The country continues to prove the lives of innocents are less important than the guns that are supposed to be helping save them, while I dream of firing upon the approaching enemy with only my fingers and pew-pew sounds when war broke out; they, however, looked armed with working weapons and didn’t fall to my playground rules, so I fled with my comrades. We reached an empty elevator where, just my luck, I found a loaded shotgun, whose sliding stock was strangely located on the opposite side of the trigger but the Resident Evil games otherwise left me familiar enough to yield. And wouldn’t you know, the threat became zombies, which eased my conscience about using it, though I remained concerned that I might be stopped by any authorities we encountered, for its barrel would have been awkward for me to hide in my hoodie’s sleeve. Still, I was now the heavy hitter in my troupe and we drove toward the front line to escort others making their escape from a building behind the main one, which my knowledge of the Austin campus I identified as the “Robert Patterson.” On our way there, we could see some of them walking toward freedom single-file on a ledge.
Leave a Reply