Kerry’s Z

I wanted to write a short story, and Zombies came to mind. Let me know what you think.

*

Kerry had been expecting the change for hours now. Even though it had to happen at some time, he still jumped when the first twitch rippled through his friend’s body. It would be half an hour or so before James rose, and Kerry would get to watch it all from start to finish.

He couldn’t deny a certain sense of fascination. Few people saw the change happen first hand; They often only experienced the result. James’ skin had already started blistering, turning black. His eyes had whitened, rolled back, the pupils that marked him as human resigned to staring at the back of his sockets for his remaining unlife. His body had stiffened and then softened again, his insides churning and turning to a mush that led many to question how it was possible for them to survive.

The hole in his neck - his bite mark - had already thickened, the blood congealing and the startling red fading to clear. Whatever was left of James, the James that Kerry knew, was hiding deep inside that dark shell, likely cowering with fear, its home steadily turning to evil.

A loud thumping slowly dragged Kerry’s eyes away from his friend. The small and extremely thick glass of the safe room door framed a face that was at once both obscene and human. Angry and sad. They had found his place in this twisted complex, but that had already been a certainty. Hundreds of bodies can explore even the largest of research centres in hardly any time, no matter how slowly they shuffle. They were hammering on the door with their arms and heads, though they would feel no pain. Kerry wasn’t worried: Nothing could get through that door.

The once new noise already a dull rhythm in his ears, he turned back to James and wasn’t startled to find him sitting up. Arms hanging limply at the sides, James’ new eyes searched the room about him in slow curiosity. Kerry was one of the first to see this twisted “birthing” process, this acclimatising to new life, but he didn’t feel any of the scientific excitement that he might once have. In fact, he felt nothing but sadness. Killing wasn’t in his blood, but as his right hand gripped the Colt’s hard butt and scraped along the rough concrete of the safe room floor, he knew certain things had to happen no matter the feelings of those involved.

He watched as his hand rose on its own and centred the barrel on James’ once handsome face. He grimaced as his finger squeezed the trigger until the clip was empty, and then sighed as his fingers dropped the heavy metal as if it were too massive to lift. He tried to ignore the frenzied thumps at the door as the outsiders realised that one of their own was being killed, and closed his eyes. He promised himself that he wouldn’t open them again.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008 | Comments (1)

Robots are lifeless

Over the past year or so I’ve felt the growing desire to work with children in some capacity. It’s nothing sinister, and I’m annoyed that society is at such a stage that working with children comes under immediate suspicion once you get to a certain age.

My stuff with Weekenders is part way there, but something I’ve always wanted to try my hand at is teaching. I can imagine teaching was a far easier profession to get into before I was alive: These days you often need a degree and a PGCE to even consider the possibility. It’s a limitation that helps keep the weird people at bay, but it doesn’t bode well for people such as myself, who want to teach kids in a classroom, but not on any kind of permanent basis or professional basis.

It’s not something I’d consider making my career, because unless you get serious about it the money isn’t tremendous, and tremendous amounts of money has always been a factor in my choice of career.

It might be a sad thing that being able to impart knowledge onto kids in such a way isn’t easy to organise. I’m ready to accept the difficulties thrown up by the government, though. My plan, as it stands, is to try and volunteer at a local high school as a teachers assistant. It’s closer than I’d probably get otherwise, and I’ll still be able to teach in some capacity, even if I’m not at the front and talking.

I’m going to be phoning Cathays High School tomorrow, to try and book an appointment to see the head teacher, if all goes well. I can’t imagine this is an ordinary approach from their perspective, but I’ve tried looking for volunteer teaching assistant avenues, and I’m come up with nothing. I hate it when Google fails me.

*

Some of you might pay attention to dates. If you do, you might also be paying attention to the three posts I’ve written in the last two days alone. You might say I’m in a writing mood. I even wrote a short story about Zombies, but since that would take the length of this post way past “normal”, I’m only going to post that if people want me to…

Hint hint.

Monday, November 17, 2008 | Comments (4)

They’re not all-important

The post below is all about shoes. I’ve realised that I can’t exactly sleep soundly tonight in the knowledge that I haven’t touched on our night out at all.

