I have things to talk about, I’m just too busy or tired to go through the motions of uploading the pictures and talking about them. So, instead of going silent and having the few constant readers that I have questioning my existence, I’ve decided to post a story I wrote back in the days of college.

This isn’t my normal writing style. This was a project for a Children’s Literature course, and I was copying the format and the style of writing from a book I had to read for the class. This was my attempt at being . . . funny – something I’ve never really tried before. I’m usually much more depressing than this. Ask anyone I know. And like many things I write, this is largely based on my life. The cat and computer exist(I’m typing on her now), and the speaker of the story was modeled after me, of course. Do enjoy. Oh, and please don’t try to steal this and put your name on it. I’m just posting it so people can get through their boring days by reading about other people’s boring days.

Satan, Zombies and the Possessed IBM

Monday March 22
My Computer Room
7:19 p.m.

Oh. And by the way. I’m not exaggerating.

7:20 p.m.

Mom’s out. I’m home. Alone – – which makes the house über creepy since I just got back from watching the new Dawn of the Dead movie at the ever so evil Carmike. Carmike is the scum of all the movie theaters in town. It’s run down. Even their renovations have yielded lack luster results. In an attempt to house as many movies as the other theaters, they’ve effectively created the longest, scariest corridor in cinematic history. All humans and zombies alike would agree. But don’t even get me started on the bathrooms. Ick.
So, I guess to set the mood for the movie, this is why my immature friends and I decided to go specifically to Carmike. Subconsciously, of course. In retrospect, it was sort of “like a horror movie within in a horror movie” as Yossef, the Persian, said. No, not a Persian cat – – a human.
Although, sometimes, I wish he was a zombie – – as long as he didn’t eat me. I wouldn’t be very tasty. Or would I?

7:32 p.m.
I think I heard something bounding down my hallway. I hope it isn’t Yossef, the zombie.

7:33 p.m

Whew! It’s just Satan – – aka Morgan Rose Ireland Yvette DeWitter. See, Satan is much easier to roll off the tongue. It’s unfair how she can just ooze in and out of the shadows. Oh, by the way, she’s a cat and she’s black. Sorry. But yeah, she’s Satan alright. I hope I’m not offending “Mr. High and Mighty” as my Mom, the Bible thumping Baptist, might say. Back to Satan. You wouldn’t know she was Satan by first glance or second. By the third it would be too late. She looks like an ordinary, cute, bumbling, kitty. She meows all angelic like, and purrs happy tunes. She’ll even love on you and then . . . hell opens up and Satan lets loose. You should see the battle scars I’ve obtained from fighting evil. Aw, Satan wants to be petted.
OW! Someone call 911!

7:40 p.m.

Alright. I’ve slowed the bleeding. Sorta. I hate Satan. Most people do. Except those weirdos who worship him. They’re nuts.

8:00 p.m.

My hand is bandaged. Completely. I look like a mummy. I wonder if I’ll turn into a zombie now. That’s what happened in Dawn of the Dead. If you got bit, you were screwed. You’d be a walking, or rather, running, flesh eating, menace to the rest of the human race within an hour or two depending on the severity of the flesh wound and how soon you died of blood loss or insanity. At least, that’s what my immature friends and I determined from viewing the gory film. So, I guess, only time will tell.

8:01 p.m.

Still not a zombie.
8:04 p.m.

Haven’t turned yet.

8:15 p.m.

I guess I’m safe. Satan is glaring at me with her green, demonic eyes. They are as green as the hills of Ireland. That’s how I got one of her many names. She looks disappointed – – probably because her bite didn’t infect me, but yet happy, because she inflicted pain on her master. If cats could grin, I’m sure she’d be laughing. Wouldn’t that be hideous? Thank God for small miracles. I’ll never know how Alice dealt with that darn Cheshire cat.

8:31 p.m.

I’m as starved as a zombie. I mean . . . they are always hungry. They just never stop eating. It doesn’t matter how much human flesh they devour. If you are within a hundred mile radius and they’re hungry – – which they will be – – you’ll be their dinner. Zombies are such animals. I’ll be more wary around Satan from now on.

9:10 p.m.

Fully satiated and time for school work. I wonder if my computer is in a good mood. Maybe Satan and the IBM are kindred spirits. I pray not. At least not tonight. I’ve got too much to do.

9:20 p.m.

