#you should see the footage and recognize how horrendous it was and also recognize how it changed everything

[theaologies]

Can’t believe there are folks saying it’s weird and fucked up for teachers to “force” them to watch 9/11 footage. I watched both the towers collapse live on TV when I was 8 years old. Some of you are adults and weren’t even born yet that’s so crazy. School was actually probably the ONLY place we weren’t constantly exposed to 9/11 footage 24/7 for the next three years

[thehuggamugcafe]

And The World Went Away

OOC: Well, it’s official. The Resident Evil 2 Remake demo scared the holy hell out of this Barista. Good lord, I couldn’t help but to feel inspired after watching some gameplay footage. Also, Overkill’s The Walking Dead characters’ story trailers helped spawn this little musing.

This... What is this? Well, I wouldn’t call it a series. Merely... Musings for whenever I’m in the mood to write them, which won’t be often, I think. If you’d like, I can include my other muses in their own scenarios for these “musings”, for lack of a better word.

If anyone’s interested in this sort of thing, please let me know; I’d really appreciate the feedback. Likes and reblogs are A-OK, but comments on this (yes, even constructive criticism!) are fine, too.

Let us begin the horror show shall we, my dears? Please enjoy. ☕

A cranium impacted the wall of an alleyway, besmirching the filthy brick exterior with a splatter of blood. A huff of a breath left the mouth of a certain barista—no, former barista—as a moist noise came from the skull of what had once been a man.

Milky brown eyes stared up into the sweaty, flushed face of a 20-year-old woman as a knife was removed from where it was inserted: between the monstrosity’s eyes.

“You bastard! Goddammit,” the ex-barista hissed, clicking her tongue as she spared a quick glance at herself.

Ice blue irises glared at her glove-covered hands, checking and double-checking for any glaringly obvious signs of a scratch, no matter how small.

She relaxed only when she was positive that she hadn’t been scratched.

Eira had seen what happened to those who’d been unfortunate enough to be bitten or scratched, after all.

It had only been a few months since the initial outbreak had occurred, but...

She remembered.

She remembered what had happened on that day in her small, homey café.

It was cliché, so terribly cliché, but it had started off the same way as it had in all those horrid, cheesy zombie movies, TV shows, books, and video games.

Reports of odd assaults on an unsuspecting person, who’s only crime was being at the wrong place, wrong time, became a daily occurrence.

Headlines titled “Attacks In Broad Daylight” were soon plastered over the front page of every newspaper, every news magazine across the country.

Health and government officials assured the public that there was nothing to worry about, that order would be restored within a few short weeks. Meanwhile, the general public was advised to stay away from anyone who may be “sick,” and to remain as sanitary as possible. She recalled the one warning, the only warning the public had received before all hell broke loose on the streets of Tokyo...

“We interrupt this scheduled program for a message from the Japanese Ministry of Health. A contagious disease is rumoured to have begun spreading within Shibuya. Those who’ve been exposed to this illness display the following symptoms: sweating, nausea, fever, disorientation, seizures, severe migraines, and eventual death. We advise all residents to remain indoors until further notice. If you believe that you or a loved one is infected with this disease, please call local authorities immediately. Do not leave your residence. This message will repeat every five minutes.”

The day when a customer had stumbled in through the door of the Huggamug Café, left open to allow a nonexistent breeze to whisper through the interior, despite the air conditioner keeping the customers, the employees, and the young owner and manager cool.

Eira recalled the customer’s twitching body, voicing an unusual-sounding groan as saliva and blood dripped on to the floor of the café. It was something that irked Eira greatly, having just swept and mopped the floor 30 minutes before the customer arrived.

“Hey.”

She remembered snapping that lone word as she walked forward, ready to give the customer a piece of her mind. However...

The closer she got, the more she realized how much he reeked. He stunk of sweat, as if he hadn’t showered in weeks.

She noticed how dirty his clothes were, how matted his hair was.

