Sequel: Alkaline Eyes ›
Lithium Kisses
Last Words of a Bleeding Heart Activist
"How the hell did you managed to trigger the apocalypse, Madam President?" I had no idea how to answer, but apparently, I had indirectly caused the zombie apocalypse. There was a dormant gene in Andrienne that carried a group of cells that could cause a person to go insane and CONSUME HUMAN FLESH! It was triggered when the little shits in Africa had ingested the meat that I had so graciously sent over to them. Filthy chocolate fuckers ruining everything since the civil war. Because of them, there was now some poor husband in NY who eating the brains of his in-laws now. I had thought that the virus only extended to humans when I had to witness something truly horrible.
Out in the garden, but from the safety of my window, I watched as Mr. Ham-Ham dug himself out of his poorly made grave. It's eyes were red, and it had fangs. Stupid Tre. I should send him out there to die by the teeth of his beloved hamster. But instead, I just threw a molotov cocktail. It lit the congressional building on fire, but I didn't care. Half of the world was predicted to die anyway unless I somehow came up with a solution. Because of the outbreak, we couldn't even hold a funeral for Billie Joe, so we just shoved him in the freezer. I was miserably depressed. Why couldn't I have been the one to die? Green Day was probably going to break up now because Mike was a terrible singer and Tre was a complete idiot. Hmm, maybe I could sing and bring glory back to my favorite band? No, too cliche. I had to be the perz and no one else.
Over the few weeks, I watched calmly as the outbreak had spread from NY to even DC. It was a horrible sight, watching all of the poor patheticc humans ingest each other, and then puke because everyone was garbage on the inside. Oh well, we all have to die anyway. Shit was getting too real, even for someone like me, so I devised a brilliant plan. I spent the next few days desperately looking for the Football, because the last prez had gone and gotten it lost at one of the congressional S&M ballets.
Finally, I had found it, in all of it's excessive glory. It was time to wipe Africa from the face of the map, literally. Hey, they caused the zombie apocalypse, so all of them had to pay the price. I hastily entered the codes. All I had to do was press enter and KABOOM, no more swiss miss children. My finger was poised above the shiny, tempting red button.
"Wait, Heather, don't do that!" I heard from behind me. I swiftly turned around. It was Mike and he looked scared shitless. "Billie Joe might be dead, but you don't need to nuke anyone. You can be the new lead singer of Green Day. You're great, okay? Just give me the Football." I shook my head. Stupid, brainless Mike, he just had to ruin everything. His face became pale white, and he began to shake. Hmm, maybe he was on cocaine or something.
I turned around again to finish the disaster that I had created when I felt something cold and metallic poke into my back. I turned around again. Mike was holding a desert eagle assault pistol and he looked absolutely determined to kill me if I didn't surrender the Football. So I put on my boxing gloves.
We wrestled for a few moments, Mike kept trying to bash me on the head with the gun, but I kept avoiding. In our frenzy, we forgot that the Football was right behind me. Mike whacked me on jaw, sending me backwards, pressing the red button the football. He watched the screen in horror as little nuke icons flew happily to their destinations of all the major countries in the world, and one flew to NY. I guess I had entered far too many codes. Mike collapsed to the ground, crying about how the future of humanity was ruined. I grabbed the gun and shot him. He was down instantly. Now it was time to take care of Tre...
I looked all around for Tre, but he couldn't be found, so I shot everyone else in the Black House instead. On my way back to my office, I stopped by the bathroom. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was garishly pale, my eyeliner was smudged and my red hair was ratted and frizzed. I was wearing a torn Green Day shirt, a ripped black skirt, dirty leather jacket and a pair of converse boots that were caked in mud. This all seemed so familar to me. And then I remembered... A dream I had a long time ago where I had shot everybody in my school, and Billie Joe had killed Pandora along with himself. I had woken up from that dream thinking about the two possiblities my life could have taken: one in which I had become the prez and the other where I destroyed the world. Looks like I had fulfilled both prophecies. Fuck it all.
