Caitlin Archives

March 9, 2009

Caitlin: Office Politics

He stares at me balefully every morning. It didn’t used to be this way. I can’t figure out where things went wrong. Although I initially considered him a decoration, it’s not like I mistreated him. I kept his water clean, fed him daily – twice on Mondays and Fridays, since he is alone all weekend.

I think he’s holding a grudge. He just looks at me through the glass, his snub-nose and underbite no longer cute. Now his dog-like face is menacing.

Honestly, though: I should worry about vengeance from a fish? Silly.

I still wish he’d stop staring at me.

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March 11, 2009

Caitlin: A Little Help from My Friends

Twice clockwise, thrice widdershins…

She felt like an idiot as she circled the garden carrying the bowl of blood and cow’s milk, muttering words of an ancient prayer. It’s never going to work, she thought. Why am I out here?

Desperation. She’d lost to Missy Thrailkill and her gorgeous tomatoes and her heirloom cabbage heads for five years now, and she’d be dammed if she’d take third prize again.

I’ll give her a cabbage head…

She placed the bowl of milk in the center of the circle and walked to the house. Who knows? Maybe they will come after all.

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March 19, 2009

Caitlin: Things Are Tough All Over

“Registration form?” The bearded man looks puzzled.

“Yes, registration form. We don’t take just anyone,” she says without looking up.


“Dude, she can’t send anyone to St. Peter without the paperwork,” mutters the young man behind him.

“But, I’m… you know,” the bearded man lets his voice get louder. “The Son.”

The desk woman finally looks at him. “And I’m Mother Theresa. Do you have the form or not? You’re holding up my line.”

“But… do you have any idea what I’ve been through? And you want a form?” he’s shouting now.

“Hey, buddy, I’m just doing my job.

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March 20, 2009

Caitlin: I Hope a Shark Eats It

The wind whipped her hair as she threw it into the surf; it landed with a splash she couldn’t hear over the breakers. Good riddance.

She’d chewed it out painstakingly with her own dainty little teeth, and it took several years. A labor of love, really, that went unappreciated. “Nothing but trouble, “ she’d told the others. “And we don’t need more trouble.”

Not everyone agreed, but they didn’t hold the power that she did. So she’d had her way.

A long time to wait for this blissful emptiness, but worth every cold wave she could feel even from shore.

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March 25, 2009

Caitlin: Totally Predictable

He likes to put on old songs during dinner. He made his own CD with his favorites, for these special occasions.

Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah… oh, how true. Too bad Dinah doesn’t know it anymore.

Hey, good lookin’… whatcha got cookin? How’s about cookin’ something up with me?… definitely cooking with you. Wink, wink.

You better come on in my kitchen, ‘cause it’s goin’ to be raining outdoors… it is, in fact raining today. Which made it easier to convince her to get in the van. He doubts that she’ll be missed; he’s too careful with his choices.

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March 31, 2009

Caitlin: Maybe the Apocalypse is Kinder

As she rested in the shade of the old barn, she considered how her life had changed.

Four months ago, she was worried about her promotion; if Don was going to help take care of Mom; if David would propose; about if Sherry would stand her up for dinner again.

Today, Don, Mom, David, and Sherry are all dead. Or sort of dead. Today, she worries about finding food, water, and enough ammunition to get through the day.

The stress is much higher now. But life is much simpler.

She’s hard put to say that now is worse than then.

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April 15, 2009

Caitlin: Gifts to Impress

He hates tribute day. Every year, it’s the same: the lines, the heat, the bragging, the live animal stench. Why live animals when the dead ones were easier to handle? Provided they were fresh, of course.

He sits on the throne, the mantle and crown too heavy, sweat dripping down his back. He monotonously repeats the stock phrase of royal thanks without really paying attention. Until she approaches.

She is unremarkable; plain features, plain clothing. But her tribute stamps its hooves and belches a snort of fire that singes the hem of his robe. Finally, an end to his boredom.

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May 10, 2010

Caitlin: Happy Mother's Day

It never quite turns out like you expect, John sighed.

He’d gathered all the ingredients, drawn the circle and other symbols, cut the chicken’s throat at just the right moment. It worked: there she was, just like he remembered her. Beautiful, young - you’d never guess she’d been dead for seven years. He did it for himself, true, but for her too; for them, for the kids who now won’t have to grow up motherless.
It’s not like he expected fawning gratitude, but he sure didn’t think she’d be screaming at him.

“John, what have you done? I was happy!”

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May 18, 2010

Caitlin: It's What You Make It

Today would be different. It was going to be The Day: the day he remembered.

He opened the curtains to the sun, noted each small movement. He thought, I've opened the curtains. What a beautiful day to remember!

He smiled at her in the kitchen, poured coffee. The smell of coffee! He could never forget that, or the sight of her returning smile. He tried to mark in his brain - my wife! Smiling!

They sat silently at the small table outside, mugs in hand. She ventured, "How're you feeling?"

He looked at her mutely. Shook his head.

Maybe tomorrow.

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June 1, 2010

Caitlin: A Zombie in the Hand is Worth...

I knew it was dangerous, but I figured as long as we had enough firepower and enough chain, we’d be okay. Besides, it made surviving so much easier. The hardest part about firepower was just getting to the shops alive: Spot solved that.

Not that it was easy keeping a live zombie in camp. He made weird noises, and when the chain clanked, we’d start awake, grabbing guns. We finally decided on Valium and a nightly watch schedule. Each of us would get a good night’s sleep at least three nights a week. Until Brian fell asleep during his watch.

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