cerita zombi 3

 > > > ternyata belom eksyen. chapter 4 yach.

tapi lebih banyak dialog.

tokoh-tokoh baru gitu.

suspense.

komen yak sodara-sodara. mungkin disebarin ke temen2 (penerbit) juga LOL.

p.s. gue baru tau kalo 'i am legend'-nya will smith ternyata diangkat dari buku. berhubung nonton pelemnya asal-asalan, boleh lah kucari bukunya untuk referensi. world war Z dan prekuel-nya juga. hm.

met baca! > > >

There’s nothing much you can do as it is. You either sleep, help around, train, cry, freak out, or talk, and talk and talk.

It’s been exactly two months ever since it all began.

Even for a boy like Ezra who literally never minds basically anything, the unchanging routine is killing him.

But not today though. Today he finds his washed pants and t-shirts are gone from their usual spot on the communal clothesline on the northeast building. There’s a folded A4 paper pinned with the wooden clothespin and it has his name written in bold, block letters.

if ur so great,meet us @ da southwest backyard
We have ur posesion
x

   
“No shit.” Ezra mumbles and shoves the letter into the pocket of his cargo pants, because if anything does go south, all pun intended, he will have it as a proof that he’s not the one initiating shit. After scanning the empty rooftop, he kicks the metal door open with his misplaced strength until it meets the wall and gives a loud bang!

What he’s going to face? It won’t be his first confrontation. A boy like Ezra was misunderstood way too often he didn’t even try to stop pretending that he cared anymore, because he didn’t (doesn’t, will never) give a damn whether his lack of facial expression was annoying a bunch of upperclassmen or whether his choice to be alone was mistranslated as an arrogant I’m-holier-than-thou act from his peers. Like, wasn’t that what they want? For him to be out of their lives? Then why did they always seem to make a hobby out of calling him to ‘have a talk’ right after school at the deserted, public gymnasium where teachers or adult alike wouldn’t know what kind of ‘talk’ they were going to give him? Of course Ezra had had enough of the typical yapping and the following memento of bluing skin on his torso or hips or upper thighs. He’s no less human than them, he didn’t deserve the ‘talk’ at all he made sure he had their regular recorded in his smartphone the last time a dozen of upperclassmen called him to have the ‘talk’—because earlier that day, Ezra remembers vividly, probably because he made sure he stared seconds longer with his soulless, haughty eyes—their words not his—to the upperclassmen’s gang leader who wasn’t even that tall or big, during recess. And that was enough to get his ass dragged to the public gymnasium. He had to stifle his smile while they taunted him with their dull NGAPAIN LO NGELIATIN GUA TADI SIANG, HAH? LO MAU NYARI RIBUT?! LO MAU RIBUT SAMA GUE? LO BERANI RIBUT SAMA GUE?! BARU KELAS SATU AJA LAGAK UDAH KAYAK RAJA—and for the first time ever, and the last, he begged for unheard mercy in between their laughter and mocking HAHAHAHA BARU SEKARANG LO MINTA AMPUN? TELAT NJING!!—assured that his smartphone which was taped tightly on his left ankle, hidden by the pipe of his grey slacks and white socks, had been recording their voices. He went to the principal office the next day, still with fresh bruises on his cheek and stomach, with the voice recording and a sprinkle of victimized sobbing, successfully kicking all of his upperclassmen tormentors out of their school in disgrace, and nobody ever messed with his poker face and his unfriendliness anymore.

He will do it all over again. Zombie apocalypse be damned.

*

When Ezra is lying idly on his bed, hours later, he hears the stomping first before the person owning the expensive boots is appearing on his room’s door without knocking. A boy, short, furious.

Ezra is good with faces, but he’s not good with names.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Nakula’s been waiting for years you dickhead!” Yeah, not this one. Who is this anyway?

Ezra sits up and raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“What—!” the boy’s mouth forms an O. And then he’s gaping like a fish out of water. “So what they say about you is true. Shit.” Suddenly, he’s laughing without a mirth on his trembling voice. “It’s not funny, you dickhead! Come out and follow me!”

