Oriphiel

Omg you guys, I just found a shitty story that I wrote back in middle school on a few sheets of loose leaf paper. I'm too lazy to transcribe the whole thing at once, so here is the first chunk.

iirc, my sister and I wrote a bunch of topics and genres down on pieces of paper, stuck them in a hat, drew two random ones each, and both wrote stories based on what we got. Mine were "Apocalypse" and "Disease".



Apocalypse! (Involving Some Kind of Disease)


Scene One


Night. Four people are in a four seat, two door convertible.

Man 1: Hell yes! I mean, literally, hell! This is it! Yes!

Man 1 is facing behind the car with a rifle, taking potshots at zombies.

Woman is sitting at the wheel, annoyed, while dodging the undead.

Woman: Davis, I swear to the god of all creation, shut the hell up!

Car swerves.

Woman: And save the last bullet!

Davis (Man 1): What? Bullets and heads are a match made in heaven!

Woman: Right. And if you keep wasting all of ours, I’d like one to use on you.

Man 2: Jesus, you sound like an old couple… I mean, an old couple that really loves the NRA.

Davis: Psh, right. You know Tiffany’s less violent than… well, vegetarian.

Man 2: Yeah, right! Well, on the bright side, if she ever gets infected, as long as we don’t rub tofu on ourselves we might survive!

Tiffany (Woman): If I got turned into a zombie? Not if you were the last helpless victim in the world.

Car hits zombie, keeps going. Davis shoots like a wild man.

Davis: Alright! We’re gonna make it! We… are… awesome!

Tiffany: Davis, you’re dead. As soon as we get out of this alive, you’re dead.

Man 2: How did you two even become friends, anyway? I mean, you go together like piss on a sandwich.

Tiffany punches Man 2.

Man 2: Hey! You were the sandwich!

Tiffany: Damn right I’m the sandwich.

Davis: Me and Tiffany? We… Hey, no, I am the sandwich!

Man 3: Shut the hell up about the sandwich! I’m mysteriously hungry right now, alright? And if I eat, all this blood and guts is just gonna make me barf it all right back up, so just… shut up.

Davis: No sweat. Tiffany’s the sandwich. Bland tofu, soy, and all.

Tiffany punches Davis.

Davis: Jesus! Ouch! You still punch like you did two years ago. Remember?

Man 2: What?

Tiffany: It’s how we met.

Black and white flashback…

A gym with a boxing ring, and a handful of people with gloves are on the side. Davis is punching his knuckles, psyched up.

Tiffany: We met at a… like a boxing competition. Golden Gloves, but without the gold.

Davis: You suck at jokes. Ow! Okay, resort to violence, embrace the anarchist in you, you still suck at jo… Okay, okay! Go on.

Tiffany: We were both in the running. He had these stupid gloves on… pink and green. Jesus, what a tool… Hey! You still punch like a girl, you know that? Anyway, the referee called us up.

Referee: You’re up!

Davis: Yeah, and so I get in the ring, and there she was. I… uh… gave her a pat on the ‘back’. For luck.

Davis gives her a pat on the ‘back’.

Tiffany: So I knocked him out.

Tiffany hits his face.

Man 2: With one punch?

Tiffany: The first punch? Nah. But the second one did it.

Tiffany hits him again, knocking him out.

Davis: Yeah… we’ve been friends ever since.

Back to the car, they’ve gone mostly out of the city, and are now passing by the outskirts.

Man 2: Davis, you are the lord of all things pathetic.

Davis: And yet I’ve got the gun!

Davis fires into the air.

Davis: Making you all slightly more pathetic than me.

Tiffany: Shit! We’re out of gas…

Man 3: What do you mean?

Tiffany: What do I mean? I mean this automobile isn’t a magical sleigh that runs on wishes and cookies. It’s a metal horse that eats gas. And we’re out.

Man 2: ‘Metal horse’?

Tiffany: Yeah, well, when you get a car, you can come up with your own romantic moniker.

Car stops, no zombies in sight.

Davis: Alright, no problem. Find a station, give this stallion a drink, and we can giddy up out of this shit hole.

Man 2: Alright, alright. We can do this. I’ve just got one question.

All turn and look at him.

Man 2: Why did we give Davis the gun?


Scene Two


Tiffany and Davis are walking down a small road towards a sign that says ‘Gas Station’. Davis looks back to see Man 2 and Man 3, with 3 holding his gun. Davis turns to Tiffany.

