::writing

::writing

The first thing I noticed was that my backstory kept changing.

One minute, I had a tragic past involving a lost sibling and a dog I couldn’t save. The next minute, I was an accountant who “just happened to survive” because I “paid attention to detail.”

“Pick a lane,” I muttered, prying open a vending machine with a crowbar. “Am I emotionally complex, or do I just know spreadsheets?”

::writing

I remember the exact moment the sky broke.

Not metaphorically. Not in some poetic, “the world ended and everything changed” sort of way. I mean literally—the sky flickered like a cheap fluorescent bulb, went gray, and then snapped back to blue.

“Okay,” I said to no one, standing in the middle of Main Street with a crowbar in one hand and a can of peaches in the other. “That’s new.”

::Rewriting.

“Oh, good,” I said. “We’re doing this again.”

My memories shuffled like a deck of cards.

Okay—new setup. I’m a former paramedic now. That’s useful. I’ll take that. Skills. Competence. Trauma I can weaponize for character development. Great.

I grabbed a pack of crackers and turned—

—and walked straight into a zombie.

::writing

We both froze.

It blinked.

I blinked.

“…were you just not here?” I asked.

It groaned.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

It lunged.

I stepped back—smooth, controlled, very protagonist—and swung the crowbar in a clean arc.

It connected.

The zombie dropped.

I stood there for a second, catching my breath.

“…okay,” I said. “That felt earned. I liked that. Good pacing, solid action, believable—”

::Undo

The zombie was suddenly not on the ground.

In fact, it wasn’t anywhere.

In fact, the vending machine was fixed.

In fact, I was holding nothing.

“…excuse me?”

:::writing

A zombie lunged at me.

Or—well. It tried to.

It froze mid-lunge. Mouth open. Teeth about two inches from my nose. Its breath smelled like something that used to have opinions.

We stayed like that for a second.

Then three seconds.

Then—

The zombie vanished.

Just… gone. No dramatic disintegration. No puff of ash. No cinematic anything. One frame it was there, next frame it wasn’t, like somebody hit delete on reality.

I blinked.

“Cool,” I said. “Cool, cool, cool.”

I looked down at my hands. Still holding the crowbar. Still holding the peaches. Still alive. That felt like an important detail.

A voice—no, not a voice. More like a pressure—shifted through everything.

::writing.

My crowbar vanished.

My crackers vanished.

My entire sense of accomplishment vanished.

“Oh, that’s dirty,” I said. “That is dirty.”

A new zombie appeared.

This one looked… upgraded. More dramatic decay. Better lighting. Honestly, it looked like it had a skincare routine, which felt unfair.

It hissed and came at me again.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Okay, so we’re redoing the scene,” I said, backing up. “Fine. Fine. Second take. I can do second takes.”

It lunged.

I reached for—

—for—

I patted my sides.

“No crowbar?” I asked. “No weapon at all? You took my weapon?”

Raising tension.

::No answer.

The street flickered again.

Suddenly, the cars were different. Less wrecked. More… staged. Like someone had Googled “abandoned city aesthetic” and called it a day.

“Uh,” I said. “I liked it better when it looked like people actually panicked.”

A new zombie appeared ten feet away. This one looked… cleaner. More intentional. Its eyes were milky, but not too milky. Its clothes were torn, but in a symmetrical, “this will read well on a book cover” kind of way.

It saw me.

I saw it.

We both paused.

“You new here?” I asked.

It hissed.

“Yeah, okay, that tracks.”

It came at me fast—faster than the last one.

“Whoa—hey—hey, that’s an upgrade—”

“Oh, come on.”

I grabbed a loose brick and chucked it.

Missed completely.

The zombie tackled me.

We hit the ground in a deeply unflattering way.

“Okay!” I yelled, wrestling it away from my face. “So we’ve traded competence for chaos! Bold! Not my favorite direction, but bold!”

Its teeth snapped inches from my nose.

“Also, quick note,” I added, straining, “less face biting, more character arc—”

Its teeth snapped inches from my face.

