Razqin+&+Julians

I remember the monkeys. Especially them. God knows how many were on top of people's heads as they climbed away for safety. There were even more people. Thousands were running in one destination, with no direction, just trying to get away from "them". I was on the fourteenth floor of the Citibank Tower, watching the panic below me. The general was rounding up the last of the office workers, trying to push us into the lift. I refused to go in, knowing that it was overloaded. The general merely shook his head, swearing that I was an idiot, and the lift door closed. When I turned around, I heard the lift cables snap and the lift fall and crash loudly downstairs. Without thinking, I ran.

I was horrified, thinking of my own family. Were they being stepped on by the crowds? I had too much on my mind, and without thinking I ran outside and jumped off the roof. Unfortunately, the ground I fell on was not so soft. When I got up and looked around, not a single human being was there. I did not know what to do. I started thinking to myself: what could have happened in that time I fell.

That was when I first saw "them". They were slow at first, legs broken from bullet wounds and feet missing, blown up by grenades thrown at them. They did not even need legs when they saw me and crawled along the ground, towards where I was. I did not move, just looking at them and wondering what happened to all those people. When a woman screamed in the distance, I remembered that "they" were dangerous, and with the pain in my legs still hurting me, just ran, and towards a bus driving away from me.

Adrenaline coursed frantically through my veins as I chased wildly after the bus retreating down the street. Too late. The bus picked up speed, as if anticipating my desperation, turning a corner sharply, and then I was alone. The streets were eerily quiet, but I knew that this was stillness was just a facade, a prelude to the confusion and chaos that was to come. A plastic bag blew listlessly in the wind. A car door, hanging by its hinges, crashed to the ground. All around me, destruction and devastation. Dark red blood spattered the pavements, reminding me of the time my younger brother had sliced his leg open playing carelessly with his pen knife. Till this day, I've never been particularly good at coping with the sight of blood. Doubling over, I tried to stop myself from retching. The sun was setting over the rooftops of buildings, darkness settling over the now-silent city. I prepared myself for a long night.

I did not know how long I had slept for when I woke up. Even with nightfall, I could still make out the silhouette of the city. Looking right down the street, I could see the port was on fire. Tanker ships set ablaze, at least ten of them, burning in front of people - I could not believe there were still survivors - who were trying in vain to put the inferno out. It must have been the light of the flames and the shouts that attracted the attention of one of "them" to me. Like a red, bloated moth to a massive candle flame, it came around the corner of the street. It was the general from the Citibank Tower - or what was left of him - and he must have changed into one of "them" shortly after he perished in the elevator. I grabbed hold of my pen, thinking that it could offer me protection, and I even threw my pen at it. Its bulging eyes were fixed upon me, and I was sobbing uncontrollably, when the loud foghorns of a bus blared behind the monster.

What //were// these things, these hideous, foul and repulsive creatures that now roamed the streets of my city? What devil now possessed their souls, transforming and mutilating them beyond human recognition, causing the cracks in their decaying skin to ooze pus, causing their tongues to swell like pufferfish, causing their eyes to roll into the backs of their disintegrating heads? Instinctively, my mind cast back to my childhood days. My father had always used to enjoy watching old zombie horror movies from the twenty first century, spending time he didn't have, sprawled across the sofa, gorging on films like '28 Days Later' and 'Dawn of the Dead'. I always found these films so amature, with such laughable special effects. Compare to the cinematic effects we can do now, in the year 2132, those movies did seem a little old fashioned. I used chuckled at my father's fascination with the idea of genetic diseases and contagious viruses, placing complete faith and trust in the hands of the goverment, who I believed would protect us from such absurd possibilities. What imaginations these people had, I used to think. But now, watching the corpse of the general split into bloody, fleshy pieces, I'm starting to wonder whether those old movie-makers knew what they were talking about after all.

This is Julian by the way. If you were wondering why the paragraphs got longer, Yasmin was finishing the story off.

Oswald: The first and second paragraphs don't really connect to each other at all. I don't see the connection between the two paragraphs.  Benjamin Tan: I enjoyed your story but there was a few things that you could have changed such as instead of emphasising the word “they” more than once you could have done, That was when I first saw "them", the zombies or something. In the second paragraph it said that you jumped off the roof? You’re on the 14th floor and it’s impossible to live when you try jumping down 14 floors. (Not sure what you meant though. Correct me if I’m wrong). Also when you said that you tried to sleep at the bus stop, did you not also say that “they”(the zombies) were behind you? And also when you said they were slow at first, did they get any faster because if they did would you sleep when they are coming? (Sorry ok. I had nothing else to write).

Mr. Suresh: Chris, I deleted your entry as it is irrelevant. Oswald, may I ask you to comment on the overall quality? It'd be beneficial for the writers to receive constructive comments. Your comment can be considered as constructive but perhaps, you can provide more details or examples of your point. You may, of course, provide ways to improve it too.

Oswald: Sorry sir, now back to the story line. The connection between the 1st and the 2nd paragraph do not connect. Where does the character run to? What’s the character looked like? You need to write about the character’s personality as well. Well that’s all the faults I have found with your story. Sir is this enough?