Till Death Do Us Part Is For Sissies

As most of you know, I’ve long since mastered the art of writing non-fiction. So, I will on occasion take the foray into the world of fiction, and hope things turn out well.

This story here is one I wrote a while ago, and one I feel comfortable enough to share. I think everything I do is damn great, but honestly this story isn’t half bad. So, I’m posting it here and I’d really like to hear what you guys think. Lemme know in the comments, or hit me up by email caliberw@hotmail.com

TILL DEATH DO US PART IS FOR SISSIES  By Caliber Winfield

Most would let the end of the World effect their relationship, for Roger & Erin, not much had changed. They hadn’t much need for most of the World before it started ending, so this whole “it’s over” thing hadn’t really caused them to skip a beat. Roger, a director/writer in his late 20’s who’s long blonde hair said that in another life he was a viking, crushing skulls with Thor’s hammer. In this life, he felt the World ending was great for his career, as most other sissy director’s fled for a bunker. So, if someone wanted a job done these days, it was between him, Tarantino, John Carpenter, and Stallone. Erin was one of the contemporary women who’s tastes longed for the classic sensibility of the 1950’s. She idolized the styles of icons such as Betty Page, along with Vampira & Elvira. Gothic style mixed with classic Hollywood Glamor, giving birth to a style all her own. She had a casual softness that often served as a contradiction to her passion; roller derby. Much like her beau, the end of the World hadn’t effected her career one bit. When the World is over, there’ll be two things left standing; cockroaches, and derby girls. Matter of fact, ever since the end, Erin has become the most feared women on the track. Something she takes great pride in.

Once the World ended, they decided to get married. Afterward, they often got weird looks as they walked down the street together. People who were pissed off that they couldn’t maintain normalcy & happiness as they had. At least, that’s what Roger thought, and he knew it’s what Erin was thinking too.

An average night saw them sitting together at their place, ready for dinner & a few movies.

“It’s your night to pick, Erin” Roger said as he knelled in front of their massive DVD collection. “What it’ll be?” he asked. “Night of the Living Dead? Dawn of the Dead? Return of the Living Dead?”. He waited for a response but received nothing. He glanced over at his shoulder at Erin as she sat on the sofa. “Really? Is this what we’re doing?” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Erin responded with more silence.

“I don’t understand this. We’ve discussed your diet a thousand times! You can’t eat meat anytime you want, it doesn’t agree with you. You always get so mournful afterward, thinking about if it had friends & family. Hell, road kill use to upset you. So when you get your cravings these days, and I’m the voice of reason, I get the silent treatment? No good deed goes unpunished, huh?”

Roger knew that once the movie got going, things would return to normal, and Erin would forget all about earlier in the day. However, before the selection could be made, a dull roar that Roger picked up on a few seconds earlier was getting louder & louder. Unmistakeable. Motorcycles. Looters. Psychopaths. He knew in an instant they were coming for Erin. Ever since the end of the World started, marauding gangs became most feared. Their club house was near the rink where Erin derbied. They’d seen it a 100 times before, and noticed that anytime there guys hanging outside that they would eye Erin, before & after the World started ending. Now before she could even speak, Roger hid her in a secret compartment he built a while back for such things. This was a drill they’d practiced time & time again. Shutting off all the lights, he hid Erin before suiting up. A while back he’d figured it best to get a hold of a few things. A bullet-proof vest, a 12-gauge shotgun, which he learned how to turn into a sawed off by watching the original Terminator, some flash-bangs, a simple 1911 Colt that was exact to McQueen’s from the Getaway, and a bat with nails in the end of it. The last weapon may sound gruesome, but ever since he saw the cover of Nightmare 3: Dream Warriors, he’d always wanted one.

After turning off the lights, the house was now glowing with the head-lights of the motorcycles out side. They circled the house while the leader called out on a bullhorn;

“Hey, Goldilocks! You know why the fuck we’re here. Just hand over the little lady, and you can go free. You fuck with us, and I’ll make sure it takes you at least a week to die”.

They’d stopped circling now and had parked out front. There were 4 of them from what Roger could see, and they all belonged to Crimson Purpose, a biker gang who’s club house was actually across the street from where Erin & the rest of her Derby team practiced. He always caught them eying her, before & after the World started ending. Each were waiting about 10ft from the house, they were obviously all armed, but no rifles from what Roger could see. The leader was 2nd from the left. Fat, bearded, and wearing sun-glasses despite it being night. He had the bullhorn. He had to go first.