“Okay!” I yelled upward, at whatever was doing this. “I get it! Stakes! Tension! Very compelling! Can we maybe—”

::Cut.

Everything stopped.

The zombie froze.

Then disappeared.

I was suddenly standing again.

Dust-free.

Uninjured.

Emotionally robbed.

“…you cannot keep doing this,” I said, pointing at the sky. “I am developing trust issues.”

::Silence.

Then—

::Needs stronger hook.

I stared upward.

“Stronger—what? That wasn’t strong enough? I got tackled! There was biting! There was tension!”

A pause.

The world stuttered.

Dozens of zombies began popping into existence like someone discovered the copy-paste function and got excited.

I slowly turned in a circle.

“…this is excessive.”

One zombie tripped over another.

A second walked into a mailbox and got stuck.

A third spun in place like it forgot which direction was forward.

I squinted.

“…are they… finished?”

::Improving realism.

The zombies froze.

Then—again—they vanished.

“…are you serious right now?”

::Editing.

The word slid through my mind like a sticky note.

I pushed myself up, brushing grit off my jacket.

When did I sit down, or lay down, on the ground anyway?

“Right,” I muttered. “So, I’m in… what? A draft? A first draft? Second?”

A pause.

::Editing.

::Add more zombies.

“No,” I said immediately. “No, we don’t need more zombies. We had the perfect amount of zombies. One zombie. Classic. Elegant. Manageable—”

The street filled.

Zombies everywhere.

Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Just… popping into existence like someone discovered the copy-paste function and got excited.

I looked around. Craning my neck like an owl.

“…this is excessive.”

One zombie tripped over another.

“Oh, fantastic. Even better.”

I started walking.

No destination. No plan. Just the strong, gut-level instinct that standing still in a universe that could change its mind at any second was a bad career move.

The entire horde turned toward me at once.

“Okay,” I said, holding up both hands. “Before we do this—quick question—are we coordinated, or is this more of a ‘everyone figure it out as you go’ situation?”

They charged.

Immediately, three fell over.

Two collided.

One just… lay down.

As I walked, things shifted.

A building on my left blinked from a grocery store to a pharmacy.

The sky changed from afternoon to late evening and back again in the span of a blink.

A corpse on the sidewalk rotated ninety degrees like someone nudged it with a mouse.

“Hey!” I snapped. “Pick a time of day and commit!”

::No response.

“Amateur,” I added.

I sighed and started jogging away.

“This is less of a threat and more of a liability,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m actually a little insulted.”

::Deleting scene.

The zombies vanished mid-charge.

One disappeared while mid-fall, which felt like cheating.

The street reset.

Cleaner. Emptier. Suspiciously well-lit.

I stopped.

“…okay,” I said slowly. “Now I’m nervous.”

I turned the corner—and stopped.

::Silence.

Then—

::Introducing new threat.

“No,” I said. “We don’t need a new threat. We just had—look, they weren’t great, but they were something. We can refine. Iterate. We don’t have to—”

There were a lot of zombies.

Like… a lot.

A whole crowd of them filled the street ahead. Dozens. Maybe more. Some standing still, some twitching, some just… waiting.

All of them turned toward me at once.

“Oh come on,” I said. “This is overkill.”

None of them moved.

They just… stared.

“…you’re not even attacking?” I asked. “What is this, a suspense build?”

One of them lifted a foot.

Paused.

Lowered it again.

Another raised its arms.

Paused.

Lowered them.

They were… glitching.

“Wow,” I said. “You all look like you’re buffering.”

The world shimmered.

::Deleting scene.

The zombies vanished.

The street emptied.

The sky reset to a crisp, dramatic golden hour, like someone finally discovered lighting.

I stood alone again.

I clapped slowly.

“Bold choice,” I said. “Really bold. You had something there—big crowd, rising tension—and then you just… nuked it.”

A beat.

::Adding higher stakes.

I froze.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, we don’t need higher stakes. The stakes were fine. The stakes were great, even. Manageable stakes. Reasonable stakes.”

The air grew… heavier.

Like the world was holding its breath.

Then I heard it.

