Just Got to Laugh About the End
By Daniel J. Pool
He would have to laugh about this. That’s what he needed now. The world was God’s concern now. He only had one to laugh all this off.
To worry; about the apocalypse, the death of his friends, Marla, the zombies—was as bad as being afraid. Though being afraid would have been a perfectly acceptable emotion, he just simply didn’t have enough laughter to shrug fear off right now. Things were difficult enough by trying to drink a whole case of warm beer, and polish off his last pack of cigarettes by noon (they always made him feel sick).
The invasion had been slow at first, like the staggering of their undead feet on the concrete; scoffing, moaning, screaming, gasping, they never stopped, never took a break, so there was nothing to do but laugh about it. Laugh about them looking like people he knew. Laugh about the explosion that would send them back to the hell they crawled from. No horsemen, four or four-hundred, could tell him what to do now. He had made up his mind, and he had laugh about it.
He laughed from atop the mall roof, “save moNEY! (a shot from his 12 gauge rang clear as the bells that once hung around Marla’s necklace), live betTER! (another ring, another bell)”
“NO, not now, hahahha!” He laughed away his pain to an empty sky, and a deserted world. He laughed and laughed till he wheezed for breath and his sides hurt. Only the dead remained to hear his laughter. “Got to laugh” he said. Laugh about coming to the mall. Laugh about getting trapped here. Laugh about your friends being eaten. Laugh about Marla being taken by a crowd of them. Laugh about being the only one left. AND, most of all, laugh about blowing them all up. Laugh about them. GOD damn IT! LAUGH! That’s just as far as he could laugh, as far as he could think, as far as he could go, not caring.
He crawled down from his roost atop the gas station and made his way to the first pump. As he tied the homemade bomb he could hear them coming, hear them trying to remember to breath, hear the hissing sound the bullet holes made as their rotten cores sloshed with their morning meal of teenagers. For a second, just a second, he thought he heard one laugh, as though his attempt at revenge was fool-hearted. No matter, it was done. He kissed Marla’s necklace, and with that lit the fuse. He ran at first away from the gas station into the parking lot, but then stopped. He looked at the swarm coming closer and he just laughed.
A fire ball engulfed his being. As he was vaporized, he laughed.
- - -
Daniel Pool is a psychology student and librarian from Oklahoma. A professional cheapskate and couch-side philosopher, who spends his time writing, watching science fiction movies, and fencing.
By Daniel J. Pool
He would have to laugh about this. That’s what he needed now. The world was God’s concern now. He only had one to laugh all this off.
To worry; about the apocalypse, the death of his friends, Marla, the zombies—was as bad as being afraid. Though being afraid would have been a perfectly acceptable emotion, he just simply didn’t have enough laughter to shrug fear off right now. Things were difficult enough by trying to drink a whole case of warm beer, and polish off his last pack of cigarettes by noon (they always made him feel sick).
The invasion had been slow at first, like the staggering of their undead feet on the concrete; scoffing, moaning, screaming, gasping, they never stopped, never took a break, so there was nothing to do but laugh about it. Laugh about them looking like people he knew. Laugh about the explosion that would send them back to the hell they crawled from. No horsemen, four or four-hundred, could tell him what to do now. He had made up his mind, and he had laugh about it.
He laughed from atop the mall roof, “save moNEY! (a shot from his 12 gauge rang clear as the bells that once hung around Marla’s necklace), live betTER! (another ring, another bell)”
“NO, not now, hahahha!” He laughed away his pain to an empty sky, and a deserted world. He laughed and laughed till he wheezed for breath and his sides hurt. Only the dead remained to hear his laughter. “Got to laugh” he said. Laugh about coming to the mall. Laugh about getting trapped here. Laugh about your friends being eaten. Laugh about Marla being taken by a crowd of them. Laugh about being the only one left. AND, most of all, laugh about blowing them all up. Laugh about them. GOD damn IT! LAUGH! That’s just as far as he could laugh, as far as he could think, as far as he could go, not caring.
He crawled down from his roost atop the gas station and made his way to the first pump. As he tied the homemade bomb he could hear them coming, hear them trying to remember to breath, hear the hissing sound the bullet holes made as their rotten cores sloshed with their morning meal of teenagers. For a second, just a second, he thought he heard one laugh, as though his attempt at revenge was fool-hearted. No matter, it was done. He kissed Marla’s necklace, and with that lit the fuse. He ran at first away from the gas station into the parking lot, but then stopped. He looked at the swarm coming closer and he just laughed.
A fire ball engulfed his being. As he was vaporized, he laughed.
- - -
Daniel Pool is a psychology student and librarian from Oklahoma. A professional cheapskate and couch-side philosopher, who spends his time writing, watching science fiction movies, and fencing.
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