Strawberry Apocalypse

Strawberry Apocalypse: Chapter 1

"Alright remember, friendly back and forth in the first round. Then, right before the bell, take a hard jab, you know, spice up the crowd's energy. Second round, alternate between close shaves and hard receives, get yourself looking run down. Third round, give him his victory lap, before going down in style. You got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it Eric. I get played so our boy can play with himself. Question is, what's my cut?" I asked.

"A nice, generous, fifteen percen-"

"FIFT-" I exclaimed, before noticing the onlookers. "Fifteen percent? Are you shitting me?"

"Look Henry, you know it as well as I do. Zom sightings past the wall have been down. Less Zoms, more watchers on their ass. More watchers on their ass, more likely one of them develops a hernia for some domestic issue. I'm just a simple man running a simple, small business."

"A simple small business," I repeated slowly, looking out to the courtyard. Huddled around the ring were dozens and dozens of residents, packed together to escape the chilly Alaska air. In the buildings surrounding them, almost every window, balcony, and rooftop was crowded with onlookers, each attempting to catch a peek. "Right."

With an exasperated sigh, and hearing the usual "You're my favorite Henry, you know that?", I donned my grey-green mask, shoving my way through the impatient crowd. Stopping just a few feet from the ring, the heat radiating from the crowd was sweltering. Within seconds, I could already feel sweat develop along my arms, forehead, and midriff. Or maybe it was other people's sweat clinging onto me. I felt the urge to gag.

"Ladies and gentlemen, bets are now closed, I repeat, bets are now closed." Eric said, situating himself over a nearby stack of crates. "Now, who's ready to meet our finalists!"

The crowd exploded into a cacophony of cheers and jeers, each of them craving a spectacle full of blood and drama. A master of crowd dynamics, Eric kept on chanting, "Are you ready? Cause I can't hear you.", raising the level of engagement each time, until it threatened to become a stampede. I had to push up against the swarm just to avoid becoming a doormat.

"Alright, alright you bloodthirsty fucks. Here comes our first contestant. He's self-proclaimed. He's unverified. He's the champion of Alaska, BranDON BASHERRRRR!"

From the way he hopped over the fence and pumped his fists in the air, it was clear this 6' 5" tub of lard called Brandon didn't know what half those words meant. Neither did the crowd, for that matter. At the sight of Brandon, courtyard spectators pushed hard against the ring, showering him with adulation.

"And now, for our second contestant. You've watched him in movies. You've read him in books. Pray you've never seen him in real life. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the zoOOMBIE MANNNN!"

If the admiration was thunderous, the boos were deafening. Insults, jeers, taunts, ridicule, mockery, and a host of other colorful words struck me on my trek to the ring. But as I hopped over the rope, I could have sworn I heard a solitary "LET'S GO ZOMBIE MAN!" Nah, probably residue from the deep dark abyssal recess I used to call my self-esteem.

Face to face with my opponent, I could see Brandon was sizing me up, clearly growing confident from our size disparity. "Hey," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "I thought your intro was pretty great. From what I hear about settlement school, most people who graduate barely qualify as literate."

"I never went to school," Brandon said proudly, his wobbly chest puffing up. "Eric is in charge of words and counting and talking. But you Brandon, Eric says, you bash skulls and make lots of green. So every day, I bash skulls and make green."

Jesus, the people I'm paid to lose to. Seconds before the ref said "FIGHT!", Brandon came charging forward. Not that it mattered much. Don't get me wrong, one decent punch from Brandon is enough to turn the clear blue skies into a clear black void. But for that to happen, I'd have to get on my knees, nail my feet to the ground, and maybe after one to two business days I'd embrace the dark. That, or-

I can't tell what about her drew me in. Over to my left, past the shrieking courtyard viewers and sandwiched between a dozen people, was a woman, leaning against the balcony railing. Was it her smile? It wasn't cruel or twisted like so many around her. It was just pleasant, the kind you'd wear while viewing a beautiful sunset. Or maybe it was the eyes. A deep, rich mix of blue-green, it pulled you in like the sea. It's like they said, "It's ok, I see you."

Before I could finish romanticizing the facial features of a complete stranger, I felt my own facial features bear the brunt of a devastating, slow, bash. Flying backwards into the railing, and then collapsing on my back, I witnessed the beautiful blue skies quickly fade into a dark nothing.

"Fuck," I thought before passing out, "fat chance in hell I'm getting that fifteen percent now."