Richard and Adam originally came here to get to the top of a hill with me. In that we failed, since we never even approached a hill. It wasn’t out of apathy, though: The weather made an adventure of that magnitude somewhat… perilous. I’d rather tackle it on a dry day, is all I’m sayin’.

We DID chillax in some bars, though. The debaters were out in force since Saturday was the Welsh novice, in which debaters from the universities around here get to compete for the (possibly) first time. Pitting similarly skilled people against each other, and what not.

I’ve never been a fan of moving around when I’m out. I guess I can understand that drinking in one place all night might get boring to people who actually drink. Maybe the change of locale makes it more interesting to drink for a long time? Since I don’t drink, the reason I go out is for the social atmosphere. I’m not suggesting that the drinkers are only there for the drinking, but the people they’re with isn’t the only consideration. When you’re only looking to spend time with people, the place in which you do it really doesn’t matter.

Luckily we spent almost the entire night in two bars very close to one another, with the only real impetus for moving provided by one bar closing and the other staying open. There was jokes, laughter, prolonged fake accents, shouting, and introducing friends to other friends. I’m not sure “awesome” is a word I’d use to describe it, but only because it might not be suitable enough. Once we got home, there was waking house mates, nakedness, laughter, constant recital of the jokes we’d heard, and the three of us sleeping in a nearly-double bed.

I’m all too aware, now, of the fact that I don’t have any friends of this character in Cardiff. Relaxed and awesome? Yes. Sometimes you like a little crazy, though.

Sunday, November 16, 2008 | Comments (3)

I’d be afraid of the scratching

If the Earth had a head, it would be shaking so hard right now - in disgust, at the fasion industry.

I went to ASDA with Rich today. That’s Richard Pardoe, from Weston, as opposed to Richard Coombs, from Cardiff. I can’t say that I’m annoyed at having to make the distinction between the many Richards I know. It had to be ASDA, because that is where I got the shoes that I’m wearing now, originally.

They didn’t have the shoes that I wanted, and none of the others were suitable. I’m a fan of simplicity, which some of you might have realised simply by studying the theme I’m using for this blog for as long as it takes to realise (About half a second if you’re really slow).

I want shoes that are dark, canvas, white-soled and not too big. The kind of shoe you might imagine when someone just says the word “shoe”. The problem, and the reason the world would be shaking its head, is that simplicity seems to have entered the realm of luxury. The simplest and most suitable shoes I can find all cost in the region of £50. Anything even approaching the price I want to pay is always laden with so much crap that it seems “simple” is a word that sweat-shops aren’t familiar with.

That you need to spend so much in order to wear simple shoes is some kind of sick joke that I’m sure the industry is all “in on”. They’ve decided to hide it all in the back whenever I walk into discount clothes places, and then bring it back out again once I leave, the sniggers of amused employees in my wake.

So I’m stuck with my hole-in-the-soles. Joy of joys.

Sunday, November 16, 2008 | Comments (3)

They can cause barriers

My business society membership, whilst costing £4, seems to have already paid off. A consultant from Accenture (Which is incidentally the company I’d most like to work for) put together a interview skills presentation of sorts. I’ve just attended, and the name was slightly misleading.

It was essentially a general advice presentation covering the entire application process, as well as some information on what Accenture does as a company, but usefully it was a broad look at what it takes to become a consultant and what you’ll have to be aware of.

Any advice I can be given on the subject is useful, since competitiveness is a major weight on any graduate who wants to get into the area. I had planned, for example, to apply to 16 different consultancy firms. I’ve now cut that down to 10, since it was made clear to me that applying for too many positions makes it far harder to focus on each one. As with interviews for many different skilled jobs, the company wants to make sure that you know what they do and who they are, as opposed to their name just being one of many on your list of applications.

Everything I was told about Accenture today has resulted in even more willingness to succeed. My satisfaction will likely be palpable if I manage to settle into my dream career at 21, because after that I don’t mind what I do: I would have already done what I wanted.

