Apocalyptic Party

 The hoards of decomposing animated corpses reached towards Sebastien Carter as he climbed up onto the bonnet of the car. He smelt their stench crawling up his nostrils, a smell of decomposition, blood and possibly a hint of garlic.

 A pale hungry hand grabbed the edge of Carter's long trench coat which he'd stolen from a derelict shop thinking he'd look cool walking down the empty streets with the great black leather thing billowing out behind him like a cape. He had looked cool, so attractive in fact that the undead had flocked towards him like moths to a flame. Unfortunately the metaphor didn't extend to the degree whereby zombies would burst into flames and die upon contact with Carter. Instead he was finding that like many fashion accessories, the coat was stylish but impractical, and in these circumstances, very possibly lethal.

 He felt another strong tug on the coat as yet more hands grabbed onto its beautiful black leather. Carter gritted his teeth and dug his manicured nails into the smooth red surface of the car bonnet. But he was fighting a losing battle as the pull grew only stronger. Carter winced as his nails screeched across the polished metal, grinding away at his fine nails in the process. He considered the fact that at this point, death seemed inevitable and if he was going to die, he might as well die with an unspoiled expensive leather coat and perfect nails. He swallowed hard, then let go.

 Carter burst up through the layers of soft feather filled fabrics, sweat dripping from his slick chestnut brown hair, his dark eyes wide with fear. Still not entirely awake he scrambled out of the humid grasps of his bed covers. Ignoring the pain, his hands scrambled madly across his bedside table like some overgrown spider, knocking off various domestic items as it rampaged across the smooth varnished wooden surface. His breathing only subsided when the hammer was in his sweaty grasp, cold and reassuring.

 The ragged panicked panting that had shuddered through his thin frame gradually slowed and eased. He lifted the hammer and delicately kissed one crude hard metal end of the blunt instrument with his soft pink lips. He tasted metal and briefly wondered whether it was the lingering flavour of blood or just the taste of the metal that formed the hammer.

 He sat in the darkness, his hunched body silhouetted by a stream of silver moon light invading his room through an opening between the curtains, cradling his hammer like a lover. Carter dared not let himself into a relationship for fear of waking up one morning to see his bloodied lover growing cold beside him and the dripping hammer held in his grasp. Nor would he ever be able to completely trust his partner. The end of the world had left no one untouched.

  Still shaking softly, Carter coughed then began to whisper to himself. He heard his own trembling, weak, scared voice and in an attempt to calm himself,began to recite his famous speech.

 As he spoke he felt himself become the confident well dressed young man that the people had seen in their television screens that day. The young man whose confidence and unwavering commanding voice had inspired the nation. He remembered how he'd gripped the sides of the old pedestal in an attempt to stop his arms from shaking, digging his nails into the wood until his fingers were numb. He had whispered his well written speech to himself at least a hundred times before Alice had finally announced that the cameras were live after what felt like an eternity of waiting.

 As he remembered Carter felt the strength return and the shuddering subside, he felt the cold chill of sweat cooling on his pale stretched skin. He remembered the power and the ecstasy of that day as every unbroken screen in the country showed him as he spoke with apparent ease. He remembered the joy of knowing that the confused people whose jumbled minds could scarcely adapt to the climate enough to think were swallowing and believing every smooth syllable that slipped out of from between his refined lips. He remembered the moment he had become an icon.

 As these memories coursed through his veins, reinvigorating every cell in his body, Carter began his speech again. This time he addressed the darkness of his bedroom in a clear and confident tone, "Today," he began, his voice resonating in the shadows "is a wake up call. Today you realise that those who were once friend or family, no matter how close, are now monsters. We find ourselves in the midst of a nightmare, where we must pit ourselves against those who were once dear to us, now changed for ever." Carter paused as he had done on the broadcast over a year ago, "But there is hope. There is always light no matter how bleak or dark the world may seem, but the light is only for those who are willing to reach for it. You must adapt, adapt to survive, to fight, to triumph." Another dramatic pause, a time to let the echoes sink into the mind of those sheep like people, "And we will survive! We are humans! And we will over come this zombie problem." A pause, a serious glare into the cameras, making eye contact with everyone who is staring at a flickering screen, "Ladies and gentlemen, I do not use the word apocalypse. Simply because... this is not the end."