Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (44 page)

But....

Why?

Why did I have those feelings for her in the first place? What
attracted me to her? What did I ever see in her? Maybe she really did
put a spell on me.

Each time I thought about Carmen,
crazy rage filled my solar plexus. I wanted to vomit and punch
something at the same time. Strange mix of emotions. I had to think
of Fran – imagine her sweet, nude form – to be at peace
again. It was interesting. I started to wonder. How was it that one
day you fall in love with someone, only to break up with them later?
What happened? Why can't we just stay in love with one person? Makes
no sense. Did I just get bored?
People fall out of love.
People want to experience different things. No one eats the same
foods all the time.
And Fran? I
went from hating her scent to not getting enough of it. I went from
wanting to kill her to wanting to make love to her all the live-long
day. Amazing! What just happened? All those girls I fell in and out
of love with...it was like a simple flick of the switch. BAM. My
feelings changed. One day one thing, next day another.

Carmen was different.

Something didn't sit right. As much as I despised her – as much
as I wanted to see her dead and rotting in her grave for all her lies
– I couldn't help shake the sensation that something queer was
going on. Even though my brain was screaming with
hate...something...deep down...was trying to reason with me. How did
I have a change of heart so quickly???

Did the aliens have anything to do with it?
I
wondered.

“Baby, I think those aliens did something to me.”

Fran shot me a look.

“Don't call me 'baby'. Call me 'master'.”

“Yes...master.”

“Don't talk about aliens. You sound like a crazy person. I want
you to be normal. Only talk about normal things.”

“
But I
did
see aliens,” I said. “They violated me.”

“No! You didn't see aliens. You're just confused. You were
attacked by bears,” she said. “Bears attacked your car.
They ripped the roof apart and took off your clothes.”

“There are bears in Hawaii?”

“They were imported. They're all over these parts. Don't you
watch the news???”

“....But I don't remember any bears.”

“That's because you're in shock, you stupid asshole.”

“Thank you. I deserved that.”

“Your memory is obviously out of whack. Shock does that to you.
Trust me. I'm a veterinarian.”

Next thing I knew, we were parked outside some gas station. Fran
reached into my back pocket and took out my wallet.

“Now gimme your money,” she said. “My car needs
gas.”

She opened my wallet and smiled at the bills.

Mmm....That smile.

God, I loved her.

“I want to make love to you right now,” I said.

“Do me a favor, and go into the bathroom and wash the inside of
your ass. Your filling the car with funk.”

She slammed the door and walked away. “YAHAHAHA! I slay me....”

I laughed too, and slapped my nude knees. Her sense of humor was
amazing. Nonetheless, I did as she asked. I'd do a wonderful job. I
wanted to impress her. I wanted to make her proud of me.

I'd do anything for her.

Anything.

FRAN

Guilt?

Why?
It makes no sense. I did
nothing wrong. Let me explain before you start hating on me: That was
MY life. I did what I wanted, how I wanted, when I wanted to do it. I
wasn't born tied to anyone – not to my mom, not to my dad, and
if I had kids, not to them either. I'm serious. My life; my rules. I
did whatever and whoever my heart desired. Achieving your dreams;
doing whatever it takes; saying “F-off” to whoever tries
to stand in your way....That takes
real
power. I was proud of who I was. Who nowadays has the guts to live
how they want? To go after what they want? Not my parents, and
certainly not my sister. She didn't have to! Everything was handed to
her. My parents gave her everything –
anything
she wanted. Why? I'll tell you why.

Because she was prettier than me.
Simple! People bow down to the pretty ones...give them whatever they
want...whatever they desire...whatever makes them happy. It's all
true. It's like people are saying, “Let us praise this
beautiful person. I like looking at her, because she makes me forget
about all the ugly problems in the world, especially all those ugly
people. Those creatures depress me. This pretty one is a gift! A
treasure! She is like a fine painting – a
moving
painting made by God. Let's give her a promotion!” And don't
give me no lip. Be honest with your pal Fran. You know it's
true
.
You see how unfair the world is? Only the good ones suffer. Only the
good ones
suffer
.

Growing up, I got no attention.