“Why?” Ezra asks again.

“Don’t you want your clothes back?!” the boy is almost shouting by now.

“Oh,” Ezra makes a face, and shrugs. “It’s almost dusk. I’ll go see him after dinner. You didn’t write a specific time at that paper, by the way.”

“My god,” the boy spits it like a curse, “I hope you die!” he points a finger at Ezra and runs.

*

Tonight is fried rice day. Ezra sits at the corner of the dimly lit dining room and only gets four spoonfuls before unfamiliar shadows are falling over him.

“Get up.” Says a pleasant but cruel voice from his right side.

Ezra looks up and squints. Is this Nakula? He recognizes Pipit smirking among the human barricade, and the boy who wished him dead, but the rest, not really.

“I’m eating,” Ezra declares the obvious.

“No you’re not.” Probably-Nakula snatches his paper plate with a lightning speed. Tch. Ezra likes fried rice, he does, he could eat fried rice his mom cooked for a week straight a long time ago. “You’re coming with us, now.”

“Okay.” Ezra stands up and finds he’s eye to eye with Probably-Nakula. Good. He knows being tall is a threat for the nearest self-proclaimed leader like Probably-Nakula, and he’s glad he’s not losing in that petty aspect.

Probably-Nakula starts to walk without any word, still carrying his paper plate, and disposes it at the huge trash bag situated by the entrance. He’s not stupid, then. Ezra tells himself to be extra careful.

They’re heading to the southwest backyard as expected, and Probably-Nakula says conversationally in his mostly pleasant voice, no cruelty detected,

“Jakarta’s sky without pollution for two months, huh?” he speaks to the rest of the group, nodding at the starry sky above them. “It’s beautiful, right?” and echoes of agreement are parroting his statement.

Except for Ezra, who prefers the ocean and its haunting beauty over anything.

“What do you think?” Probably-Nakula is smiling when he addresses our protagonist like they’re old pals from birth.

“Me? Nothing.” Ezra blinks, and hears the sneering and scoffing from Probably-Nakula’s toy soldiers surrounding him.

Probably-Nakula chuckles. “Sure,” he slows down his steps to clap Ezra’s shoulders, “how are you, Ezra?”

“Hungry.” And Most-Likely-Nakula laughs out loud. See? Ezra can be hilarious, too.

“Sorry about that,” Most-Likely-Nakula claps his shoulders again, “but you won’t be hungry anymore once you play with us.”

They arrive at the southwest backyard, protected by ten feet tall black wall and wired fence as cherry on top. About twenty meters behind is the south guard post, currently occupied with fried rice-eating watchmen, their AK-47s are poised ready toward the street outside.

What kind of game are they going play here?

“So!” Verified-Nakula whispers to them all, telling them to crouch down underneath the big rambutan tree. “Who’s excited?”

Hands shooting up so fast Ezra wonders if their muscle joints are alright.

“Who would like to play tonight?” Nakula hums as he scans his eager toy soldiers trying their best to look the most appealing. “Pipit, you’re in, then you, Tyo, David, Ambar, and of course our honorable guest, Ezra.”

T B C . . .

are you, are you coming to the tree?

maksud ane. lu olang udah pada nonton the hunger games: mockingjay?

maksud ane. itu lagu 'the hanging tree' sukses bikin merinding, meskipun dengan rendah hati kukatakan gue biasa-biasa aja sama the hunger games trilogy (baca bukunya pun tidak).

tapi seriusan. lagu itu................................................

gue sering banget nonton film di bioskop selama 11 bulan terakhir di tahun 2014 ini, dan kali pertama gua merinding karena film bioskop itu adalah karena jeng jeng jeng dawn of the planet of the apes, di scene caesar balik ke rumah milik james franco tempat dia dibesarkan dulu, terus dia nonton rekaman video dirinya diajarin main catur sama james franco dan gue pun berkaca-kaca ketika ngetik ini baahahahahhahahahah.

