Chapter 3: 1.3 Tom Rhee

What do I know?

The outbreak starts on August 25, 2010.

My memories of the TV series are only in parts. The day I turn six, memories of me watching the whole season 1 gush into my mind. The day I turn seven, the same thing happens to me but with season 2 this time. On top of that some snippets of me playing the TWD telltale game series.

Then, as I turn eight years old, memories of me watching different spin-offs of TWD gush into my mind. Also on top of that, half of season 4.

It was insane.

It’s like seeing the future.

It is so precise yet out of control. At some times, I wonder, why are the memories of my past life so specific to the TWD series. Just why?

I was imagining that there might be a grand design, but honestly, I was hoping that there wasn’t.

The only indication that it was really my past life was because of how miserable I was. It’s not just the memories that I awaken on my every birthday but also the emotions that I feel every time I watch the series.

I arrive home with sweat pouring from my back. I was about to push open the door, only to stop in indecision

If the apocalypse is real, and if it does happen. Where should we go? There was no place to go, right? Where is the safe place? With pure single-mindedness since I was six, I do my best to prepare for the coming of the said apocalypse.

The drive keeps me moving. Only now did I realize of how despairing the apocalypse is… that the deadline is upon me. Sometimes, I fantasize that all of the past life TV series bullshit I was experiencing was just that… bullshit…

“I have to strengthen my resolve.”

I slap my cheeks with force, and to the best of my ability, brainwashes myself into thinking that I am invincible.

I stride in great steps to home. I push the door open only to freeze on my toes.

It was… mom…

And she… has a belt in her hand.

Damn it.

…

In my bedroom, I silently stew in crushing loneliness. It has been a couple of days since mom’s corporal punishment. Honestly, though, she was too soft. Abandoning the belt entirely, mom chooses to just flick my palms.

With my acting skills, I was able to fake it through the entire session.

While I am a compulsively honest person, that doesn’t mean I cannot act. To put it into words, my honesty has its limitations. I think… That’s the wrong way to put it. My tongue may be honest, but my body wasn’t. Hmmm… That sounds very wrong too…

Point is… I am just a bad liar like uncle Glen. I can act though… Pretending and lying are two different things, right? This is definitely the making of a hypocrite, huh?

As I start dabbling on the philosophical aspects of life while listening to music via my earphones, I notice the lights of the blaring alarm of fire trucks and police cars from my immovable window.

I remove my earphones.

WANG~ WANG~ WANG~

“Damn, that was loud.” I immediately plug my earphones back. It is not time yet. There is no use to worry about what is inevitable. If it comes, then so be it.

No one is ready yet until proven.

I can only silently hope that at the first signs of the outbreak, mom will be able to survive. I can only trust in the short two years of my preparation.

August 24, 2010. 1:00 am.

It is so damn early, and I am still awake. The fear instinct inside me is screaming. If only I can turn it off, but I can’t. It is my biological imperative to listen to my fear, but right now, I’d love not to listen to it.

Listening and hearing are different matters altogether. No matter how hard I try to kill the fear, it will always find its way back to me. There are just things you cannot unhear and unsee.

I may not listen to it, but I cannot unhear it.

This is what is keeping me awake at night. Now that I am exhausted to the limits thanks to insomnia, I’d better fall asleep fast. When I wake up, I better be ready to run.

Quickly, I fall asleep.

In the back of my mind, I had this wishful thinking. Maybe if I manage to get to the infected first before it bites and chews other people… Just maybe, I can search for the infected first before the shit hits the fan… and then… I’ll kill it… Maybe I’ll have a quicker route to a happy ending by then.

But just like I thought, it was just wishful thinking.

You are reading story Starved, Solved, and Saved at novel35.com

The Wild Fire virus, the source of everything, has long accomplished its great deed of infecting everyone. There is no use in searching for patient zero here in Michigan. It will be a futile and fruitless task.

Walkers, in the TV series, that is what they call them, are undead of dubious origins. No one knows who was the first infected. It just suddenly arrives here in America in all of its decaying glory.

The dead rise, not alive, but not dead either. Yellowing teeth, decaying flesh, hollowing eyes, and a penchant for eating flesh.

Its groans are like the guttural howl of the damned all bathing in the flames of sin.

Lumbering their rotten flesh everywhere with a herd of their own, the dead consumes everything in its path. It was a literal hell on earth.

“aaaAAAHHH~!”

I woke up at the sound of a scream, I didn’t fumble, not even a wince. Like a machine, I grab the pick hanging by my utility belt. The doorknob won’t move. The lock was on the other side of the door— a very Tom-proof countermeasure on my mom’s part.

With my pick, I jab at the doorknob. Sadly, my strength is not enough. I continue jabbing at it with my ice pick. Once, twice, a dozen! Suddenly, the door opens. My mom was behind the door giving me judgmental eyes.

“Mr. Tom Rhee. What in tarnation did possessed your soul?” She gazes at the pick in my hand, grabs it, and, continues on with her harsh scolding. “This thing is dangerous, how did you even get in possession of this? This is not a toy. What if you accidentally stab yourself with it?”

“You know what? Leave that belt of yours, and go downstairs to have breakfast. ” With those words, mom leaves me in my lonesomeness.

Strange, doesn’t mom feel a lot more amiable than usual?

Huh?

I obediently give up my utility belt. Downstairs, I see a mess of syrup, pancakes, and flour. My dumb aunt was cleaning the mess with a wry smile. I assume it was her who screamed a while ago.

My mom, like usual, shows her skills of inflicting emotional damage at a whim.

“You are already a lawyer, and you still want to learn how to cook? Just find a capable husband who will take care of your life now and forever.”

My aunt, summoning the inner lawyer in her, defends herself.

“I am an independent woman. A husband is not a necessity. And what is but a couple of pancakes? When we were young, I always fancy myself to become a pro at flipping pancakes.”

“Fair point, but you are a lawyer now. Not a pancake flipper.”

“And you are a single mother, with a single son, supporting her grandparents alone. While at it, you manage to stay independent from all of the pressure of the world.”

“…”

“I love you, big sister.”

The two start hugging each other. I don’t know what I am seeing anymore. Why is it so difficult to understand complicated things?

“Oho, if it isn’t my nephew. Come here, I’ll hug you to death!”

After some smothering, the whole family finally gathers at the table. It was a peaceful breakfast. Grandpa is reading the newspapers. Grandma is eating in small bites. Aunt is swiping on her phone. And mom is… staring me to death.

“Tom, what did I say about your vegetables?”

“That they are green and nutritious?”

“Yes? And?”

“…and I should eat them?”

Oh gosh… It’s like any other day. Today is August 25, 2010, at 6:00 am of the morning. I bite on the pancakes and ignore the green stuff that mom calls a salad.

“Aunt, you’re definitely a pancake flipper from your past life.”

I happily chew on the soft pancakes without any syrup. I like its crunchy side and plain flavor. I can taste its subtle sweetness from the pinch of sugar that is the core of pancake deliciousness.

Though a bit burnt, it is just perfect.

Apocalypse? What apocalypse? What TV series?

<Activating… The Walking Dead Title System!>

“Oh fuck…”