see lots more at: http://coffinhop.com/coffin-hop-2013/ Oct 24 to 31st, 2013
Check out COFFIN HOP: DEATH BY DRIVE-IN, profits will be donated to LitWorld.org to help encourage children’s literacy throughout the world.
Hey Coffin Hoppers:
I’ve picked a number between 1 and 1,000.
Whoever guesses correctly or gets closest gets their name used as one of the characters in my
next book. Only one guess per commenter, to be fair. I’ll announce the winner November 1st.
Hop hearty. Visit all the sites. Aspen
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continued from October 30th – 7th post
We Became the Zombie Walk, part two
A few of my new acquaintances from last Zombie Walk didn’t recognize me. Sure, my nose has flattened more this year, I’m wearing thick glasses, and I’ve lost more hair. But sheesh. I haven’t changed that much. I reminded them of our emails. Then I basked in their compliments about my new makeup.
One of them fell, complaining about unseen sidewalk cracks. We all laughed.
Several had colds, sneezing on everyone indiscriminately. I shared my kleenex with one new Walkers. Only slightly used, but she seemed desperate.
We stumbled along, groaning, waving to the onlookers. Some of our group insisted on meeting their fans up close and personal, kissing and hugging. And sneezing. The fans even shared drinks with us paraders.
I, and my fellow diseased, we joined in that fun. Enjoying the accolades and worship. I raspberried several kids and their parents, licked their suckers, sipped their drinks. They showed no fear, no worries about catching any disease.
Father told me not to get too caught up in this acceptance, it’s just a fad. My new friends won’t accept me when they learn of my disease.
Duh. Like I don’t know that. I’m keeping a low profile on that front. No one knows. They appreciate my costume, my makeup, my charm. I’m a real person here. Accepted.
So I walk the Walk, down the middle of the street. One among many. Not singled out. No different than any of my peers for a change. I love it!
I mingle, introduce myself to more strangers. I kiss and am kissed.
For hours we walk. Ending at some previously empty warehouse. I party all night with the rest of the crowd. Exchange bodily fluids in so many ways. So uplifting this admission into everyday life.
At dawn I retreat. Meet up with my real group, discussing the event.
We come to the conclusion these Zombies want a disease. They crave some real cohesion to bind them together. They yearn for that difference that will make them stand out.
I tell of the new clumsiness my old Walk cohorts exhibit. Their complaints of lost toe and finger feeling, their changing skin colour and hair loss.
We all laugh. It’s a given that some Walkers succumb.
We head home, all with visions of attending another. Where we are accepted, fawned over and welcomed.
“Jo,” Father’s voice from his den commands my attention. “A WHO worker will be here this afternoon. Some test need to done. There’s an upsurge of our disease in all major cities. You have been taking your medication?”
I sign, loudly. “Yes Father. Every day.” See, we’re monitored, WHO knows us, every one. Good thing this is my month to take the pills. “Wake me up when they get here. Ok?”
It’s afternoon when Mom wakes me. I stagger into the living room, finding a hooded, respirated, stranger unpacking a doctor bag on the coffee table.
“Where’s the hazmat suit,” I laugh. “I thought we aren’t that contagious.”
I can see her frown through her faceplate. “The latest iteration of the bacterium is more virulent. Isn’t responding to the antibiotics. We’re taking blood samples from all known diseased. Need to ask you a few questions about your outside contacts.”
Listened to Father and Mom talk about their outside excursions. And then it was my turn.
I gave my blood. Stripped for body inspection.
“You are showing signs of coming out of remission,” she shook her head sorrowfully. “Have you been outside lately? I need a list of all the places.”
Father glared when I hesitated discussing my fun. So I came clean. Hey, I had a blast while it lasted.
I outlined my activities, my inclusion at Zombie Walks. I didn’t squeal on my buddies. Let WHO make that connection.
And why should I care about spreading my disease?
Me, the unclean, the unholy. Now you worship my deformities, my costuming. You compliment my outward symptoms and speak of wishes to copy.
I am helping. Not that I’d tell them. But I’m doing my part, spreading my disease.
Next time we all meet it won’t be for Zombie Walk.
I plan to see you all real soon.
At Leper Walk.
The Evermore Chronicles by Aspen deLainey 