“Ahhhhhhh,” Joe cries.

The light makes her feel like someone is stabbing her brain with needles. She feels hands grab her by her tattered shirt and lift her to her feet. When her eyes finally adjust to the brightness, she see’s her father holding her up. Suddenly she remembers what happened. Without even thinking about it, she throws her hands around him. Unlike before, he embraces her without ripping out her flesh.

“Am I…dead?” Joe asks.

“Yes, now you are one of us,” her dad says.

She follows her dad to the door. Everything seems to be moving slowly around her. Even her thoughts are moving slowly. He leads her into a ransacked rest stop at the end of the street. Other zombies are gathered there feeding on the defenseless store clerk. Joe sees the flesh being ripped off the man’s face and her mouth begins to water. Before she knows it, she has pounced on top of the man, shoving the others out of her way.

She sinks her teeth into his shoulder and feels the thick blood flow into her mouth. The taste speeds everything up. Suddenly it is as if she was still human. She feels a rush of adrenaline flow through her body, but unfortunately, it fades quickly.

Once she is finished, she gets up and walks back over to her father. She catches her reflection in the a mirror that is placed above the door. Her black hair is in untamed knots all over her head. Her skin, once the color of olives, now looks like the color of slushy snow on the highway. Her body is covered in dried blood and dirt. She is hunched over so much that you can make out her spine. Her clothes are tattered and worn. Her shirt, ripped at the neckline, exposing her milky shoulder. Her arms are turned in a way that makes her look like she doesn’t have any joints.  Then she sees her eyes, the once beautiful, green gems are now dark and foggy. When she used to look into them, she would see a sort of gleam or sparkle, now all she sees is emptiness.

Check out the first and second part of Joe’s adventure.

The post Adventures of Joe Pt. 3 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

I wanted to surprise him with a nice, home cooked meal when he got home, so I got off work early and started making his favorite meal, country-fried chicken with potatoes. I was almost done when he got home. I knew that he was in a bad mood by the slam of the door. I saw his beige coat fly across the room, wrinkled from being balled up beforehand. I brace myself for what will come next. His footsteps creep closer and closer.

I close my eyes and say, “Hi honey, how was your day? I’m making your favorite meal.”

I plaster a fake toothy grin on my face, hoping it will change his mood, but it doesn’t. He stands there, silently, staring at the stove. He just walks over to the stove and takes a spoonful of the mashed potatoes.

“They’re cold,” he says finally, then walks away in disgust.

“Oh I’m sorry sweetie, I’ll warm them up in the microwave,” I say while rushing towards the potatoes.

He walks up to me slowly, while watching his feet move. Once he is in front of me, he brings his eyes to mine. He is so close now that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. His bloodshot eyes look my up and down. Every muscle in my body tenses up, my heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“I don’t want them warmed up, I wanted them to be warm when I got here. It’s your job as a wife to take care of your husband. How incompetent can you be if you can’t even keep my dinner warm?”

He spits on my feet and turns back to the stove. I had just taken the chicken out of the oven when he got home so that was definitely not cold. He unwraps the foil and cuts off a piece. I watch his face as he chews. Obvious disappointment falls across his features.

“You call this chicken? I think if I puked it up it would taste better,” he says in disgust.

He throws his fork in my direction and walks toward me. Suddenly his hand is grasping my face and squeezes it so I look like a fish. I let out a little scream as his grips tighten with his frustration.

“Why can’t you do anything right?” he screams.

“I don’t know…I’m sorry. I am trying,” I say quietly.

“You obviously aren’t trying hard enough. Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, of course I love you,” I say desperately.

“Then start acting like it. Why are you so incapable?”

I feel his rough skin slam into my cheek. The tears start to form in my eyes, but I pull them back because I know they will only encourage him. I try to think happy thoughts. I try to imagine myself in a better place than where I am right now.

“Are you going to answer me? Or are you just gonna stand there like the dumb bitch you are?” He asks as he inches closer towards me. Before I can think of making a getaway, his hands shoot out and grab the back of my neck. I feel his fingers tangle themselves up in my hair.

“Answer me bitch!” he says as pulls my head back. Fear captures my voice. I feel his teeth trace my neck, his breath burning my skin as he makes his way down. I jerk my head away from his toxic exhale and he releases my head, only to bring my whole body to the floor with the force of his fist. I lay on the floor face down, hoping if I don’t make a sound he will leave.

Flames spread across my face as I realize to strength of his blow. It feels like my heart has moved to my cheek as it throbs uncontrollably. It’s all I can do to not grab my face to try to stop the pain.  I hear his footsteps coming in my direction. He crouches down and pets my swollen head. I flinch at his touch.

“Why do you make me do this to you? You know this wouldn’t happen if you were better, if you were good enough.”

I can’t control my tears anymore. His words hurt more than his fists. The tears break through my eyelids like a flood breaks through a levy.

I apply the thick concealer to my tender skin. Flawlessness takes the place of the black and blue bruise that was there before. Every time I touch my skin, I feel his forceful shot. I look into the mirror, staring at what I have become. I remember hearing about women like me when I was younger. I remember thinking “How could anyone stay in that kind of relationship?”

I used to look on these women with pity. I thought it was pathetic how they let a barbaric man use them as their own personal punching bag. I never understood how they allowed someone who said they loved them, treat them like scrum on the bottom of a shoe.

Now I’m one of those women, and I still don’t understand.  All I know is that the silence is worse than the violence. Every night when his cold words pierce me like icicles, digging into the weakest part of my heart, I’m thankful that he is home and that he is paying attention to me. The bruises he leaves on my face are almost as big as the ones he leaves on my soul when he ignores me. My body aches because of him, but my heart will ache without him. Life can be unbearable with him, but I know life would be unimaginable without him.

The post Beaten and Bruised appeared first on KRUI Radio.

I am a lone warrior living on the streets of New York.

These streets have been my home for ten years next February. I live in a box in the alley on 22nd and 9th. No one talks to me. No one visits. No one asks me how my day is going. I try not to let it bother me though. I enjoy my streets. I like to sit on the sidewalk, basking in the sun as I watch people rush by.

I have made friends, though. I find things on the street people have dropped or lost. Things people have thrown out because they don’t have a use for it anymore, things kinda like me.

I found so many things that I started a club. We meet every day, when it gets too cold to stay on the streets. We use my box as our clubhouse. I, of course, am the president of this club. The vice president is a toy train some little boy dropped when his mom was pulling him across the street. She keeps me on track when I start rambling at the meetings.

The secretary is a magic marker that rolled down my alley one rainy day. He records all our important discussions. A ball of yarn I once used to tie my box shut during the big snowstorm last January, is in charge of security. A sand shovel I found on the curb of 24th and 8th last summer is in charge of finding snacks.

The other members consist of a dried-up piece of chewed gum, a penny I found heads up, a McDonald’s Big Mac wrapper, a stuffed puppy with one eye missing, a used Band-Aid, and the last, but not least, a picture of a beautiful girl with long, auburn hair and happy, green eyes. She is wearing a white dress, standing in a meadow with hundreds of sunflowers surrounding her. I found her in the garbage can in my alley one sunny afternoon last fall. The edges are worn and the color is faded, but she is still magnificent.

I named her Claire, because a beautiful girl deserves to have a beautiful name. She reminds me of a girl I met while I was fighting overseas. They both have the same piercing eyes. Whenever I feel like I am back fighting, I look at her and she helps me come back home, to my box in the alley on 22nd and 9th.

The post Homeless appeared first on KRUI Radio.