The Isolated Dead / Life's a Beach ⋆ Stefan Diamante

These are two pieces of flash fiction with different settings utilizing the same narrative structure and autobiographical plot. Demonstrating to aspiring writers the visceral impact of writing what they know and how their personal stories may be injected into any environment to provoke a specific reaction from readers. In this instance, I told the story of my long-term isolation and struggle with social anxiety and dressed it in two settings that contrast each other drastically. Whether you prefer the zombie apocalypse or the beach, either is more captivating and engaging than my real-life setting.

This project took approximately two hours from conception to completion. Each story came out to exactly 572 words after revisions and proofreading. Also, I was intoxicated. I mention all of this to drive home the point that I am an exceptionally talented writer. And you can be one too.

The Isolated Dead

Up on the roof. A full moon illuminating the world surrounding my two-story view. I’ve had it good here. Within this large home, I was fortunate enough to discover one year ago. Stocked with provisions for the long haul. Still enough food and bottled water to last me another year. Enough firewood to keep me warm through another winter. And enough fuel to power the generators as needed during that time. Plenty of space too for maintaining my fitness. Not only for doing calisthenics but for me to create ever-changing obstacle courses to run through daily. Keeping me fit to brave the outside world without notice. Easy access to the roof allows me to maintain color in my skin and provides me with fresh air. High enough to avoid being filtered through the stench of rotting flesh. Most importantly of all, my country home is an impenetrable fortress protecting me from being devoured by zombies. The zombies surrounding all sides 24/7. Up to three rows deep at times. But I can’t complain. I’m safe and physically well maintained. At least for the next twelve months. If I can hold out that long.

I’m grateful for what I have. But I can’t get out of this situation soon enough. That’s why I’m up here tonight. Just like every other night. Tactical 12 gauge, machete, survival kit, two weeks of rations, a full canteen, and the clothes on my back. Ready to leave this all behind should I ever work up the nerve. Should I give in to my desire for human contact. The remote possibility of connecting with someone of substance. This was like finding a needle in a haystack before the zombie apocalypse. Now, I’d have an easier time locating a needle located somewhere in the entire Great Plains. And yet I can’t shake this urge to accept the challenge. I scan the forest all around me. The dirt road one hundred yards away. Plotting my escape. Making my odds for survival. As I do every night.

“Help! Oh my God! Somebody help me!”

The last words of another stupid asshole passing by on the road. I watch as he’s overwhelmed and eaten by zombies. Dying as he lived. A fucking idiot. There’s nothing I could’ve done to save him. And I wouldn’t have if I could. Because he would’ve gotten me killed along with himself one way or another. Destined to lose by his choosing. Someone remind me again why I want to leave this oasis when it’s still bountiful for another year. That’s right. Because there’s no one for many miles to convince me otherwise. Certainly not that moron who just made himself zombie roadkill. But there has to be someone of substance besides me out there. A fellow survivor tough and smart enough to engage me in intellectual discourse without posing a threat. Maybe even a bleached blonde with a smokin’ hot body and big fake titties. Perhaps there’s a community of such individuals nearby or on the other side of the world. Either option is worth a shot at me feeling alive again. What shred of a world that might be left is passing me by.

The zombie herd below has thinned with some straggling off to partake in the buffet on the road. I take this as my green light to climb down the oak tree beside me and attempt to strike my fortune in the night.

Life’s a Beach

Face down on the shore. The afternoon sun coloring my bare skin and the world around me. I have it good here. Hidden within the secret cove on this deep blue lake I discovered by chance on another solo adventure. Stocked with food, water, and alcohol to last me all day. The calm of gentle waves only feet away from me. The fresh wilderness air all around. A plethora of birds singing their respective songs. And not another human being in sight. Leaving me liberated to sunbathe au naturel with no worries of being discovered. A row of cattails along the water’s edge adding a fourth barrier to my sandy clearing. Preserving my privacy should anyone wander by via watercraft. I’m secure within my fortress of flora as I bronze my skin from head to toe. Free to let my thoughts and imagination run wild. Pondering the life of seclusion I’ve led for some time now. An isolation I needed. And from which I have prospered in many ways. Recuperating from the past. I’m set to maintain this lifestyle for the foreseeable future. If I can hold out that long.

I’m loving this moment in time. Yet I can’t escape it soon enough. As much as I enjoy the warm embrace of UV rays over my flesh while protected within the confines of nature, my thoughts keep wandering to the town that’s only a mile away. I down another shot of tequila to enhance my magical solitary experience in this proverbial Garden of Eden. But it’s no use. After all the pain I’ve endured from the hordes of idiots too stupid to not act thoughtlessly, I nevertheless carry a flame of hope that people worth knowing still exist. A flame that grows smaller over time but never extinguishes. Meeting such an individual always seemed akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Now, it feels more like trying to find that needle somewhere in the vast lake beside me. And yet I can’t shake the urge to accept this challenge. No matter how many times I weigh the pros and cons. Which is all the damn time.

“Hey, y’all! Watch this!”

Through the cattails, I watch some moron nearly decapitate himself with his own water skis while being pulled behind a speedboat. Drunken incoherent shouting ensures from the idiots on the boat as they pull their fallen mate aboard. Coughing and spitting up water. There are no sharks in this lake, but he jumped the shark nonetheless. I’d like for someone to remind me why I want to abandon this slice of heaven on the off chance I’ll meet someone interesting in town. These clowns will surely be there, because of course they will. Such stupidity runs so rampant that one could set their watch to it. But that sliver of a possibility keeps me considering these slim chances. The idea of meeting someone capable of conversing on topics ranging beyond food and television. And however improbable it is that I’d meet a bleached blonde with a smokin’ hot body and big fake titties, it’s technically not impossible. For all I know, that town is a hidden oasis of fascinating individuals. Much as I detest the majority of people, I can’t allow the world to continue passing me by.

With the USS Pathetic now long gone, I take this as a sign to get dressed, pack my things, and head for town.

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