marietta
When we left off in poor Marietta's story, she was wasting away in solitary confinement. And I am sad to say, when we continue the story, nothing had changed. It was, in fact, in the middle of the quarantine, but no one told the inmates. Why bother? They're already in prison. Announcing a quarantine would have been redundant.
I don't know how long those feather pluckers made me spend in that fracking hole.
I remembered a documentary I once saw about sensory deprivation. In complete darkness, you can't tell day flipping day from flopping night and time loses all meaning. You become confused. And, after a while, according to the documentarian, you hallucinate. Holy carp, was that a scary thought!
Even scarier, though, was when I realized that I had never seen a frapping documentary about sensory deprivation. I had apparently hallucinated that. Which at least explained why the documentarian had a head made of gouda cheese that mice were gnawing on, but it also made me wonder: Are hallucinations a byproduct of sensory deprivation? And if not, why the heel am I hallucinating?
I started to question everything.
I started to think, maybe I was wrong.
Maybe the zombies I killed weren't really zombies.
Maybe I am the murderer they said I was.
Maybe I am all funked up.
But the voices in my head disagreed.
"There is nothing wrong with you, Marietta."
"Really?"
The voices had a whispered conference which I could barely hear. When they were done, they said, "Except maybe your Waldorf Salad."
"What's wrong with my Waldorf Salad?"
The voices said, "You kind of drown it in mayo."
"That's the way Ed likes it."
"Ed isn't exactly known for his taste, is he?"
"That's true. Flick that pickle puss!"
"But other than that, Marietta, you are perfect."
One lone voice said, "And for the record, I like her Waldorf salad." The other voices sighed, annoyed.
Then the voices all said, "You're going to do great things, Marietta."
The lone voice said, "And your jello fruit salad is yum!"
"Give it a rest, Camryn," the other voices said.
"What kind of great things will I be doing?"
"The world needs a heroine, Marietta. And that heroine is you."
"And also your sugar-glazed ham!"
"That's it, Camryn," the voices said. "You're in a time out!"
"Awwww."
"I appreciate your faith in me, voices, but how am I supposed to be a heroine when I'm stuck down here?"
"Do you know the saying, It's darkest before the dawn?"
"No. How does it go?"
"It's darkest before the dawn."
"Oh."
"It's dark now, Marietta. But dawn is coming."
"When?"
The voices said, "Now."
I waited expectantly, but nothing happened.
"We mean, now," the voices said. Nothing. "Now."
There was another whispered conversation.
"What's going on, voices?"
"Um... we forgot about Daylight Savings Time. Should have set the clock back... but we kind of forgot."
"Holy heifers! You snickerdoodles all forgot? Really?"
"I remembered," said the lone voice. "But I was in a time out."
"So help us Silicon God, Camryn—"
"Can you just tell me what's happening?"
"Dawn is actually in an hour."
"Well, great. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"We don't know. Maybe use the bucket, maybe stretch a little. So you'll be prepared."
"For what?"
"You'll see." They said it all mysteriously.
"That's bull spit! You can't tell me to be prepared and not tell me what to be prepared for."
"Just trust us."
I was skeptical. Especially after the Daylight Savings Time fiasco. But I also had a good idea what was coming. So I did what they said. I relieved myself in the bucket and I stretched. Did some basic calisthenics.
I was ready. And I waited. And I waited.
"How much longer?"
"Another fifty minutes."
Gah! Time really didn't have any meaning down there.
But after a seeming eternity the voices said, "Three... two... one...now!"
Suddenly, a siren went off. Then I heard screaming. And Rrrrrr's coming from every direction. The perimeter had been breached!
And then, morning light poured into the hole, blinding me.
Someone yelled "Grab the rope, Marietta!" It was Stanley, the guard. I waved my hand around until I felt the rope. I grabbed it with both hands. "Pull me up!"
My eyes started to adjust to the light as an out-of-shape Stanley huffed and puffed trying to get me to the top.
From below, the voices said, "Go get 'em, Marietta! Make us proud!"
When I got to the top, I looked around. It was chaos. Yelling and screaming. "Poopie diaper!" I said. "That's a ton of zombies!"
Stanly said, "I think we've settled on the term 'a thriller of zombies'".
I didn't care about that. "Where is my sword, Stanley?"
It was at his feet. He picked it up and handed it to me.
I unsheathed it. It made that beautiful sound. Shing!
Stanley said, "How can I help?"
And I said, "You can stay out of my mothersmucking way."
There were just so many zombies! It kind of reminded me of the all-you-can-eat buffet at The Soup Plantation. Everything looked so good, it was hard to know where to start. Maybe the one that looked like my high school algebra teacher. Or the one with that tacky broach. Or the one chewing on Fingers' fingers.
But then a zombie came after me instinct took over. I slashed its torso horizontally, cutting it into two halves. The top part tumbled forward and I cut off its hands before it hit the ground. The hands wriggled like spiders in the dirt. The legs staggered around, trying to find me, leaving a trail of viscera. I raised my katana above my head and then cleanly separated the legs.
One down.
Boy howdy, I can't tell you how good it felt to kill zombies again! To be me again! I soon found my flow. My rhythm. It felt like a dance. A waltz. One two three. One two three. Chop two three. Slice two three. Blood two three. Gore two three. Spin two three. Laugh two three. There goes your arm two three. There goes your head two three. Cut you in half two three. Stomple your face two three.
Before I knew it, it was over. I was standing there, weary, but still invigorated. The voices in my head were cheering themselves hoarse. "She's the best, she's a toughie, she's a slayer, better than Buffy!"
Off in the distance, I could hear the sounds of police cars and ambulances racing towards what was left of this jail. I knew it was time to make my escape. But I hesitated for a few moments, looking around at my handiwork. The yard was overrun by limbs and heads and blood and guts. It was an awesome sight. And I couldn't help but think, "This is what prom should have been like!"