set-in and magnify the meal’s taste and the experience of eating it. In the meantime, I would take the opportunity to wash myself and clean up the kitchen before bed. I didn’t have any electricity here so the firelight would be my warmth, comfort, light and companion. I felt like those before me, earliest humans, who also used fire to illuminate their world. Fire always held some magic and the dark around such fires allowed the mind to imagine the vast possibilities of the universe. I loved watching a fire and thinking. But first, I would do another ancestor pastime; a freezing wash like a caveman in the river. After a very cold shower, courtesy of the Waystation's rainwater tanks, I was clean and invigorated. My mind and body felt clear and as well as I could ever expect.
It was back to the fire; the cold shower made me appreciate its warmth even more. As I curled up, I continued to write my new book; a chapter on zombie tracking.
As the fire danced in front of me, I was inspired to write about the writhing, shuffling and shambling movement of the zombie. I penned paragraphs on movement style, rough speeds they were capable of travelling and patterns of movement. The fire burned bright and clean and both warmed me after that icy shower and provoked my experiences and imagination to write. The flames were ever-changing and held my attention, captivating and stimulating. The words came to me and the chapter took as unique a shape as the fire that inspired me did. My work would serve any reader well in tracking, hunting and avoiding zombies. In fact, “Hunting, Tracking and Avoiding Zombies” was the title of the chapter. A particular focus had been the “Avoiding” part was how to secure a house. It was a sort of therapy, noting my experiences to paper and I felt better for it. The evening’s work was done and I got up from that warm sofa-bed to lock things down before sleep.
It was all relatively easy; bolting the door and bringing the old metal Venetian blinds down to obscure the light of the fire. Zombies were attracted to light, smells and noise and any minimisation of sensory stimulus of those creatures reduced the risk of having them upon you.
I setup the sofa-bed in the living room and took some old blankets out of the hall cupboard. I lay down my rifle, machetes and knives close at hand, and watched the fire some more. That lovely, blissful feeling of being warm and full gave me a sense of general comfort: wonderful! In relative safety and peace I curled up on the old sofa-bed in the living room and watched the fire into oblivion.
I woke to the dimness of the room, feeling completely refreshed. With all the old blinds closed, I had slept till late. I looked at my watch, the one I had acquired from Blackbeard; it was 8:12am. I had slept too long, longer than I had expected but didn’t care too much. Something had disturbed me and I would not realise what had woken me and with what gravity it would affect my world until a short time later. I yawned and stretched, warm, rested and hungry at the smell of that stew which had stewed away most of the night, gaining flavour with each moment. Life was as good as it could be when you are alone in the zombie apocalypse. But was I alone?
Such a restorative sleep was what I needed to start the day; prepared for the big and dangerous trip into Tantangara. I looked over to the fire and saw it barely live. “Ah, just embers and ash. It’s lazy like the man who had built it.” I thought to myself with a smile. I was feeling good and prepared to face my demons in Tantangara. I stoked the fire a little.
The blackened aluminium pot that held my breakfast was still too hot to handle. A good sign the food hadn’t gone bad and was still edible. Was it edible? “Very much so,” I concluded with a taste and satisfaction. Breakfast was even more delicious than dinner; the stew was at its peak of flavours and juiciness. It was what the Vikings would eat in Valhalla. I
It was back to the fire; the cold shower made me appreciate its warmth even more. As I curled up, I continued to write my new book; a chapter on zombie tracking.
As the fire danced in front of me, I was inspired to write about the writhing, shuffling and shambling movement of the zombie. I penned paragraphs on movement style, rough speeds they were capable of travelling and patterns of movement. The fire burned bright and clean and both warmed me after that icy shower and provoked my experiences and imagination to write. The flames were ever-changing and held my attention, captivating and stimulating. The words came to me and the chapter took as unique a shape as the fire that inspired me did. My work would serve any reader well in tracking, hunting and avoiding zombies. In fact, “Hunting, Tracking and Avoiding Zombies” was the title of the chapter. A particular focus had been the “Avoiding” part was how to secure a house. It was a sort of therapy, noting my experiences to paper and I felt better for it. The evening’s work was done and I got up from that warm sofa-bed to lock things down before sleep.
It was all relatively easy; bolting the door and bringing the old metal Venetian blinds down to obscure the light of the fire. Zombies were attracted to light, smells and noise and any minimisation of sensory stimulus of those creatures reduced the risk of having them upon you.
I setup the sofa-bed in the living room and took some old blankets out of the hall cupboard. I lay down my rifle, machetes and knives close at hand, and watched the fire some more. That lovely, blissful feeling of being warm and full gave me a sense of general comfort: wonderful! In relative safety and peace I curled up on the old sofa-bed in the living room and watched the fire into oblivion.
I woke to the dimness of the room, feeling completely refreshed. With all the old blinds closed, I had slept till late. I looked at my watch, the one I had acquired from Blackbeard; it was 8:12am. I had slept too long, longer than I had expected but didn’t care too much. Something had disturbed me and I would not realise what had woken me and with what gravity it would affect my world until a short time later. I yawned and stretched, warm, rested and hungry at the smell of that stew which had stewed away most of the night, gaining flavour with each moment. Life was as good as it could be when you are alone in the zombie apocalypse. But was I alone?
Such a restorative sleep was what I needed to start the day; prepared for the big and dangerous trip into Tantangara. I looked over to the fire and saw it barely live. “Ah, just embers and ash. It’s lazy like the man who had built it.” I thought to myself with a smile. I was feeling good and prepared to face my demons in Tantangara. I stoked the fire a little.
The blackened aluminium pot that held my breakfast was still too hot to handle. A good sign the food hadn’t gone bad and was still edible. Was it edible? “Very much so,” I concluded with a taste and satisfaction. Breakfast was even more delicious than dinner; the stew was at its peak of flavours and juiciness. It was what the Vikings would eat in Valhalla. I
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