I don’t even know where to begin. At this rate, I’ll never finish on time. And if I don’t finish on time, I run the risk of being sacrificed to the angry homework gods. Ugg. They aren’t a happy little bunch either. I’ve met with them on a few occasions.
Ok. I’m lying.
Many occasions. Still, I’d rather be sacrificed to a hungry zombie. I suppose I should be careful what I wish for – – Satan is still glaring at me and she just licked her chops.

9:30 p.m.

Alright, alright. I’ll do it already.

9:32 p.m.

Everyone should own one. A possessed IBM laptop computer that is. It’s the new craze. Well, no, not really, but evil seems to totally dig me. First, Satan, and now the possessed IBM. It was a courtesy gift from yours truly, me, because my first evil PC overloaded with vile intent and exploded. I wasn’t aware that possession was a part of IBM’s package deal when I bought it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, did you know that? Anyway, back to possessed IBM . If I had known about Mr. IBM’s special personality, I would have doused it with barrels of Holy water, sung hymns of religious glory, and blessed it with anything and everything that my fellow Baptists had taught me about possessed technology. Which for me, sadly, is and was precisely nothing.
So, like a bad western, it is just me and Mr. Possessed IBM – – staring each other down and ready to draw our guns. Reality check. What guns? I really hope he blinks first.

10:35 p.m.

Well, after nearly writing for an hour – – I’ve at least found my direction. What direction you ask? Directly down the page. Time for a break. My eyes hurt.

10:40 p.m.

Either I’m hearing things or there are rats the size of Satan in my attic. And for the record, she’s the size of a ten month old baby – a human baby. I think it’s that darn movie getting to me. Rats don’t get that big, do they?

10:41 p.m.

I wish my Mommy was here.

10:42 p.m.

Mommy?

11:15 p.m.

I don’t want to walk back down my hallway to my computer room. The living room is a comfortable place to be. I need to finish my homework though. And even though I think homework is seriously overrated, I really don’t want to come face to face with those angry homework gods again. Basically, they are teachers, but since my future is being placed in their hands, they are gods to me. I think it is a fair title. They can strike you down or let you pass through the golden gates at graduation if they want you to, but it is solely at their discretion since grades are arbitrary. I hope I am not offending “Mr. High and Mighty” again. I apologize if I am.

11:20 p.m.

Where is Satan?

11:21 p.m.

No, really, where is Satan? No, not Hell. The other Satan. Morgan.

11:23 p.m

THE HORROR! THE HORROR!
“You mangy, cat!” I screamed. “Get off my computer! Now!”
She had never in her kitty life been obedient. So, I guess there is no better time than the present. I was confused, scared as she raised up like a dirty, black cloud. Her entire body appeared as though it had engulfed my computer. And then I saw her back left paw. It was fractions of millimeters away from pushing the ever so crucial power button.
The rest of the scene unfolded in the slowest, most torturing, slow motion event ever caught on film . . . except I didn’t have a camera. She looked like she was smiling again and her black coat was standing on end. I had a Halloween cat on my hands. She really was a poster demon . . . err . . . cat for Halloween.
Oh God! The horror!
And then, faster than a lightening bolt, even though I am not quite sure how fast one of those are, I saw a dark streak zoom past me and watched as my pretty lit up computer screen flashed completely black. Egads!

11:25 p.m.

Oh, please tell me I saved it. Tell me Mr. IBM auto saved it. Most computers naturally save every ten minutes or so, but my computer is far from natural. It’s never been normal.

11:26 p.m.

Now loading windows.

11:27 p.m.

Come on already.
11:28 p.m

A file did not close properly. Do you wish to open it as it was last saved?
God, yes!

11:29 p.m.

Before me was a pure, white screen. No black letters. No apologies from Satan or Mr. IBM. Nothing. Just pure white snow.

11:31 p.m.

You’ve got to be kidding me.
Satan inched back into the room again. She appeared normal, but I knew it was just an act.

11:32 p.m.

You’ve really got to be kidding me.
Satan jumped up into my lap – – purring.

11:33 p.m.

This can’t be happening to me.
And then – – POOF!
My words flashed back on the screen as if they had never gone . . . oh, but I knew otherwise. They had been gone . . . hadn’t they? Mr. IBM had just been frozen, right? I didn’t care.
“HALLELUJAH!” I screamed.
Satan, disgusted that Mr. IBM had decided to spare me in my moment of agony, ravaged a remarkably large portion of my bandaged hand with her chainsaw like teeth and then took off like a flying saucer. I was too happy to cry.

11:59 p.m.

Evil let me win today, but I know tomorrow will bring a new challenge. Satan and Mr. IBM always keep me on my toes.