She noticed the blood and bits of flesh stuck between his teeth.

“Sir, are you okay? Maybe you should-”

Eira could still remember the feeling of two dirty, cold hands wrapping around her clothed shoulders.

She could still recall the sickening breath wafting over her face as she hit the floor.

She remembered feeling the disgusting stench of warm copper hitting her face as she screamed for someone, anyone to assist her as the customer snapped his bloody jaws near her face.

She could recall three sets of footsteps quickly approaching her as she raised a foot, delivering a solid kick to the man’s chest, knocking him off of her.

Immediately after Eira had kicked the customer away from her, Akira had followed up with a quick swing underneath the man’s chin with a broom. The man had hit the floor, as expected, but he resorted to crawling on his hands and knees.

“W-What the hell is this?! How is he still moving?!” Eira shouted, pointing her icy irises on the customer.

“Keep him there, Ren!”

Akira’s shout resonated throughout the silent café, earning a nod as Ren kept the snarling, milky-eyed customer pinned to the ground, a foot planted on his neck.

“One warning’s all you get,” Ren said, narrowing his onyx irises as the customer hissed, snarled, pointed his milky eyes up at the noiret.

A disgustingly sharp crack echoed through the café’s interior, a noise that Eira remembered wincing at as she slowly, steadily got to her feet. The customer’s eyes stared at nothing, rolled back into his head, the bones of his spine threatening to poke through the skin of his throat.

Ren’s accuracy was on point. So on point, in fact, that with one twist of his foot, the customer’s neck had snapped like a twig.

“Are you alright, Ms. Rundström?” Arsène had asked, his gaze fixed on his young employer.

“I’m fine, Lupin, thank you.”

Rounding back on Ren, Eira had continued her little rant.

“...Are you trying to kill my business, Amamiya?”

Despite her annoyed tone, she was still noticeably shaken up by what had just happened. Had it not been for her employees’ timely rescue...

“He was crazed, Boss. He tried to bite you.”

“Still, that’s no excuse to murder someone, and inside the café!”

Eira couldn’t honestly remember what happened after that. One moment she and Amamiya had been arguing back and forth, and then...

Chaos. Complete and utter chaos.

She recalled bits and pieces here and there, whenever she was alone and could think calmly, clearly. All she really remembered was that she had lost track of her employees in the ensuing madness, that she had lost contact with her relatives.

How long had it been since she’d last seen Akira? Seen Arsène? Seen Ren?

Hell, how long had it been since she’d seen anyone who wasn’t a “Shuffler”, as she called them. The monstrosities who now roamed the streets, seeking out the flesh of the living? It felt like it had been years...

In the here and now, the ex-barista breathed a sigh as she pointed her blue irises up at the sky. She was quietly grateful for the fact that it was still daylight, mid-morning to be exact.

“They” appeared to be less active during the daytime, and if she couldn’t see them, she could oftentimes hear them approaching.

The slow shuffle of their footsteps still turned her skin to gooseflesh...

She bit back a shudder, digging a hand into the left-hand pocket of her black parka. A photo was removed, one that she had insisted on carrying.

It held a lot of sentimental value to her, after all.

In the picture, Akira and Arsène smiled; a small smile curled Ren’s lips, as well as her own. The photo had been taken outside the café just as the summer season began, the picturesque example of tranquility. Of old times. Of a time that seemed so far flung in the past.

Eira breathed a sigh as she folded the picture, stuffing it back into the pocket it had been taken out of.

“Akira, Arsène, Ren... You three better be okay... Idiots.”

The early winter wind whispered through the alley, bringing an all too recognizable stench of blood and decay along with it, shoving the horrendous stench up Eira’s nostrils.

The foreigner sneered, the heels of her leather boots clicking as she left the alleyway. She wasn’t certain what building she’d loot from next. A grocery store, a hardware store, or perhaps a pawn shop?

Wherever she went next, she could only hope... She could only pray...

That she recognized a face, perhaps three, when she arrived.