Boys at school never looked at me. It was like they could sniff me
out – smell my ugliness. I was cursed! The girls would point
and laugh at me and pull my hair. The teachers would throw balls of
paper at me and make me drag my desk outside of class. Apparently, I
made them feel depressed. The principal – Miss Pain –
would call me into her office once a week and stand me up against a
wall and throw darts all around my head for fun. I never got hit
(thank goodness). She made me promise not to tell anyone – said
she'd come over my house and pull all my nails out if I did.

Years, years, years later...I
plotted my revenge. I'd get everyone back for making me feel like
crap. Everyone was in on it. Everyone was against me. Everyone was
gonna hurt somehow. I'd find a way. I'd be persistent. That's the key
in accomplishing every goal:
Persistence
.
Things needed time to work, to grow, to get to you. Never give up!
Keep your eye on the goal. Visualize it as already done. I was gonna
get my
good
.
I loved thinking about revenge, about WINNING. Yesss....I was turning
evil, and I
liked
it.
I felt powerful. In control! Control of everything, especially my own
life, dammit.
My
life got real easy once I gave up on people.
To Hell with the world. Literally.

I started studying witchcraft...got really into all that Satanic
stuff: Virgin’s blood and goat dancing and candles and lots of
myrrh. My confidence was building. Payback. Retaliation. Vengeance.
Miss Pain was the first one I “worked” on. When I was out
of high school, I went to her house late at night and broke in. I was
wearing this devil mask. A real good one, too. It was red with horns,
and it looked like I was screaming all the time. I crept upstairs and
jumped on her bed and tied her all up and super-glued her lips shut
and eyes open. I stood her up in the middle of the room and lit a
fire all around her – like I was getting ready to burn a witch.
I danced around in my devil costume, poking at her with a trident. A
small radio nearby played “jungle music” at full blast.
She was sweating like a pig! Her eyes were bursting!

When the old pig collapsed, I put the fire out and threw her back in
bed and got the heck out of there. I could hear the neighbors
complaining, and I had the feeling someone called the coppers. I left
the “jungle music” playing though, attaching big speakers
to it to make it even louder. I was running through those woods –
a mile away – and I could still feel the bass.

Next day, Miss Pain was all over the
news, all her hair burnt off. They had to cut her lips off so she
could whine to the cameras. She complained how Satan was real and how
he invaded her home and danced for her. It was a hoot! I felt like a
celebrity! I remember being in my bedroom, watching TV and
laughing
until my sides hurt! I stopped when my back hurt. Too much dancing.
Oh, well....I needed rest anyway. I had a whole list of people to
torment. All of them were gonna hurt. I'd make their lives a living
nightmare. Mom. Dad. All those boys and girls. Those sassy girls.
Those popular boys. Carmen. All those guys that liked her –
that licked their lips at her. She got all the attention. Always
looking at them with her big, painted eyes. Pretty girl. Such a
pretty girl. Pretty girls got all the luck. The world loved pretty
girls.
Ah, such a pretty girl. Look at the pretty girl.
Oooh, ahhh. Let's talk to them! Let's help them out! Let's love them!

The ugly ones just grew up sad and pathetic – sat in the
corner, in the dark, weeping until their lives melted away. Not I.
Your pal Fran here had goals.

No one was gonna get in the way of
my happiness, my freedom. That's what life was all about to me.
Freedom. To be
free
to
do what you
want
. I
wanted to eat exotic foods, wear fancy clothes, and go to peculiar
places. And that takes money. And my boy Phil had lots of it.

No guilt there. He was happy to give me everything – whatever I
needed to be free.

Bless his little heart.

Or I should say, bless my
ghost
in his little heart. Ha!

Oh, I loved the look on Carmen's
face when she saw my tongue all up in Phil's mouth. You could
see
it: You could
see
her
whole life just burn, burn, burn...crumble and get blown away –
ashes in the wind. My soul was lifted when she cried and drove off.
It was like God breathed into the core of my very being. Ah! I was
revitalized. She may have had the looks, but I had the brains to win.
As for Phil...I knew I'd get bored with him eventually. Little sex
here and there, a lot of spending his money here and there. Usually,
as we all know, things get boring after those first three months.
Then it would be time for me to go hunting for someone else. No way
was I going to “stick with it”. What was I? A
masochist???