Davis: Right. Take my one defining character trait away. I hate you.

Tiffany: What? Oh, come on. This isn’t some dumb ‘laugh-at-the-dumb-teens’ B-Movie.

Davis: Really? Because we just split up. That’s a terrible omen.

Tiffany: I’m not leaving my car alone. It’s our only hope of getting out of here.

Davis: Really? Why not? It’s not like zombies eat cars.

Tiffany: No, but some asshole survivor might steal it.

Davis: But it’s out of gas!

Tiffany: Well… not completely out. It might still go awhile.

Davis: What? Then why not just drive it to the gas station?

Tiffany: Because this way, even if the station is dry, or we can’t get gas, a little insurance might be nice. Put a mile or two between us and the zombies.

Davis: Alright. Whatever. But why did you give my gun to that weirdo?

Tiffany: You mean Ryan? He’s not a weirdo, you asshole.

Davis: Uh, he’s always ‘sick, he already looks half zombie, and he gets ‘mysteriously hungry’ while we’re killing things. If that doesn’t spell weirdo, then I’m dyslexic.

Tiffany: He’s got cancer.

Davis: Oh.

Tiffany: Yup.

Davis: So… how did you two meet, again?

Tiffany: Back in elementary school, he was a friend. We hadn’t really talk much since, but recently we hung out a bit. You… I guess you wouldn’t have met him.

Davis: Oh, come on. Give me a story.

Tiffany: We’ve got time. Alright.

Another black and white flashback!

A school cafeteria, where a large boy is walking towards a small girl.

Tiffany: Back at our elementary school, there was a boy called Chauncey.

Davis: Nice name!

Tiffany: Yeah, and if you mentioned it to him, he’d pummel you. He preferred to go by ‘Steel’.

Davis: Ouch. From a puddle to a pond, huh?

Tiffany: Yeah, well, it was cooler back then. Anyway, he liked to beat kids up for our lunch money, and then he’d buy as many brownies as he could. Asshole.

Bully: Hey midget! Give me your money!

Tiffany: I was the first person to say no.

Girl: Go screw yourself, fatty!

The bully pushes her to the ground, but a small kid steps in front of him.

Tiffany: And when he was trying to pummel me, Ryan stood up and fought for me. I never forgot.

Boy: She said go screw yourself! Or did your fat plug up your ears?

Davis: So he beat Chauncey-Steel up?

Tiffany: Nah, we both got pounded.

Bully punches boy.

Davis: What a touching story of success.

Tiffany: But a few days later, during math, while he was in the bathroom, we dug his stash of brownies out of his backpack and put laxatives in them.

Davis: Where the hell did you get laxatives?

Tiffany: Grandma’s medicine cabinet.

Davis: Ha ha ha! I guess he learned how to make his own brownies, huh?

Tiffany: Normally, I would punch you and call you an idiot, but you’re right. It was the best math class ever. From then on, we all called him ‘Chauncey Chunks’.

Davis: Oh god! I’m dying here! Stop, stop, the laughing hurts…

Tiffany: Yeah, yeah. So we were friends until we left for middle school. After I got to college, he called and said that he wanted to meet up. A couple days later, he tells me that he’s been diagnosed with cancer, and that he wanted to catch up and have fun with all of his old friends before it got any more serious.

Davis: Wow. That stopped the laughing, but the hurting is still there.

Tiffany: Right… Well, after this zombie thing started, I grabbed him and all of you, and now here we are. How long has this disease been killing everyone, again? A week? I mean, driving through a zombified motorcycle rally tends to displace ones sense of time.

Davis: Oh, yeah! That was badass! Anyway, I think it’s been… yeah, like a week. After raiding that grocery store and nabbing gas in the city before… we fought off those zombified football players… then we got some rest while… uh… damn. Why not? A week.

They both stop.

Tiffany: Finally! There it is!

Davis: Wait… when did we steal gas from that insane trucker? Day… four?

Tiffany: Screw that! Station, ho! We got gas!

Davis: Yeah, well, maybe I’ll write a book when this is all over.

Tiffany: Yeah? If you plan on making it to the next chapter, then shut up, and help.

Davis: Chapter? Screw that archaic shit. It’s gonna be ‘stream of conciousness’, one big scroll.

Tiffany: And to you, ‘stream of consciousness’ is just taking a piss out of your mouth. Let’s go.

__________________
----------------------
|---Mic's Albums---|
----------------------
-----------------------------
|---Deafbox Industries---|
-----------------------------