Not a hiss.

Not a groan.

A sound like wet bones grinding together at speed.

I turned slowly.

“No,” I said. “We don’t need a new threat. We just had—look, they weren’t great, but they were something. We can refine. Iterate. We don’t have to—”

Something dropped from above.

It landed behind me with a sound like a bag of wet sticks hitting concrete.

I closed my eyes.

“Of course it did.”

I turned.

It was… a zombie.

Technically.

In the same way a chainsaw is technically a tool.

It was tall.

Too tall.

Its limbs were long and wrong, like they’d been stretched past what a human frame should allow. Its head tilted at an angle that suggested either a broken neck or a very creative design choice.

Its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed faintly, like embers buried under ash.

It had too many joints. That was the first problem. Its arms bent in places arms do not bend. Its legs unfolded like it had been stored wrong.

Its head tilted a full ninety degrees.

Then kept going.

“…no,” I said. “No, that’s not—no.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. “You’ve decided to get experimental.”

It moved.

It straightened.

Its spine made a noise like bubble wrap.

I pointed at it.

“That’s overdesigned. That is aggressively overdesigned. You need to rein it in.”

It moved.

Fast.

Worse.

Fast- fast.

Not zombie fast.

Not even “movie zombie” fast.

Wrong fast. The kind of fast that skips frames

It moved efficiently.

Like it had read the manual on how to catch me.

I pointed at it, pointedly.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, I hate that.”

It was ten feet away.

Then five.

Then right in front of me.

I barely got the crowbar up in time.

Crowbar, again?! But okay!

It slammed into me with enough force to send me skidding across the pavement.

“Okay!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “Okay, this is too much! You overcorrected! This is what we call overcorrection!”

I ran.

Behind me, it followed at a steady, horrifying pace.

Not sprinting.

Not stumbling.

Just… consistently gaining.

“Okay!” I yelled. “Feedback! Constructive feedback! This is too much! You’ve gone from ‘mild inconvenience’ to ‘existential nightmare’ in one draft!”

::No response.

It didn’t pause.

Didn’t hesitate.

It came again.

I ran.

Not strategically. Not heroically. Just ran.

Behind me, it followed—no, not followed. It closed distance. Every time I risked a glance back, it was closer than it should have been.

“Who approved this?!” I yelled. “Who said, ‘you know what this needs? Nightmare fuel on stilts’?!”

I ducked into an alley.

Bad idea.

Dead end.

“Of course it is,” I said, turning around. “Of course it’s a dead end. Classic.”

The thing stepped into the alley entrance.

It tilted its head.

I could hear that bone-grinding sound again, louder now.

“Listen,” I said, holding up a hand. “We can workshop this. We can find a middle ground. Maybe you’re fast, but not… teleporting-adjacent. Maybe you’re scary, but not—”

It lunged.

Time snapped.

The world froze.

The creature hung in the air, inches from me.

I didn’t breathe.

Didn’t move.

“…you gonna delete this too?” I whispered.

::Silence.

Then—

::No.

::Keeping this.

My stomach dropped.

“Of course you are,” I said.

Time resumed.

I dove sideways. The creature slammed into the wall, cracking brick like it was drywall.

“Okay!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “Okay, we’re committing to the bit! I respect it! I hate it, but I respect it!”

It turned.

Slowly this time.

Deliberately.

Like it knew it didn’t have to rush anymore.

Like it knew the rules had changed.

“Yeah,” I said, backing up. “That’s worse. That’s actually worse.”

I looked up at the sliver of sky above the alley.

“Just so we’re clear,” I said, “I liked the earlier draft. The one with the normal zombies? The slightly questionable pacing? That was good. That was fine.”

The creature took a step forward.

Another.

“You didn’t need to prove anything,” I continued. “You didn’t need to escalate. Not everything has to be bigger and scarier and more—”

It moved again.

Fast.

I ran again.

Not because I had a plan.

Not because I thought I could win.

But because somewhere, out there, beyond the sky that flickered and the world that rewrote itself, someone had decided this version of the story was better.