I had a prez speech to do, so I headed out to address the garbage of the US. But, instead of talking, I put the gun to my head. Why not? Surely this was some way of repaying Pandora and Billie Joe right. Maybe I could torment everyone when I was in hell. "So long, America, save your fucking selves!" I shouted, and pulled the trigger. Everything faded to sweet, sweet black.
Out in the garden, but from the safety of my window, I watched as Mr. Ham-Ham dug himself out of his poorly made grave. It's eyes were red, and it had fangs. Stupid Tre. I should send him out there to die by the teeth of his beloved hamster. But instead, I just threw a molotov cocktail. It lit the congressional building on fire, but I didn't care. Half of the world was predicted to die anyway unless I somehow came up with a solution. Because of the outbreak, we couldn't even hold a funeral for Billie Joe, so we just shoved him in the freezer. I was miserably depressed. Why couldn't I have been the one to die? Green Day was probably going to break up now because Mike was a terrible singer and Tre was a complete idiot. Hmm, maybe I could sing and bring glory back to my favorite band? No, too cliche. I had to be the perz and no one else.
Over the few weeks, I watched calmly as the outbreak had spread from NY to even DC. It was a horrible sight, watching all of the poor patheticc humans ingest each other, and then puke because everyone was garbage on the inside. Oh well, we all have to die anyway. Shit was getting too real, even for someone like me, so I devised a brilliant plan. I spent the next few days desperately looking for the Football, because the last prez had gone and gotten it lost at one of the congressional S&M ballets.
Finally, I had found it, in all of it's excessive glory. It was time to wipe Africa from the face of the map, literally. Hey, they caused the zombie apocalypse, so all of them had to pay the price. I hastily entered the codes. All I had to do was press enter and KABOOM, no more swiss miss children. My finger was poised above the shiny, tempting red button.
"Wait, Heather, don't do that!" I heard from behind me. I swiftly turned around. It was Mike and he looked scared shitless. "Billie Joe might be dead, but you don't need to nuke anyone. You can be the new lead singer of Green Day. You're great, okay? Just give me the Football." I shook my head. Stupid, brainless Mike, he just had to ruin everything. His face became pale white, and he began to shake. Hmm, maybe he was on cocaine or something.
I turned around again to finish the disaster that I had created when I felt something cold and metallic poke into my back. I turned around again. Mike was holding a desert eagle assault pistol and he looked absolutely determined to kill me if I didn't surrender the Football. So I put on my boxing gloves.
We wrestled for a few moments, Mike kept trying to bash me on the head with the gun, but I kept avoiding. In our frenzy, we forgot that the Football was right behind me. Mike whacked me on jaw, sending me backwards, pressing the red button the football. He watched the screen in horror as little nuke icons flew happily to their destinations of all the major countries in the world, and one flew to NY. I guess I had entered far too many codes. Mike collapsed to the ground, crying about how the future of humanity was ruined. I grabbed the gun and shot him. He was down instantly. Now it was time to take care of Tre...
I looked all around for Tre, but he couldn't be found, so I shot everyone else in the Black House instead. On my way back to my office, I stopped by the bathroom. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was garishly pale, my eyeliner was smudged and my red hair was ratted and frizzed. I was wearing a torn Green Day shirt, a ripped black skirt, dirty leather jacket and a pair of converse boots that were caked in mud. This all seemed so familar to me. And then I remembered... A dream I had a long time ago where I had shot everybody in my school, and Billie Joe had killed Pandora along with himself. I had woken up from that dream thinking about the two possiblities my life could have taken: one in which I had become the prez and the other where I destroyed the world. Looks like I had fulfilled both prophecies. Fuck it all.
I had a prez speech to do, so I headed out to address the garbage of the US. But, instead of talking, I put the gun to my head. Why not? Surely this was some way of repaying Pandora and Billie Joe right. Maybe I could torment everyone when I was in hell. "So long, America, save your fucking selves!" I shouted, and pulled the trigger. Everything faded to sweet, sweet black.