The virus infected zombies came, leaping over cars and scaling the walls with a frightful nimbleness. Hungry for blood, they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. Their equally mad dogs came on their heels, barking with a ferocity that reminds one of hell hounds. I sat there mesmerized, immobile, waiting with fearsome anticipation for them to break through the windows, through the skylight and the ceiling. The bombs planted around the building had been detonated, the floodlights had been turned on, but still they came, hundreds of them, hairless and half naked, their green veins clearly showing through their cadaverous skin, their mouths open from which came forth terrifying screams, their blackened teeth horribly disgusting. The doctor locked himself inside the basement examining room with the thick glass door, and sensing this, the zombies came down the steps and gathered near the door, all the time emitting those horrendous screams. They tried to force the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. The leader of the group then threw himself at the door, hitting it hard with his head. Not a crack. Frustrated, he launched another attack; still no crack.

Earlier, in a behavioral note the doctor mentioned that the zombies had completely lost all human reasoning, and I wondered what intelligence was working in them now that told them the glass door will break if you hit it hard enough. The leader had not given up his assault, and his perseverance was showing some results. There was a small crack. Knowing that it was only a matter of minutes before he succeeded, and urged on by the smell of blood and human stench, he increased the intensity of his attacks. The door cracked slightly open, and for the last time the leader gathered all his strength and energy, and hurled himself forward. I stopped breathing.

Boom!

The door flew open, and I executed a squatting high jump on my bed. I knocked over the laptop, and fell down on the bed screaming in terror. My two inmates who came into the room looked at me like I had suddenly blown a few fuses and lost a few nuts. When I had settled down and quieted down a bit they asked me the question they had in mind.

“Where does the sun rise?”

“In the east.”

Eyes rolled, foreheads were slapped.

The question was rephrased.

“In this building, which side is east?”

I was flattered they had come all the way from the next room to ask me this obviously important life-threatening question, never mind that they had interrupted me in the middle of a movie that I was so engrossed in. So I abandoned all previously executed actions, and concentrated hard trying to figure out which side is east. I thought about the mornings, when the sun comes charging through the windows, and decided that that direction was east.

“This side is east,” I pointed towards the window.

“Then where is south?”

Some people are so dumb. I faced the window, and explained, “Front is east, back is west, left is north, right is south.”

They seemed satisfied with my answer. But I then had a question for them. “Why this sudden interest in geography?”

“My mother said if you sleep facing south you’ll develop insomnia.”

Ok.

They left, and I resumed watching the movie.

The zombies had already broken down the door, and the doctor had blown himself up along with them. There was nothing left but smoke.

The morning sun forced its way through the thick curtains, tiptoed across the room and pounced on my sleeping form, making me come to life slowly and grope for the water bottle I kept near my bed. I sat up groggy and half asleep, the ceiling fan gently blowing on my much too warm bed, and I could feel the brightness even with my eyes still closed. I did not have to look outside my window to know that at 10 o'clock on a summer morning the sun is already blazing, ready for another scorching day ahead. I fell back in bed, not yet ready to face the day, my unfinished dream still playing in my head. I knew exactly how the rest of the day would go- the warm tap water, the burning road, the cab ride, the sticky car seats, the hot air assaulting you from all directions and the sweat and stickiness that followed, the air conditioning in the office that's always a bit too cold and the thick air that embraces and suffocates you the moment you step outside. But I also knew that after reaching home at the end of the day, and after taking a long cooling bath and getting into bed, I'd think to myself "How much better this is than the freezing winter" .

Yesterday I popped into a cosmetics store, one that I frequently haunt, to buy face cream. I knew exactly what I wanted, I also knew the price and the shelf where it was displayed. The only thing I needed to do was walk in, claim the thing, pay for it, walk out. So very simple, or so I thought. I entered the store, and was immediately attacked by a Customer Service Executive who I personally felt put on too much makeup and that purple lipstick looked absolutely disastrous on her.

CSE: May I help you ma'am?
I: No thanks, I'm fine.

I took a few steps and realised that they had rearranged the shelves a bit. I looked around in bewilderment when came to my rescue another extremely helpful CSE.

CSE: Are you looking for something ma'am?
I: Yes I need so-and-so cream.
CSE: Please follow me.

So like a sheep I followed. Just my luck that there were three other CSE's milling around that shelf, probably gossiping. The moment I picked out my cream one of them immediately suggested that I take the bigger bottle because it was good value for money and I would only benefit from it. I politely explained that I usually do not go for a big bottle because I like changing bottles every now and then and when the small bottle is finished I can always come back for another. She shut up. Then one of her helpful colleagues asked if I need this cream, or this lotion, or this sunscreen, to all of which I said no. I walked away, when yet another CSE informed me they had this new product and would I like to try it on? No no no... I glanced, merely glanced at one shelf where they put all these facewash stuff and one more CSE told me they had an excellent facewash for oily skin (by looking at my shiny face I suppose). I felt suffocated.

I went to the cash counter to pay for my cream, and the cashier asked me to fill in the feedback form. I happily filled it in, mentioning that although the staff was very helpful and knowledgable I didn't appreciate being followed around the whole store like a murder suspect (and it was not such a big store).

I came out and the sun was shining, and I felt free and liberated.

I guess it's true, too much of anything is never good.

Doggone it!!

I breathe dog. The human body sheds x amount of dead skin every minute which floats about in the air around us and gets inhaled. There is this lost dog that's sort of adopted us, he just came to our house and refuses to leave (maybe animals could sense kind people hahah). He is a bony mangy cur by appearance, but very good at heart with the best of intentions. Sometimes when he barks nonstop at 3 in the morning at some invisible foe I wonder if his intentions aren't a bit too good. For lack of inspiration I call him Boy, and since he's so lazy and sleeps all day his name has been upgraded to Lazy Boy. And boy, is he one furious scratcher! He scratches like it's going out of style; his manners need a little improvement in that department. He doesn't care who is in the room, what they are doing; if the urge hits him he scratches away like there's no tomorrow. And because of him the house is now knee deep in his fur, and the skin and dust particles mixed with all his fur constitute the air we breathe. Sounds polluted? Yeah sometimes I'd feel like kicking him out of the house but when he cries outside the door and near my window my resistance would break down and once again I would open the door with bleary eyes and let him in.