dan kali kedua, yha ini. the hanging tree scene. nggak sanggup sodara-sodara. selain karena liriknya yang ngeri, juga karena aransemen bombastisnya waktu scene peledakan bendungan. ah. mantap.

tapi bamby tetep yah biasa-biasa aja sama the hunger games lol.

anyway.

lo liat itu buku? lo liat bae-bae, dan plis, plis kalo emang lagi bosen ingin ditantang oleh bahasa inggris dan horor dan vampir virus dan cerita yang super seru, plis, tolong, segera baca the strain yang ditulis oleh guillermo del toro (YANG BIKIN PAN'S LABYRINTH ALIAS PELEM YANG TELAH MENGUBAH DIRIKU LOL) dan chuck hogan. plis.

gue beli di periplus lotte shopping avenue kuningan, harga 126 ribu, 585 halaman gue gempur dalam 2,5 hari....................................... dan memang the strain udah jadi original series di FX, cuman setau gue belom ditayangin di indonesah.

trilogi, seperti biasa, dan sejauh ini gue belom liat lanjutannya dijual dimana-mana. ane ga sanggup lagi kudu baca sekuelnya secepat mungkin. karena ane pun jadi yakin bisa terinspirasi buat ezra zombi bahahahahhahahaha.

gue kan baru melewati fase menggemari stephen king, dan gue bisa bilang kalo style mbah king dan duet om del toro-hogan boleh lah dikomparasi dengan adil. semuanya vivid! (candaan a la misery yang gue nggak yakin lo paham atawa kaga). pokoknya daya terornya 'dapet'. gue tinggal menunggu waktu ketika ada sekelebatan-sekelebatan lewat di ujung peripheral vision gue, dan gue yang macho ini bakalan stres sendiri agak-agak teriak dan paranoid dan akhirnya nyengir karena hey, itu artinya ada sebuah buku yang sukses bikin gue yang macho ini........................................

so.

plis.

p.s. gue baru tau di blok m square itu sarangnya buku-buku bekas? siap disatroni. yang mau ikut persenjatai diri sendiri ye kita naik busway lol.

cerita zombi 2

•  jatohnya (masih) character study nih.

si ezra kayaknya bukan psikopat, tapi mengidap asperger syndrome. hmmm.

kuberpikir action nanti di chapter selanjutnya.

big thanks buat joce, dhita, abong, dan zetra yang udah baca dan komen dan brainstorm di FB. iseng-iseng aja ini biar otak gak karatan.

• jangan lupa komen yach!

Before this shit went down, Ezra had to go to a psychiatrist twice every month, usually on Fridays right after school with his mom driving his dad’s SUV, making small talks about her colleagues and asking a lot of things about his day.

Ezra’s mom is (was?) a tall woman. She speaks in a low volume and her tinted red lips are always curling up as if she smiles all the time. She only eats chicken and she only reads fictional politic novels. Actually, she’s five years older than Ezra’s dad, who was (is?) an avid comic book reader. Ezra doesn’t even like to read anything, so that’s pretty much heartbreaking for his dad. Now that he realizes his dad’s comic book collection is probably nothing but ashes thanks to the demolition, well, the left side of Ezra’s chest clenches uncomfortably.

“What are you thinking?”

Ezra glances to where his psychiatrist, Dr. Fulan, is sitting cross legged on the cold, tiled floor.

It’s like a deja vu, because Dr. Fulan would ask about what he was thinking before he asked about what he was feeling, back then in his cozy office with the dimmed lighting and a dozen of bronze plaques for his dedication, accomplishment, and recognition as a renowned psychiatrist. The only different thing is, now Dr. Fulan is dressed in a frayed sweater, a pair of turmeric colored chino, and black sneakers, of all things. His hair is longer, too, unkempt, and his frameless glasses are crooked.

“Me? My dad’s comic books.” Ezra answers, shrugging.

“Oh? What about them?” Dr. Fulan links his fingers together, clearly intending to reestablish himself as Ezra’s former psychiatrist.

