The Beginning

Rupert the mime has awoken to a zombie plague infecting his city. Will he survive? Or will he be another victim claimed by the walking dead Apocalypse?

Waking up stiff and sore, Rupert had no idea where he was, but the pink surroundings suggested a girl’s room. The daylight shining through the curtains, as well as the clock mounted on the dresser told him it was a tad past noon. He yawned himself awake, but as he tried stretching, he found his right arm did not respond, acting as dead weight.

He looked to his right to find the sleeping clown lying on his arm, cuddling his chest, snoring quietly and completely devoid of clothing. Nearly having a heart attack at the sight, he fought the urge to jump out of the bed and run away. Instead, he cautiously removed his palm from her ample rump and snaked his arm from underneath her hip.

Slipping out of bed and sneaking out silently was no challenging task for him, but locating his pants proved to be a more difficult objective. Pacing through his friend's house in nothing but his boxers had not been on his to-do list last night.

Neither had sleeping with her; the thought alone made his stomach churn. Whatever happened in that bedroom would probably haunt him for the rest of his life in every aspect except for his dreams. That was where all those nasty images belonged; locked in his head to be played out as fantasies. Not to be experienced in reality; especially not with Rapture.

Choosing not to deal with it until later, he distracted himself by returning to the search for his clothing. He discovered his pants discarded rather shrewdly atop the plant in the corner, and silently applauded his own achievement. Hurriedly tugging them up his legs, his anxiety melted away once he was decent.

Before beginning the search for his shirt, he heard something give a scratching knock, and froze, fearing his plan to escape without a farewell had been blown. The sound repeated long enough for him to pin-point its origin and he exhaled another silent sigh, relieved to find that the noise had come from outside his friend's house. After another quick, but unsuccessful search for his shirt, he walked over to answer the door.

Looking through the peephole revealed old Mrs. Simmons standing outside on the porch, wobbling slightly on her heels. Her face looked wrinkled and leathery like a mask, and just as detached from the rest of her head. Her lips were thin to the point of invisibility, and her nose was wide and bulbous, having no trouble holding up the thickest glasses the mime had ever seen. She looked drunk judging by the way she swayed from side to side, and he shook his head at the concept of old women drinking.

Feeling naked with his chest exposed, he slowly opened the door halfway, hiding behind it. He outstretched his arm to greet the old lady with a handshake, but instead of meeting the gesture with her own hand, she seized a nice chunk of his arm in her teeth.

In shock, he pulled his bloody arm out of the old woman's mouth and took a moment to study the wound before the pain settled in. Wide-eyed, he gave a noiseless scream to express his agony. Seeing her trying to get a second bite of him, he lifted his bare foot and booted her down the stairs in self-defense.

He watched her wrinkled body tip over the edge of the porch, listened to bones breaking on the stone steps below and looked on as her possible corpse crumpled on the concrete. He observed her motionless body until he was certain she was never getting up again. Guilt pinched the insides of his gut, making him nauseous.

Regardless of the old lady treating his arm like tapioca, he could not help feeling mortified at his actions. There was no valid excuse for what he had done; killing a crazy, most likely senile old person. Woefully, he stepped outside to check if she was still alive. Although he was highly doubtful, it would ease some of his regret if there was a pulse.

As revolting as the scene of an elderly woman collapsing like a bag of putty was to witness, it paled in comparison to watching her snap her bones back into place, each righted joint giving off this sickening popping noise, and rising from the incident as if it never happened.

Seeing this grotesqueness with his own eyes, the mime turned tail, nearly tripping on his own feet to get away. He returned to the security of his friend’s house, slamming the door shut behind him. Running to the bathroom, he fought off the urge to vomit. Concerned he might stain the floor with the blood trickling down to his elbow, he tore off as much toilet paper as he could from the roll and wrapped the leaking part of his arm up tightly.

He glanced up, catching a glimpse of his horror-stricken face in the mirror; sweaty, full of tears and looking frantic. In a play or movie, his expression might have been hilarious, but this was reality, where being frightened was only a hindrance.

He wiped away the tears, took a deep breath to calm down, and nearly choked on air as the bathroom door received a soft knock that mimicked the one before. His head instantly filled with horrific images; an army of grannies ready to chomp him to pieces.

The only exit was a window too small to crawl out of, and with the door blocked he was starting to feel hopelessly trapped. He contemplated just sitting on the toilet until help arrived, but his thoughts turned to his helpless friend still snoozing in her bed. She would be doomed if the evil outside grew impatient and chose to attack her. Hiding was just as useless as running in this situation. The only option that remained was fighting his way to freedom.

Although, even that task seemed impossible, unless tissue was a zombie’s secret weakness. The bathroom contained nothing worthy of weaponization. His right arm was bleeding out, while his left hand was busy holding pressure on the wound. The scratchy knock came again, sounding angry and impatient. Resigned to his fate, his injured arm reached for the knob as he prepared himself for whatever waited on the other side.

Author's Note

This is a snippet of my novelette entitled Mime For the Deaf, currently on sale on amazon for only a dollar. If you want to read more, please support a new writer and buy a copy!
http://www.amazon.com/Mime-Deaf-Rapture-Rupert-ebook/dp/B009ZKNB0M/