I
strove to maximize my net
pleasure.
Life was about having fun!
It was
my
time. I
needed to be at peace, to be merry in the world. Guilt? Their
feelings? After what humans did to me for so long, for so many years?

Damn how they felt.

Hell with them all.

CARMEN

The first thing I did was drink. I got hammered drunk, and then I ran
into the woods and wept and screamed. Neighbors were far off, so they
didn't matter.

“Whyyyyy!?!?!” I screamed. “Phil! My love!!!
Whyyyyyy??? Come back! Come back! OH-GOD! HELP ME!!!!”

A plane flew over the trees – one of those fat jets. I yelled
at it – yelled through its loud engines.

“He left me! Left meeeeeeeeeee!”

I leaned against a tree, blowing my
nose on a leaf. My throat hurt. I was spitting blood. Good! I liked
seeing my blood. I deserved to bleed. To
hurt
.
I messed up real bad. I messed up the one relationship that mattered
in my life. I should have loved him hard enough. Should have kept my
problems to myself. Should have made him
happier
.
Of course! Made perfect sense....

I ran through more trees, breaking through some branches, finding
myself at the edge of the mountain. I could see the city lights below
me, and I threw my empty beer bottles at all those happy people
scattered all over Honolulu. I screamed as loud as I could, cried as
loud as I could. I felt like a crazy person, but damn if each scream
helped a little. I drank some more, then some more. I didn't want to
think, or feel, or whatever. I wanted to pass out. Pass out in the
woods – in nature like the animal that I was. The world spun,
and I fell down on the wet grass. Something told me to open my eyes.

Fran was standing above me.

“I win,” she was saying. “I have him. I WIN.”

And then I jumped up and took a
swing at her, but she vanished. Jesus! I was losing my mind.... Get a
grip, girl. Get a
grip
.
Is it wrong to wish your sister dead? Your own flesh & blood? Did
the quality of her meat really matter??? Do the world a favor. Inject
the venom. Just get rid of all the evil people, that's what I
thought. Electrocute them! Do us good souls a favor....Make them go
away. That included my sister, too – get rid of her. Kill her.
Make her go away.

She was always the bad egg.

When Mom gave birth, Fran came out
in a black sack made of skin. When they cut the thing open, smoke
came out, and all the doctors said it smelled like someone died. As a
baby, she cried all the time. Alllll the time. Drove us nuts. My mom
turned to the drink; and dad turned to the drugs. Right then, even at
that young age, I thought,
My life will be so much better
with this
thing
gone. No?

Then Fran grew up. Then her jealousy
showed. Did she go into her ugly duckling rant? Don't feel too
special. She says that to everyone. She always complained that I was
prettier. Total confusion. I never understood what she was talking
about. Honestly, she looked attractive enough to me. If boys didn't
look at her, it's because
she
never looked at them.

Fran always walked with her head
down, hair over her eyes...always wore these long “church
dresses” from the 1800's that never showed any skin. There was
a time when I tried to dress her up, but she just stared at herself
in the mirror for a long time. Then she threw a piggy bank at her
reflection, and glass flew everywhere, all in my hair, in my mouth,
all over my room. I started yelling at her, shaking her, asking her
why she did it – why she would do such a crazy thing. Fran just
shrugged and laughed. She said she felt better. I kept trying to help
her – kept trying to make her prettier by painting her face,
cleaning her up, dousing her with the finest perfumes. She'd always
burn the clothes in the bathtub and wash off what she called, “that
darn stink juice”. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with, but
what the hell. I wanted to help her. She was my
sister
.
I even tried to get her to join me in cheerleading. Of course, the
very idea made her puke. She gripped her stomach and went all over my
feet. She then ran all through the school, crying, to the girls'
bathroom...busted all the mirrors with a sock full of quarters. She
told the police that the girl in the mirrors wouldn't stop laughing
at her. One cop said he found a doll's head in the toilet, its eyes
colored black with a marker.