* 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.
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.