“Huh, nothing,” Ezra decides to play along. “They’re gone.”

“And how do you feel about them gone?”

“Nothing. They’re my dad’s.”

“Is there any knickknack of yours that you left behind, Ezra?”

“Yeah, my laptop.”

“Would your laptop help you feeling better in any way if you brought it along?”

“Of course not. It’s not a weapon.”

Dr. Fulan nods, and he sighs.

“Do you think help will come?”

“I don’t know, doctor.”

“Do you miss your parents? Your friends?”

“More or less.”

“Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Eh. No.”

Dr. Fulan leaves without another word and Ezra continues sitting down on the cold, tiled floor, tuning out the bristling all around him at the government’s shelter, and falls asleep.

*

Before this shit went down, Ezra didn’t have to do house chores other than keeping everything neat and clean after usage. Now he has to wash his own clothes, learns how to build something other than Lego, and, weirdly, smiles like everything is alright 24/7.

That’s a lot of work for him.

There are boys and girls around his age, too, and they seem to have a silent agreement to always stick together. They’re loud, they’re giggly, and they get angry when they understand that Ezra is not interested to play with their little merry go round circle, by ostracizing him.

Not that Ezra cares.

The Virus is still incurable. Ezra is good with faces but not names, and he’s been in the government’s shelter for five weeks. So far, he counts less than six people are missing. Or, who is he kidding, ha ha, they’re dead because they showed the symptoms and were quarantined and never came back. Ezra is scared, obviously. He doesn’t want to die, no matter what. The shelter is too crowded, and virus, according to his Science class, travels fast. Even breathing in the same air with the virus bearer can heighten the risk of you getting infected. What the heck, right? Nowhere is safe. For now, Ezra makes sure he lives in the separate headquarters from those unfortunate, dead people (zombies?), keeps his own spoon and fork, and ties a handkerchief around his nose and mouth day and night.

*

Before this shit went down, Ezra spent his leisure time watching TV. He watched everything; ancient football matches, music videos, cheap reality shows, the news, detective/horror series, cartoon adaptation from his dad’s favorite comic book, movies, animal documentaries, culinary reviews, talk shows, even the home shopping channel.

At the government’s shelter, he does nothing. When his chores are finished, he sits down on the cold, tiled floor right across his room, and just exists like that. He doesn’t mind. His hobby is not reading or talking or playing half-assed basketball. He liked his 60” high definition flat screen his dad bought only, what, half a year ago. Now it turned to ashes and he doesn’t know where his dad is.

Half a year ago, huh? He wasn’t seventeen yet. He was eight inches shorter, too. But the numbers don’t matter now.

“Hi.”

Ezra looks up and sees a pixie haired girl smiling down at him. Basically, her t-shirt swallows her upper body and her denim shorts are baggy. She wears a pair of pink sandal. Her toes are, somehow, tended beautifully.

Ezra nods, and uncrosses his arms.

“Can I sit here?” she points at the empty space next to Ezra, and her fingernail is pretty, too.

“Yeah.” Before this shit went down, Ezra didn’t think too much about girls in general. They’re alright. They’re easy on the eyes, they smelled fruity, and they seemed to favor his aloofness.

(Which was kinda ironic because his parents didn’t, thus Dr. Fulan.)

The pixie haired girl then plops down next to him, keeping a distance, and her smile is not blinding or what, but it’s a nice smile.

“Hi, I’m Pipit.”

“Ezra.”

Ezra doesn’t want to shake hands. The Virus, remember? Pipit raises an eyebrow as she pulls back her right hand with a giggle.

“What’s your story, Ezra?” she tilts her head and rests it on her folded knees.

“What do you mean?” Ezra has to readjust his handkerchief around his mouth so he can talk like a normal person.

"Who are you, why are you here, with whom, for how long... The usual.” Pipit smiles again, encouragingly.

"Me? I got here with the federal truck. They destroyed my home. I think I’ve been here for almost six weeks now.” Ezra says with a frown because if he were Pipit, he’s sure he wouldn’t want to know anything about himself.

