My pick for for the break-out play at this year's Minnesota Fringe Festival is Walking Shadow Theatre Company's John Heimbuch's William Shakespeare's LAND OF THE DEAD



Seriously, go see this one.

For whatever reason, taking part in yesterdays LJ Zombie Apocalypse shook something loose in my brain and I wrote almost 600 words of new fiction in between making entries concerning our harrowing tales of near disaster. Not only was it 600 new words, it was new words I felt good about, which hasn't happened since I finished the Phantom Streetcar novel. Taking part in the "Blog Like it's the End of the World" event helped me turn the storyteller part of my mind back on. It is good.

This morning I was reading some of the other Zombie Apocalypse posts to careswen and she commented on the fact that, despite knowing it was all fiction, all fun and games, we were such a good bunch of storytellers that she had to remind herself it was just a story. There was a part of her brain that was taking the tale and thinking, "It could be real."

High praise, indeed.

Sometime in the next couple of days I'll tell you about the ghost I saw in broad daylight in downtown Minneapolis, and how I know that the puppeteer's girlfriend is a fey creature, and perhaps another installment of Michael's Brain.

Right now, though, I have to get back to work.

In Peace,
Michael

Through a fortuitous string of breaks and a bit of dumb luck, we have survived.

We were fighting a last, desperate battle in the basement of the construction. careswen had found a cutting torch and I scored some ammo off our eaten compatriots. It still might not have been enough: the zombies had broken down the last barricade and while careswen used the torch to good effect, a flaming zombie is just a shambling thing on fire. At least we could see by the pretty glow...

It was the Reverend Selena who turned the tide.

I guess she refused to abandon her monkeys, because she appeared out of the gloom and jump onto the lead Zombie's head. She puffed up like a giant black Halloween cat and then sneezed.

Fur and dander flew.

Who knew zombies were allergic to cats?

It was just the thing we needed to break out of the trap. We managed to find a bulldozer, so careswen held them off with the shotgun while I hotwired the big machine. Thank the gods for my misspent youth.

Of course, escaping was another matter. I can drive heavy machines, but can't see well in the dark. Careswen can see well in the dark, but has no experience operating heavy construction vehicles. It was a wild touch and go team effort, with the Reverend hanging on for dear life, but we broke out and onto the highway, sweeping disabled vehicles and brain-eating monsters aside.

At dawn we were into the county and the zombies had dispersed.

We are home now, the crisis apparently over. By pure luck I only suffered a few minor cuts and scratches.

Careswen went to work this morning, needing some normalcy. The buses were running. Apparently they ran all night and were used by both sides.

Clean-up has begun.

But now the Home Owners Association is going around handing out fines, because dead zombies on the patio are some sort of violation of the articles.

Those stupid, small brained bureaucrats. They survived because they tiny tiny brains were so tasteless and bland who would want to eat them but maybe still as an appetizer perhaps despite the lack of any intelligence nononono too little filling there nothing worth the work....

Sorry. I'm not sure what happened there for a moment.

Anyway, it seems that the mainstream news media, elected officials, and the bureaucracy are unaffected, which just goes to show that these people have small, shriveled tasteless brains of no consequence who would want to eat such a thing it would need something to help it like a nice hollandaise sauce perhaps...

*blink*

Clean-up continues, though outside my window I can see the fuchsia-haired neighbor girl sitting on the hill, looking down at the complex.

Her friends are missing, lost in the battle. The Emo-boy she was dating took a round to the head and I'm pretty sure Careswen chopped up her little Goth girlfriend, but there she sits on the hill like some kind of Zombie-Queen survivor and now she's smiling toward my window and I wonder why brains do they taste good are they yummy gooey the same consistency as baked tofu maybe and perhaps just a little bite just to see what all the fuss is about and now my fuchsia-haired Queen laughs and laughs and offers me her head we shall wait wait until next year and return and now all the good fighters and big juicy chess club brains are gone and eaten and I only want a small taste just a nibble if you please and I will do as you command for only one more taste...

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We now return to our regularly scheduled Live Journal

The Honeywell Complex was overrun. Turns out there is still is a secret government lab in the basement and it was swarming with zombies. The survivors were suprised and overwelmed in a matter of minutes. We managed to lose the zombies in the maze of the second floor. The squirrels were making a desperate last stand on the stairs, covering us as we fled into the night. We are hiding in a construction zone nearby. We have tied our last wills to Selena's tail and sent her scurrying away into the darkness. She has the best chance to survive 'till dawn of all of us now, being naturally nocturnal.

We can hear them, shambling in the darkness, see their shadows moving in the night around contruction vehicles and man-made dunes of dirt and fill. Soon I will turn off the laptop (we are getting a weak wifi signal from the Depot Coffee Shop across the street), the light from the monitor will give us away if I do not.

We are hunkered down in the basement of the construction, we last survivors. There is nowhere left to run.

They are coming...

The Reverend Selena has returned with a message tucked into her collar. Everyone who can still fight is rallying at the old Honeywell Torpedo Manufacturing Complex. Perhaps there are still explosives hidden in the secret basement.

Ironic, considering my wife once worked in that building...

There are too many windows in the coffee shop. We're down to our last box of ammo and the only squirrels still with us are Walter, Mae, and Lucille.

We're hopped up on caffeine. We're going to make a run for it.

The scrabbling noise was our neighbor lady chewing through the ceiling.

She was a nice old lady, the kind who likely made cookies for her grandchildren on Sunday and brought hot dish over when someone passed away. It's too bad...

Once we realized they'd broken through the attic firewall between units, we knew there was no way to hold the upstairs. We tied a note to Selena's tail and lowered her out the window. She vanished into the darkness in search of help.

careswen and I decided to make a break for it. We loaded up water, weapons, pizza, and the laptop and we charged down the stairs. It was touch and go for awhile: the zombies were coming faster than I could reload and careswen can only be expected to swing a sword for so long. It looked like we might be overrun.

That's when the squirrels showed up.

I had always wondered about my wife, after that bite she received back in college.

I married a Were-Squirrel.

But you know, an army of squirrels is still an army. We made it clear and dashed down to Nine-Mile creek, using the foliage for cover. That Fuchsia-haired Zombie-Queen was on our tails and for a moment I thought we might have to turn and fight, but she stopped at the water's edge. We found an abandoned Caribou Coffee (with free wifi) and we've hunkered down. The squirrels are on the perimeter. We have coffee, tea, muffins, and scones. In the distance Eden Prairie is burning. Sporadic gunfire reaches our ears and there is the distinct sound of helicopters overhead...

Dudes, I finally sell one of my favorite stories, and what happens? Zombies attack, that's what happens.

We've retreated upstairs, as the patio door made the downstairs completely indefensible. The teenagers from up the hill broke through it with no trouble. At least there's only one way up here: the staircase makes a major choke point and any idiot with a 12 gauge can hold it with a little determination.

But they just keep coming. It's like they're trying to stack their own dead/undead up for cover and something to climb on. The one with the fuchsia (or maybe pinkish blood) hair seems to be some kind of Zombie-Queen. I keep trying to get her in my sites, but she's got the Dark's own luck.

I can hear them downstairs, shuffling around dripping gore on my carpet and mocking my CD and DVD collection.

We've ammo, water, cold pizza, and internet. Behind me is the raspy sound of careswen methodically sharpening the swords. Once the ammo is gone, well, I guess we'll fight hand-to-stump for as long as we can hold out. The Reverend Selena has sharpened her claws and is now napping. I envy her calm in the face of sure doom.

They're massing at the bottom of the stairs for another push and I can hear scrabbling noises in the attic...