By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues
More Zombies, more trouble. Welcome to book 2 of Zombie Blues who give us their view on the world and life from behind undead eyes. This time round meet Diabetic Zombie, Racist Zombie, the Ice Queen and why is there a zombie with no teeth?
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The state does not exist to provide scroungers and vagabonds an easy life while the rest of us work for our money.
No, my Mama always said I was destined for greater things than the half baked servants we employed. My Mama, Alexandria Benoit, a socialite in the highest of Parisian circles due to her father being the French ambassador for the United Nations for many years, always inspired me.
The reason people are servants and working subservient jobs is because they were far too lazy to get an education. Knowledge, she drummed into me, is the greatest passport in the world. There is no door that cannot be opened with education and she was right. With our familialnwealth, I studied every medical book I could find in her extensive library. If we did not have it in our library then Mama ordered it in.
There was never any question of me going to a boarding school nor a private one. I might be with people equal to my social status but there were deviants even in those circles. I could meet the wrong type of person and be led astray into habits that inflict the lower classes. Even girls like me can be sucked into that black hole.
To that end, Mama brought in a governess to tutor me, to guide me to the path I was to take. Her name was Madeline Graffon. She was a stern faced woman who melted in the presence of Mama. I took great pleasure in that because she was a hard teacher, forever pushing me to soak in the knowledge I needed. Resentment grew as I needed no encouragement to learn because my path was so clear; it was almost a waste of her time educating me. She had the waft of peaches about her which mildly irritated my senses but a deft squirt of a perfume soon put paid to that. I was a defiant student constantly challenging her teachings but by the end of it all, I had a knowledge second to none thanks to my absorption of her lessons.
However, the failings of the underclass wormed its way into our homestead.
One evening, I heard the most outrageous row between Mama and Papa. They were screaming at the top of their voices at each other. I grew frightened by it because it was alien to me. Etiquette and couth was paramount to Mama especially when facing the public in her role of socialite. We were France’s Kardashians long before it was fashionable.
I cowered in my room hugging my raggedy doll, Anna, when Papa knocked on my door. He entered and gave me a loving smile. His dark eyes glistened as he sat on the edge of my bed and took my hand gently. My Papa was a large man with a round face with dark whiskers forming a curt beard. His expression told me something was wrong. I had never seen him look like this before. I was afraid for probably the first time in my life as he spoke to me. I learned why he and Mama were shouting at each other. He told me he was going to live elsewhere but it didn’t mean that he didn’t love me any more. Mama and he had decided they needed time apart. I clung to him tightly begging him not to go. I recall to this day his embrace full of love and tenderness but there was something final about it. Even at that young age my instincts were good.
All I remember after that moment was the sound of doors closing. First my door then his bedroom door and finally the front door that shut with a funeralesque thud. I never even heard my mother cry her heart out that night. My father never came back after that and I assumed he just didn’t love me anymore. Mama told me so two months later over dinner confirming my suspicions. As Mama trained me, I showed no emotion in front of her. Inside was another matter entirely. From that night on I grew a shell around my feelings, vowing to never let anyone hurt me ever again.
The Time Warriors and Beyond 