I’m concerned, as I think there might be some sort of zombie virus going around. I’m craving brain power, and sleep, and walking about with a gaping mouth, and head tilted back, and with my arms out in front of me. I think I might’ve hit on why I’m still single.
Today’s Word:
costermonger
As in:
It’s been a week since the war began. No one even took it seriously then. It was laughable. If we’d had any idea that we’d be at the brink of an apocalypse…
I don’t know. Maybe we could’ve stopped it. But, how could we have even imagined? It’s ludicrous, really. The President’s launching a nuclear strike. The civilian casualties, well, I don’t even want to contemplate. It’s a measure of how scared everyone is, that no one is calling for a delay. No one even doubts that this is necessary. I can’t recall I time when I’ve ever been this scared. The worst part? I’m not even sure it will work.
It all started so innocently. I went to work as always. The store was quiet, as it always is at 6 am. The bakery was putting out fresh baked goods, the last palates of canned goods were wheeled out of the aisles, and I settled into my domain: the produce department. Sure, most people call me the “Produce Manager,” or “Fruit Boy,” but, I prefer “costermonger.” A throwback, perhaps, but, right now, we all would love things to be much simpler.
Anyway, I was checking the displays, when I came close to the some of the items that are on the controversial side, you know, genetically modified. Usually, I don’t think about them, they’ve never seemed that different from the regular fruits and veggies. Sure, there are some items that are odd, “plucots,” for example. Plums crossed with apricots. Who thinks of these things? And, broccoliflower? Really?
As I passed the display, a flash of motion caught my eye, and I spin around to see a stalk of broccoliflower pull itself to a standing position. I blinked, not comprehending, looking for wires, or some other explanation for mobile produce. Then, more of the items stood. They started forming lines, and marching along. They marched toward the very faint light from outside, somehow sensing the sun despite the bright lighting of the supermarket. As the got to the parking lot, they moved like a swarm, attacking a customer just coming into the store. The person didn’t react. I mean, what do you do when faced by a mob of plants?
Within moments, the foods forced themselves down the man’s throat, and soon after that, he started choking and turning blue. He fell over, and then stopped moving. What had I just witnessed? Who do I call, and how do I convince them that what I’m seeing is real, and a threat?
I’d thought that maybe something with the modified genetics had somehow caused the fruit to evolve to a violent, mobile threat. Yes, I know how that sounds.
If I’d been thinking, maybe I could’ve realized that all the produce I had was already dead. I mean, fruits and vegetables in a store, off their vines and trees, well, they’re not living plants. Somehow, genetically modified “frankenfruits,” coming to life and attacking people, well, that sounds vaguely *sane* compared to the truth. Zombie produce? Come on!
Now, of course, everyone knows the truth. It started to get bad when the fruits from the store started infecting all the plants outside. Trees started to uproot themselves and infect grasses and bushes. Then people started to get trampled by forests of monsters craving chlorophyll from living plants. The insatiable army of undead plants has speed up the greenhouse effect past our ability to stop the virus from spreading, or efforts to replenish oxygenating plant stocks. The world is counting on the nuclear strike to eradicate the virus, and hoping to be able to use stored seed and quarantined plants to begin rebuilding farms and forests. Hopefully, there will be some arable land left.
I’m going to close this entry for now. I hope that the plan works.
*********************
I had no idea this was going to “mutate” into a zombie story. Wacky. Sleep now.
costermonger / COST – er – mong – er / a hawker of fruits and vegetables, chiefly British