And if they were going to keep this—

If they were going to keep this—

Then I was going to make it as inconvenient for them as possible.

I vaulted a dumpster, slipped on something I chose not to identify, and burst out onto another street.

“Hey!” I shouted at the sky. “If you’re listening—next draft? Give me a flamethrower!”

::A pause.

::Considering.

I grinned, breathless.

“Oh, now you’re thinking about it.”

Behind me, the creature emerged from the alley, unhurried, inevitable.

The world held its breath again.

And for the first time since the sky broke—

I was actually curious what would happen next.

::Highlighting

“Um, are you sure?” I had to ask the sky again.

::Un-highlight

Crap.

Now I’m at the mouth of the alley again.

Yes, the dead end alley.

Why?

For, funsies I suppose.

Hang on! “Where’d my crowbar go?”

I’m holding an aluminum bat with self-tapping screws pushed all the way through.

I inspect it in this quiet moment.

Not bad, could be better with barbed or even electric wire.

What am I thinking?

Electric wire, on an aluminum bat.

Sheesh!

::Writing

Uh-oh.

“One more thing,” I added, now turning a corner, “the earlier ones had personality! This one just feels like you’re trying to impress someone!”

The creature was heading my way all too quickly.

It turned the corner behind me without slowing down.

Show-off.

I spotted a fire escape and scrambled up.

“Ha!” I said, climbing. “Verticality! Didn’t think of that, did you?”

It stopped at the bottom.

Looked up at me.

Then—

It climbed.

Not climbed- climbed.

It… adhered.

Like gravity was more of a suggestion.

“…okay,” I said, climbing faster. “You’ve introduced new physics. That feels unnecessary.”

I hauled myself onto the roof and rolled onto my back, gasping.

“Listen,” I said to the sky, “we need to talk about escalation. There’s a curve. A gentle curve. This—” I gestured wildly toward the thing pulling itself onto the roof “—this is a spike. This is a panic spike.”

It stood.

Tilted its head again.

“Also, the head thing?” I added. “Commit or don’t. Right now it just looks indecisive.”

It lunged.

I scrambled back.

“Okay! Okay, we’re doing this version! We’re committing to a nightmare yoga instructor!”

I grabbed a loose piece of roofing and swung it.

It did nothing.

“Great,” I said. “Love that for me.”

The creature advanced.

Unbothered.

Unimpressed.

Probably unionized.

I backed toward the edge of the roof.

“Just so we’re clear,” I said, pointing upward again, “if I die here, that’s on you. That’s a narrative choice you are making. You are responsible for that decision.”

::A pause.

::Considering.

The creature paused too.

We both looked up.

“…don’t you dare,” I whispered.

::Rewriting outcome.

“Oh, thank goodness,” I said, relaxing slightly. “We’re adjusting. We’re making better cho—”

The roof disappeared.

I dropped.

“OH, COME ON—”

I landed in a dumpster.

Not beside.

Not near.

In.

I lay there for a second, staring up at the slice of sky.

“…you know what?” I said. “That’s fair. That one’s on me. I did ask for change.”

I sat up, pushing aside something I refused to identify.

Above me, the creature peered over the edge of the building.

Still coming.

Of course it was still coming.

“Okay,” I said, climbing out. “New plan.”

I dusted myself off.

There was a crowbar leaning against the dumpster.

I picked it up.

“…we’re back,” I said, smiling.

::A beat.

Balanced tension and capability.

I pointed at the sky.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, that. That’s what I’ve been asking for this entire time.”

The creature dropped down into the alley.

I rolled my shoulders.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s try this again. Third draft. Stronger hook. Better pacing. Slightly less nonsense.”

It tilted its head.

I tightened my grip on the crowbar.

“Also,” I added, “if you give me a flamethrower in the next revision, I will personally stop complaining for at least—”

::A pause.

::Considering.

I grinned.

“—five minutes,” I finished.

The creature lunged.

I swung.

And somewhere, beyond the flickering sky and the constantly revised world—

I could feel it.

Hovering.

Waiting.

Ready to make it worse.

Again.