“That sucks,” she shakes her head, and after a minute or two she bursts out laughing. “Don’t you wanna know about me?”

“Eh,” Ezra mumbles. “Go ahead, I guess.”

“Okay then, say it.”

“Say what?”

“The questions, of course!”

“What questions?”

“About me!”

Ezra can’t decide whether he’s annoyed or not interested, so he gets up and walks away.

T B C. . .

cerita zombi

* iseng. untitled kayak si april.

tapi cerita ini bisa jadi gua bikin serius sih.

setting di jakarta, sejauh ini.

ezra, tokoh utama kita, umurnya tujuh belas tahun. laki-laki. (kemungkinan) psikopat BAHAHAHAH maklum baru nonton film 'nightcrawler'.

eh apaan lagi ye.

semoga jadi bacaan yang kece.

dan bikin lo mikir.

emang sengaja cliffhanger, btw.
soalnya mentok segitu aja lol.

komen ye kalo udah baca xixixixixixi*

When this shit went down, Ezra was at school, sitting absentmindedly on his desk with nothing going on in his head while he was supposed to finish an assignment. He can’t remember what class it was, but he’s sure it was history.

He liked history.

Right now he can’t be absentminded anymore. If he so much loses concentration of whatever is going on around him, he’s going to be some zombies’ dinner. That would be stupid, because he’s survived this far, miles away from his home, smart enough not to make unnecessary noises and stabbing the zombies’ rotten brains with the broom’s handle, a stolen property from his classroom, at first, before switching to knives and a hammer. Besides, those zombies? They’re just stupid people getting killed for panicking and screaming and generally being useless. Ezra is not stupid. Sure the world is messed up, but he doesn’t want to die. He’s only seventeen.

And he’s alone.

Not that he’s complaining.

When this shit went down, he grabbed his bag and took the classroom’s one and only broom with him. Instead of rushing to the main gate to get back home along with hundreds of distressed fifteen to eighteen year olds, he went to the empty canteen, raided every packaged foods he could find, lots of plastic bags, and foolishly so, three bottles of mineral water. He swore he would pay for everything if the shit was only an issue. It isn’t, now, is it? So...

Ezra went home then, his motorcycle was brimmed with gas, but he stopped by the, again, emptied gas station and rummaged through for a tank. He filled two, and the main street was chaotic. People were rushing, private cars, public transportations, buses... all were honking impatiently. There were accidents, too. That made Ezra focused on his motorcycle, and soon enough he was at his housing complex, which was also chaotic because family cars were trying their fastest to get out of there. Ezra’s parents were at work, their offices were next to each other in the city central. They had phoned him and said they’d be home ASAP.

They never showed up.

When this shit went down, Ezra holed up in his two story, minimalistic home with all the doors locked and windows shut. He didn’t turn on any lights at night. He kept a backpack ready within his reach; clothes, foods, water, money, his mom’s jewelries, lighter, flash light, batteries, knives were—some still are—stuffed inside. He monitored the news on muted TV and his class’ group chat on social media, getting some vague information about taking shelter at the president palace or at the nearest police station, hospital, or just stayed home until further notice.

Ezra opted for the later until he got woken up by a blaring siren and a very, very loud vehicle stating that the area, including the housing complex, was going to be demolished in fifteen minutes. That all citizens still living in their houses to get on the federal trucks because they would be evacuated to a safer place.

Ezra remembers the news were speculating about The Virus. Don’t get bit, no matter what happens, they said. Aim for its brain, they advised. Symptoms include coughing, bluing skin and nails, reddened eyes, and pain electrocuting your whole body you’re going to have a hard time breathing. If one of your kins is having those symptoms, better get out before it’s too late, they insisted.