*

I’m starting to think that my hobby should be “getting to the top of things”. Buildings, hills, mountains. I’ve been interested, for the last 3 years or so, in getting onto the roofs of buildings. I’ve never once managed it in all the time I’ve had that desire, since it’s usually the roofs that I’m not allowed on to which excite me the most. Maybe if I make it an official hobby I’ll succeed more often than… never.

Friday, November 14, 2008 | Comments (2)

What’s in there?

I’ve been increasingly curious about running outside as opposed to in a gym. It gives you a chance to enjoy scenery, you don’t sweat so much because you’re colder to start with, and it doesn’t cost anything each time you want to do it.

This morning I walked down to Bute park and ran around outermost footpath. There were some problems:

- The stupid map, on the big signs dotted around (You know, the map that tells tourists where they are), said that there was a path going all the way around the edge of the park. There is not. Once you pass the half way point there is just grass lining the outer edge. It’s been raining recently, so my running shoes are looking slightly… browner than they were beforehand.

- I skipped out on one of my stretches and as a result my groin muscles were aching after the run. It involves sitting down, which isn’t something I wanted to do outside. In summer, sure, but having a damp patch on my ass for the length of the run wouldn’t have been pleasant.

- I’m not even sure how long the run was. It felt like a good one, but since I don’t have the timer or distance counter available on a treadmill, I have no idea. I don’t own a wristwatch suitable for running, and I have no intention of buying one.

- The fact that a treadmill also strictly regiments my speed is something I hadn’t been aware I was dependent on. A few minutes into the run I realised I was going too fast, and that didn’t help with the energy I had for the rest.

None of these are particularly nasty problems though: I’ll keep my runs slow, run only on the concrete footpaths unless it’s dry, and find someone to tell me the time.

Whilst we’re on my feet: The shoes I wear from day to day have holes in the soles. I’m not outraged or surprised, since they cost £5 new. They’re even still fine for walking in, but the problem comes when it’s wet, and it might be easier to list the times of year when it isn’t wet in Wales, rather than the other way around. Water seeps in through the bottom, eventually soaking my socks, unless I’m very careful where I step.

This morning, on my way to school, I found myself hoping that no-one thought I was physically retarded as I tried my utmost to avoid even the shallowest of puddles.

*

Eh. Here’s another:

Timeless shapes rise from the mist,
The beasts of hell: God’s left fist.
They stagger from every nook of night,
And blink their eyes at the moon’s pale light.

They wander heavily, lacking gumption,
But do not fall prey to false assumption:
Their goal is definite, their aim resolute,
Their sense of smell? Quite astute.

But what might these beasts be seeking?
For which mortal souls do they start shrieking?
They look for lives they can relieve,
Those men and women who have ceased to believe.

God has no time for loveless creatures,
It makes no matter their materialistic features.
You are committing the greatest neglect
Unless you pay him his due respect.

Thursday, November 13, 2008 | Comments (2)

The same station

This time around, when I suspected that I hadn’t posted on my blog in a while, I was right. 5 days is a bit of a mishap compared to my usual schedule, but we’ll put it down to what I’m about to talk about.

I have coursework due in tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’m planning to get it done by then. I don’t think I’d be exaggerating, however, if I told you that it’s the hardest I’ve done. I probably should have been prepared, since the lecturer told us that it was hardest we were going to get.

I suspected, at the time, that he meant it would be hard because people wouldn’t be able to work it out easily, or it’d require untold hours of research. Something I could handle. It turns out it’s the hardest I’ve done because they weren’t going to teach us how to do it.

Oh, sure, people seem to have grasped it in my class even when I haven’t. The problem here is that I’m a thorough learner. Unless I get to satisfy my curiosity then I can’t learn how to do something. I need to see examples, and have everything explained very slowly so that I can wrap my head around it. After that, I usually excel.

In this case, everything was shown to us, but I didn’t understand the transition we had to make between two types of models, and it was a transition fundamental to the coursework as a whole. Couple this with the fact that there was no avenue for people who didn’t understand it to receive any more in-depth teaching on the subject, and I was boned. I guess they were expecting it to just “click” for people. And it seems to have, for some, but I’ve sat and stared at this problem for an entire weekend solid and still don’t know how to do it.

