I did, however, had a huge mental block on how the next story should go. But my wife was very awesome enough to help me shell out ideas, and she was the one who actually gave me a theme for Thriller's part two. Please watch out for that one and continue reading InWorld Magazine!
Also, if you have the time, please do check out my article at SLEnquirer here, and support Fashion For Life 2012. It's going to be ending soon. Don't miss out the chance to grab those awesome items from the event, and help contribute to Cancer Research in the process.
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ROLEPLAY
THRILLER
by: Luc Fray
This is the story of a zombie who wants to become a dancer.
Who is this zombie?, you might ask.
Well, his name is Archibald.
And he is me.
I was born from a long line of zombies in a small town in Alabama. Please don't ask me how my mother gave birth to me and my 3 other siblings. I don't know how my parents did it, and I don't want to think about it. Because, one, well, they're my parents, and pardon the pun, it's always disgusting to think of them humping each other's brains out. And two, they're zombies. It's hard enough for us to walk without dropping a limb or two, it boggles the mind how they're able to do it without...uh...losing some...bits.
I don't think about it.
No, seriously.
Okay, maybe sometimes.
But it makes me want to jump off a cliff afterwards.
Anyway, back to the story.
I was raised in a crypt in an abandoned cemetery, bred the proper way to be a good little zombie I was expected to be. My family is pretty strict about maintaining the norm and status quo. Zombies are zombies, and humans are food, my parents always say. In a way, I guess they could be called conservative and idealists.
We try to stay away from the living and keep to ourselves, but most of the time, there would be thrill-seekers and adventurers who'd wander into our place, and well, let's just say that we feast and celebrate on gaining new members. Oh, we get hungry too, but the chow bell only rings at 12 AM, so that's the only time we're allowed to pass past the borders of the cemetery and travel to the nearest town. I think that rule was put up to control the supply of brains. We figured if we ate all the townspeople in one go, we'd have to move to another town. Bad idea, since it would attract the attention of the nation. Mostly, we target the hotels and inns. There are plenty of travelers that visits the town, and nobody would really worry if they're gone.
Pretty cool, huh? Bet you thought we, zombies, don't think about that. Or at all.
But yeah, we do.
I guess everything changed, however, when we raided the town again for our midnight snack. I sneaked---well, as much as a zombie could anyway---in inside one of the hotel rooms, but found out that it was empty. I surveyed the area. Checked on every corner, and still there was no one. There was a blinking box in front of the bed though, and somehow it caught my attention. A man was there. With a flock of zombies behind him. And they were moving in sync and in quick motions. Fascinated, I couldn't look away. My eyes got glued to them.
I was hooked.
I never knew zombies could move like that. Usually, we're just dragging our feet and raising our arms like we want to choke the first person that we see. Or you know... like fat kid reaching for that 3rd helping of pie.
I marveled at the zombies' movements. I really did. I must have stared unblinkingly at the box before the strange phenomenon finally ended. Since then, I couldn't get the image out of my fractured head. I kept thinking about how it would be cool to move just like them. Day and night, I obsessed about it. I'd tiptoe off during noon, when everyone's sleeping, to the town and tried to find everything out about those peculiar motions. I found out that they were called dancing, and that there were many different types of it.
After that, I started practicing. Secretly, of course. It wouldn't bode well for my health if my parents ever find out I've been breaking rules and doing something good normal zombies aren't suppose to be doing. They'd break my neck off (not that it's not yet been broken, but I'd have to go search for my severed head. And well, it's really hard doing that if your eyeballs have rolled off to some deep creak in the ground and the rest of you is blindly groping to reattach the parts to where they belong)
Admittedly, it was difficult---both moving my body to the beat and hiding the situation from my fellow zombies. Oftentimes, a body part would fall off, like my intestines when I'm doing a belly roll, or my brains when I'm doing a headstand. And don't even get me started with krumping. Or the Harlem Shake.
But for all it's worth, I love how it makes me feel. I love doing it. I love the rush that I get when I'm moving my feet (we don't really have Adrenaline or any other hormones anymore, but you get the idea). It's awesome! I usually lose a couple of toes when I'm practicing (specially when I'm moonwalking), but to heck with it! When I'm in the zone, I'm in the zone.
'Sides, I tie them back together anyway with some piece of cloth torn from my raggedy tux...
Pretty soon, the hopes rose. I started dreaming about the outside world. I imagined what it would be like to perform in front of others. To dance like there's no tomorrow. To move wildly to my heart's desire! (Yeah, so the thing's not been functional ever since I could remember, but now and then, when I'm dancing, I could catch it beating the tiniest bit. First time it did, it surprised me a lot. I thought a moth had gotten lost again and fluttered inside my rib cage. But nah, it was just my poor shriveled heart.)
So on it went.
But there comes a point in a man's (or zombie's) life, when all you want to do is break lose from everything around you, and that time came when a band of traveling zombies visited our little home. They said they were heading north. To New York. Now, normally, I don't eat fruits as I live faithfully to the Brain Diet, but this time, I badly wanted to get a crunch of that Big Apple.
The following day when it was time for the traveling zombies to hit the road, I stowed away with them.
So, now, here I am. Trying to get by in this city where dreams are made of. I've appeared in a few music videos and dance contests, but they were all small parts. I tried out as an instructor in this Dance Academy, but I scared all the students away. I guess it must be the maggot that suddenly popped out of my nostril when I introduced myself to the class. I told them it was just nose hair, but they didn't really believe me. Currently, I work in a jazz theater (finger snapping makes the digits fall off too) owned by another zombie that I've met around the place. Actually, all of the actors are zombies, and we don't really get a lot of good reviews (some would say it's racism), but critics who gives bad reviews would suddenly be found dead and brainless the next day. Or part of the crew.
Yeah, we don't go hungry around here.
Ok, I got to go now, though. Curtains about to go up. I'll send you postcards, and I'll tell you how it goes.
Before you ask, no, that's not sauce. I'm a zombie and we save on the ink.
RRRRGGGGRRRRRRBBBHH! (Zombie Translation: Bye for now!)
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