Shock Horror Show

A year or two ago, just before "Shaun of the Dead" came out I was studying media at college, preparing to shoot a short film. It was a comedy zombie movie; a nod to Evil Dead, Braindead, even Bad Taste to an extent. The point is, the film was never shot. When Shaun of the Dead came out, we felt we could add no more and abandoned the project.

I've always wanted to re-shoot but could never get a crew together. So, I'm writing this. It's still first draft, so it's a little rough around the edges - it's the first couple of pages. It introduces the three main characters in the plot. I have quite a dark sense of humour at times, so you might miss funny if you don't look hard enough. Have fun, kids.

EDIT: Just to avoid confusion, this is a novelisation of a short film that never happened. The storyline is different sompared to that of the original script. Mwah

Damn you, he thought.

Damn you to hell. Why did you put me in this situation – why have you got to make me hurt you? His eyes momentarily flared with anger, then narrowed to thin, paranoid slits. His heartbeat was playing a death metal drum solo with his ribcage and his arm twitched dangerously. Why does it have to be this way? The old claw hammer felt heavy in his hand. What is it inside you? What makes you keep on pushing me? Why?! What is it about you? He gripped the handle, tight Do you want to know how far I’ll go? Want to see if I’ll do it? You think I’m weak? Think I’ll never respond? Think you can keep on doing this? Think you’ll get away with it? Just over and over again; over and over and OVER AND OVER?! His breathing was getting violent now; spittle sprayed intermittently from between clenched teeth, the twitching shook him. His eyes were focussed on Gen, his mind on the tool gripped in his hand. Gen just sat there, humming softly, quietly and patiently ignoring him, not responding. Like it didn’t matter. A primordial growl rolled from the back of his throat, just audible over his strained breaths. She was mocking him, emasculating him, making him feel petty. She was making him feel small, like I don’t matter. He could stand it no longer.

So he acted.

When he remembered this moment in the times following, it all seemed so insignificant - but it wasn’t. It was the catalyst, it stared everything. In a way, it made him a better person. In this moment he learnt how to be angry. In this moment, for the first time in his life, he no longer cared.

He no longer cared about the consequences; he no longer cared what it would cost him. His face contorted in to a grotesque caricature of himself, pinched and strained with pure, undiluted fury he leapt across the desk and landed a savage blow. And another. And another. His mind losing all rational thought, he was a person no more. Inhuman. He was a feeling, he was an emotion, he was the personification of anger itself, pure and unrelenting. His body controlled itself, an ecstasy of release – an orgy of violence. His mind exploded and he cried aloud, lost in a joy so great it was paralysing.

He could feel people pulling him away, trying to stop him, people still blinded by rational thought. If only they could feel what he felt, they’d let him go – they’d help him. They’d know he was righteous. But his anger had given him strength - he shook them aside. He couldn’t feel their influence, he couldn’t hear their cries, he was lost.

And Gen was gone.

It ended abruptly. A last effortless blow and his whole body relaxed. Spent, he sat clumsily down next to what remained of Gen. Around him people were in mute shock, a circle of co-workers had gathered around his cubicle in an irregular circle. It was a friend who stepped forward first.

“Gary?” he ventured.

Gary turned to him and followed his gaze to the hammer, now chipped and ingrained with streaks of off-white paint that was resting on his now open palm. He let it go. He didn’t need it. It was done. His whole body was limp, satisfied. He turned to Gen and smiled. She was a mess.

Her body was in pieces, she was little more than a pathetic chassis. Her slave hard drive had been split neatly in two, one half clinging mournfully to its housing. Her master drive was still in place, but had been hacked further into its recess, compacted and distorted to the point of disrepair. Ram sticks lay on the floor, spilling a light powdering of silicon on to the remains.

Slowly Gary stood up, eye-to-eye with his friend. Everyone but the two of them backed up a step or two as subtly as they could.

“Hi, Eran.” Gary flashed a smile, “Having a good day?”

“What were you thinking, man? Leonard’s going to have your balls for a hood ornament!”

“You know what, Eran? I feel like a beer. Do you feel like a beer?”

Gary’s smile wasn’t forced, and it didn’t seem insane. If he had to pin it to a word, Eran would have nominated ‘earnest’ – it was the first time Gary had smiled like it for a long time. He considered Gary’s question, and guessed correctly he couldn’t stop Gary going for his beer. He then guessed incorrectly that Gary would be worse off should he not attend “Yeah.” He said calmly, his eyes betraying the facade “Let’s go for a beer.”

-*-

It was time.

Time to bring about a new age, a new age of man. Time to show the world the fruits of his labours. And it was going to be beautiful.

He approached reception and slid the document to the woman behind the counter. You’ll see. You’ll all see.

She looked at the ID and let him through. Today, he mused I am a God. He inched a cautious hand in to his tool bag and grasped at the air freshener bottle inside. The power he held in his hand was overwhelming, he could feel it coursing through his veins, it was-

THUNK!

The strangers shoulder thumped solidly into his, and in a terrifying instant he saw the canister knocked clean out of the blue Hessian bag, drop the two foot onto the floor and skitter away from him. There was an initial cringe before the fury.

“Look where you’re going, you blind fuck!” He screamed, and stormed off after the canister. Carefully, he picked it up, examined it and nestled it back among the tools. It’s okay he told himself. He’d designed the casing himself, it could with stand much more than a bump. But today he was beyond the theoretical, and there were enough risk factors to make him cagey already. He was mildly aware the stranger talking to him. He let out a non-committal grunt and walked off to the stairwell.

-*-

“You see, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Shit like this.” Gary had that look in his eye again, the one Eran had seen for the first time just a few minutes before. He felt thankful Gary didn’t have his hammer, Thank the Lord for small mercies.

“Every day, Eran. Every day shit happens, and every day we refrain, every day we hold it together, and for what? Fuck. All. I’d rather spend my life in prison being fucked up the arse by angry men than spend another day bored out of my FUCKING BRAIN, being shit on by all manner of people for NO FUCKING REASON”

“Keep your voice down, man.” Gary was swearing. Gary never swore.

“Why? Why fucking bother?!” He pointed after the air-con guy, “That dickhead didn’t! I just thank fuck it wasn’t a Glade plug in I knocked out of shit-bag, or he probably would have destroyed all fucking civilisation!”

“...”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I don’t care, now let’s get that fucking beer.” He turned in the direction of the stairwell entrance “Hopefully I won’t knock in to any more PRICK-SHITTERS ON THE WAY!” he exhaled “Fucker.”