When a little kid sitting right behind the driver in the truck where Ezra was evacuated showed those symptoms, and her parents were looking extra guilty somehow, Ezra stood up and swayed, hauling his bag on his shoulders and ignoring the protest from the people around the cramped truck as he excused himself to move nearer to the door. He thought of asking the police officers assigned to guard their truck to get off, but he scolded himself because no way the little kid would turn any minute now. Besides, there was an annoying woman who kept on asking when were they going to arrive every goddamn second, and the police officers never got tired of telling her that they were only—

That’s when the screaming began.

Ezra remembers a blur of movements, then people shoving him to unlock the door and more unnecessary noises as the little kid chewed on her dad’s bloody arm. The convoy stopped, the police officers were ready with their guns, and when the leader commanded to take down the little kid her mom pleaded to spare her family’s lives. At that point her husband was surely going to turn, and the leader said they couldn’t take a risk.

What made Ezra wonder how fascinating everything is was the way the dad shook his head at his wife and climbed out of the truck holding his daughter tight so she wouldn’t attack the other citizens. He was crying, his wife was wailing, and then he walked away to the direction of a dark alley. The police officers urged them to get back into the truck, but they refused due to the blood on the floor. The leader instructed the floor to be splashed with water and Ezra sure as hell was not going to get back into that truck, hello, The Virus, and moved to the last truck of the convoy, stationing himself near the door again.

lol cerpen untitled

When April was fourteen, she had a boyfriend.
    

He was the head of the class; loud, with almost a constant laugh on his pleasant face and he was really terrible at math. April? April liked math, and so when he helped the math teacher to distribute last week's test results and saw April's glaring 95 score, he went to one knee right there and then next to April's desk and asked April to tutor him.

April shrugged. She had thought it'd be cool to befriend the all around nice guy every single girl in her class seemed to fancy, because at that time she didn't really feel anything about him and she also thought that his determination to get a better score at math was admirable.

One day, as they stayed in the library after school along with a bunch of solemn-looking ninth graders cramming for tryout, he whispered, "You're really different from any other girl."

April looked up from her notebook, eyebrows raised, a teasing smile her father always said will hit a boy in a tingly way was ready on her small mouth.

"How so?" she asked, genuinely curious and conscious that her navy blue tie was askew and her long hair was tied up messily.

"I don't know," he grinned sheepishly. "You're awesome."

"Thanks." She held up a thumb and continued to review what was taught in trigonometry just hours ago.

There was a pause.

"Hey, want to go to Mc Donald's?" he nudged April's shoes with his. "My treat."

"Nice." April nudged his shoes back. "Now?"

"Sure, only if you become my girlfriend." He was sitting across the table and he made a crooked, mismatched half-heart using his pens, a mechanic pencil, and a black eraser. He looked nervous when he threw his hands in the air and whispered again, "What do you say?"

April didn't need to think, this time. She pulled out her pens and pencils and completed the half-heart into a whole replica of what heart was supposed to look like.

She nudged his shoes again.

"I'm so happy right now!" he exclaimed, loud, like he’s supposed to be, and leaned forward to pinch the cleft of April’s chin affectionately.

THE END

review wafer stick

astor, maksudnya.

tapi karena astor itu ternyata brand bukan sebutan untuk kue yang satu ini. yha.

sayangnya untuk review kali ini gue cuma bisa ngasih dua brand ternama aja dengan tampilan mirip. ada banyak brand lainnya dengan tampilan beda tapi juga disebut 'wafer stick'.

berikut asto---i mean wafer stick review:

jawara. lapisan wafernya tebal. cokelatnya emang cokelat beneran. teksturnya lebih keras. namba wan. mahal pula.

untuk sementara di peringkat dua, karena bamby belom nyobain brand lainnya. rasanya? aneh bukan cokelat. cuma manis vanili bubuk yang biasa buat adonan kue lebaran itu loh. tekstur wafer juga teramat sangat tipis. tapi murah. hm.

menurut bamby, wafer stick cihuy buat camilan alternatif. gak terlalu manis-manis khas krim, gak bikin batuk kayak chiki/keripik kentang, isinya banyak, dan gampang dimakan misalnya buat nonton bola atau baca buku bahahahahahh.

sekian!