I am Raven Marzipan Wilder.   What can I say, my father was a nature enthusiast and my mom was a baker.  She moved and semi-retired to Stewart Island with my Aunt Emilia, shortly after dad passed away.  That was 5 years ago.   By the way, I hate marzipan.  If I were to rename myself according to a favorite sweet treat, I’d be Raven Tim Tam  Wilder. Maybe Raven Banana Muffin  Wilder.  That has a nicer ring to it.   Speaking of which, the banana muffins in my freezer will probably be the last ones I ever eat.  Unless New Zealand suddenly turns tropical and start sprouting banana trees.  Who knows, there’s a lot of weird shit happening lately. Note that the muffins are shaped like cartoon piggies.  I like my [Read More]


        The end of the world was heralded by hash tags. #dawnofthedead  #apocalypsenow  #Zpoc  #shoottheminthehead  #RUN   When the first wave of infected started eating other people’s faces, it went viral on Social Media.  Twitter and Facebook were ablaze with what people thought was an elaborate hoax, amplified by  incredible Photoshop skills.  In this day and age, anything can be faked after all – Hobbit feet, silicone boobies, zombies. Mediocre information gets sensationalized via click bait sites.  We were a jaded society, and only fools believed all the bullshit that trolled the internet.   Then suddenly, every channel was interrupted by emergency live-streams all over the world.  When they cancel Dancing with the Stars in America, and disrupt the airing of a rugby match in Australia, you know some serious shit was going down.  The situation escalated rapidly, irreversibly.   No day [Read More]


        Three.  The number of infected I killed today. I use the word killed loosely, because technically, they were already dead.   Two.  The amount of times I almost died in the attempt. If anything, I was lucky.  My attackers were already in varying states of advanced decay.  A couple of Twitchers, that seemingly limped out of Rigor Mortis a considerable few days ago.  Their stiffness replaced by jerky limb movement and sporadic head spasms.  The other was a Rotter that was decomposing on the ground, snapping its teeth in an attempt to get at me.  If they were all running and hysterically screaming, I wouldn’t have survived with just a crow bar to defend myself.  The Screechers — those newly turned motherfuckers — they’re vicious and freakishly fast on their feet.  For some reason, they let out a piercing cry [Read More]

Page 3 of 3
1 2 3