“You gonna make us huff & puff little boy? You ever been shot in the kneecap, asshole? How about the gut? You got till the count of 5 to produce her, or you’re gonna experience both!”

Roger checked his weapons, and thought out his options.

“On—QUANK” before he could even get through one, Roger stepped out of the front door and put a bullet from his .45 through the megaphone, finding a home in the leader’s skull. The megaphone made a really funny sound that Roger would like to have discussed, but all those who heard it were about to be dead.

The one to the left of the leader went to pull his side-arm, but the second he spent being stunned by the death of the leader was all Roger needed. He pulled the shot-gun from his side and pointed like you would a hand-gun. Thunder & lighting escaped from the sawed-off barrels, taking everything in it’s path back to hell. The 2nd biker’s headless body dropped along with his bike, just as one of the last two rode right towards Roger, intent on using his bike as a weapon. Like a matador with a bull, Roger merely side stepped the whole ordeal, ramming the stock of the shotgun into the biker’s mouth as he rode past. Blood & teeth went up in the air as the biker flew backwards onto the lawn, choking on the shattered bits of what were left of his teeth. The last one left had a bit of sense as he turned around and tried to take off. Normally Roger would let it go, but he needed answers. How many were left? Who knew about them? So this guy getting away wasn’t an option. Dumping the spent shells, he racked the 12 gauge with fresh ones and blew out the guy’s back tire, sending him into a skid, eventually crashing into a burned out car across the street. Roger strolled across the street causality, where the remaining biker laid, his left leg trapped under the bike.
“Hello” Roger said
“Arrggghh…fuck you, man! FUCK YOU! Why the fuck are you doing this for her?!” the biker responded
“Do you ask a bird why it flies? Mmm, Such aggression. Here’s the way it is, I’m going to kill you for what you did, but first you’re going to give me the details of your club. Who’s left, and if anymore have plans on taking my Erin”
“Fuck you! You fucking psycho! I ain’t telling you shit”
“If I free you from the bike, will you give me some information?” Roger offered.
The biker grimaced at his trapped leg, then looked up at Roger.
“Yeah, you got a deal. Get me out from under this fucking thing, it’s burning my leg to shit”

Roger walked up to the bike, withdrew his sawed off and shot the biker in the leg, blowing it clean off his body.

“ARRRRGGHHH!!!” the member of Crimson Purpose screamed so hard something ripped in his throat, making it so he could barely talk.

“Mmm, I fulfill our part of the deal, and now you can’t talk. I’m kind enough to help you and then you renege? I guess this is what happens during the end of the World, no one keeps their word.” Roger said as he put the 12gauge back in it’s holster. He withdrew his .45, shooting the biker as he picked up the guy’s bike and headed towards the club house.

******

Roger emerged from the club house covered in blood and suit from the smoke & fire that was pouring out of the front door & windows. There’d been 4 other members inside, and after a flash-bang, it was light work. He looked at his watch, seeing the night was still young. He hopped on his new bike and headed home to Erin.
Walking through the front door, Roger shut it and went over to where Erin was kept safe. He opened up the secret compartment and helped her out.
“Hey, babe” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.
Erin sat on the sofa, as Roger resumed what they were doing earlier and picked a DVD.

“Dawn of the Dead?” he asked

“Uughh..” Erin answered.

“Perfect” Roger said as he placed the DVD in the tray and hit play.

Till death do us part was for non-commited sissies who didn’t love their wives. When Erin turned into a zombie shortly after the virus broke out and the World started ending, Roger didn’t skip a beat, and neither did Zombie Erin. Although her love of zombie films did increase, he will say that. She nussled into Roger as he put his arm around her. On the screen the World ended just as it had outside, and neither Roger or Zombie Erin skipped a beat.

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~ by Caliber Winfield on July 28, 2013.

One Response to “Till Death Do Us Part Is For Sissies”

  1. Reblogged this on Roger Malcolm and commented:

    It was truly an honour reading a story that I was the inspiration for, so here it is from the mind of Caliber Winfield – Till Death Do Us Part Is For Sissies…

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