At this point, I’m hoping I’ll get 40% (Which is a pass grade). That’ll make me happy.

Onto other, slightly less stressful things: There’s an entirely new cake. I’m hoping that when people learn this they won’t label me a cake-whore. Because really, if you’re trying to find a chocolate filled cake you shouldn’t stop until you do… Right?

Sunday, November 9, 2008 | Comments (3)

Ogres beware!

I’m on a Unicorn bent of late, I guess. They’re on my mind.

Today I got an email telling me that $1.61 had been paid into my Paypal account through commission from sales. I wasn’t sure what sales they were referring to, until I saw the name of the website that had sent me the money: MySoti.

I found this site through searching for a custom t-shirt place that uses DTG printing. I’m not a fan of the cheap t-shirt printing you usually find in souvenir shops, because it’s like a vinyl layer they put on top of the fabric, and it starts to come off in the wash and you can’t iron over it etc.

DTG, or Direct To Garmet, is the process of literally printing onto a t-shirt. Like an inkjet printer. It puts ink on the cotton and then the ink dries. It doesn’t feel any different when you run your hands over it, and it doesn’t crack or come off. They’re colouring the cotton, basically.

So I found this website and saw that aside from being a place where you can design a t-shirt and buy it, you can also put them up for sale. Anyone familiar with CaféPress will already understand how it works.

I made some simple dinosaur t-shirts, since they were t-shirts that I’d want to buy, and put them up for sale. Apparently someone recently bought one of them, because that’s where the commission came from. I haven’t even bought one myself yet, and already someone else owns one.

Anyway, after I received the email, I was reminded about the site and decided to design another t-shirt that I had been mulling over and that I’d like to own. If you want to check out my t-shirts, they’re here. My newest t-shirt is on the left. The Unicorn one…

Tuesday, November 4, 2008 | Comments (6)

There wasn’t a title here

He particularly enjoys writing rhymes,
He has sat and done it countless times,
Whether he can finish is of little doubt,
Let us see what words come out…

Alas! There is no poem here,
Just syllables, sitting queer,
Perhaps next time he’ll succeed,
An accomplishment he’ll enjoy indeed…

*

The poems I used to write never had rhyming pairs. I suspected that rhymes were for immature poets. People who wanted it to sound “cute”. So I wrote poetry that didn’t rhyme, because I thought it sounded more… thoughtful? Since then I’ve discovered rhyming poetry that I love, from a game I have played:

Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where one God’s blood was lately spilled,
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool,
And build the strength they need to rule.

Part of the reason I love it so much is the voice actor they use to read it out. Perhaps I should try and find him and get him to read my poetry so that you can all hear it how it’s meant to be heard.

Monday, November 3, 2008 | Comments (2)

Why was he so special?

I’m not going to lie: A healthy proportion of my day, when I’m standing still, is spent feeling my pecs and subsequently thinking “Goddamn my pecs are rock hard” to myself.

*

I went to Barry Island today. I thought the train was in order, until Anne let me know that a) She has a car and b) We were taking it. I wasn’t even aware she had a car, but she’s a medical student on placement so apparently she has a lot of different and far-flung places to get to quickly.

I’ve heard Barry Island mentioned briefly a number of times. The impression I’d gotten was that it’s some kind of leisure beach affair. Think Blackpool on an extremely small scale. Perhaps it’s because we decided to visit for the first time in November, but the impressions I’ve got after having visited are mildly different from what I had expected.

Cornwall has spoiled me in terms of beaches. It’s usually striking yellow sand and striking blue sea framed by striking green clifftops under an azure sky. Barry happens to be graced by nothing but brown and grey in all of those categories. Coupled with the fact that everything was closed since it’s out of season and our visit wasn’t as spectacular as it might have been. Still, I’m glad I went: I don’t want to leave Cardiff not having seen what there is to see.

Saturday, November 1, 2008 | Comments (1)