As per Wikipedia:
A guilty pleasure is something one enjoys and considers pleasurable despite feeling guilt for enjoying it. The "guilt" involved is sometimes simply fear of others discovering one's lowbrow or otherwise embarrassing tastes, such as campy styles of entertainment.
Like when a football player enjoys listening to Frank Sinatra.
Or when someone like me reads a zombie book.
(But World War Z was really the book that started the whole craze, and The Zombie Survival Guide is really funny!)
Anne McCaffery used to be my guilty pleasure, when I was young and fantasy was so un-cool. Now I admit my sci-fi/fantasy addiction with pride. But I still hesitate to bring my Monster Hunter books by Larry Correia to book club (they're my husband's, I swear!!!).
So, for the prompt this week, indulge your guilty pleasure. Vampires who sparkle. Werewolves with ripped abs. Sappy romance. You know what you like!
Me ... I'm going with the zombies!
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Rain pounded against the boarded up windows, and the wind howled through the eves of the old-fashioned mansion. It wouldn't have been my first choice for a safe house, but the thirty foot concrete wall surrounding the property made up for the ancient building. I sighed, thanking the lunatic who built the place. When the dead had actually risen, it had been ten times worse than any Hollywood flick. For the first time in two months, I felt like I was safe.
I first noticed her when the residents started bringing around food. I was one of a dozen people they'd rounded up tonight and brought back to safety. As the aroma of soup and fresh bread filled the room, most of us reacted like the half starved creatures we were.
She did not. She lounged awkwardly against the floorboards, one ankle twisted beneath her in a way that made my legs hurt just looking at them. Her skin was still spotted with beads of sweat and rain. An elastic lingered in her hair near the ends, as if it had once valiantly held a ponytail, but had finally given up the fight. Her jeans were torn, and her jacket had bloodstains across the left breast.
When they brought her a bowl, she didn't respond. The residents didn't spare much time for her. They set the food on the ground and walked away. The young boy next to her gulped down his own serving and then eyed her portion.
I don't know what made me do it, but I accepted my own dinner, then moved and sat between her and the boy. Whatever she'd been through, she deserved it, and the boy would surely get more later. She didn't notice me, or at least, she gave no sign of it.
The man who'd found me in the trailer park, Matt, thudded across the floor in his combat boots. He had more guns on him than the Terminator. Some of the other guys who had been with him sat around a table at one end of the long hall, chewing on their rolls and disassembling their weapons.
Matt stopped right in front of her, his mud-caked boots within arm's reach. "You know how to clean a pistol?"
My eyes darted from the boots up to his steely eyes. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at her.
Slowly, her chest expanded, as if she'd been holding her breath and just decided against it. She lifted her chin, bringing her empty gaze up to meet his. "I've done it a time or two."
Matt gestured towards the table. "We could use some help over here."
She rose, thin legs gathering themselves beneath her as she stood.
Matt told me later that he had been testing her. This wasn't one of the humanitarian camps that formed up. The men in charge at The Mansion, as it came to be called, were soldiers. They didn't have resources to keep dead weight, and they didn't know if they'd ever get outside help. It was easier to toss the sick overboard, before anyone got too attached.
I watched her cross the room that night, already feeling like we were sisters. I didn't know her name yet (Sarah), or how many times she would save my life (half a dozen). But in that dark moment, when she chose to overcome her demons and rejoin us in that rotting old house, I knew I had met a true hero.
Awesome!! :)
ReplyDeleteI have so many guilty pleasures but perhaps the one I get most immersed in is Dungeons & Dragons. Even now I'm listening to a D & D podcast game! One of the other guilty pleasures I've always had is to look at the bad guy in any story and think "well he/she feels justified" so here is a D & D based story from the perspective of the bad guy
He stared across the counter at the barkeep. The goblin poured and handled the ale with a precision that attested to his many years serving as barkeep, the stilts attached to his legs seemed less like wooden boards and more like an artificial extension of the goblin's legs. Ehbon sipped his ale watching carefully each move the goblin made, the stilts obviously were used as a tool to help the keep reach and serve his customers at the much taller human sized bar. Human's notoriously were better tippers than the goblins so it only made sense that this seemingly innocent creature work for higher tips even if that meant creating wooden bodily extensions. Ehbon pulled the arms of his black cloak down over his hands trying to hide the shaking that had started to become evident in his wrists; he knew what his task would be and he quivered in anticipation. Though the goblin appeared to be harmless Ehbon knew the power he harnessed and desperately wanted to grab it but patience was the key to this delicate mission. Ehbon chugged the last of his ale and reached into his pouch retrieving a gold piece. He set the money carefully on the counter making sure not to make any noise or draw attention to the coin keeping his palm over the coin he pulled his cloak down over his face careful to conceal his face from any onlookers. He quietly muttered a prayer to his God Bhaal and then in hushed tones cast a spell on the coin. He got up and walked over to the fire leaning on the mantle and watching the bar carefully, it was only a matter of time now. The goblin shelled out a few more drinks and ran back and forth from the kitchen serving those meal orders. Finally the goblin noticed the gold sitting on his counter, he ambled over and picked up the piece placing it in his pocket. Moments passed and Ehbon began to wonder if the spell failed, he knew something should have happened by now but the goblin was still ambling about. A piercing scream broke through the noise of the tavern as the goblin grasped his hand. "It burns!! Help me please!!" he flapped his hand madly in the air as if he were trying to shake out a fire that only he could see. He stumbled around the counter still attached to the stilts running for the water barrel placed near the fireplace in order to catch the rain from the leaky roof. He shoved his hand into the barrel and as soon as the skin hit the water it started to produce boils. The goblin threw his hand from the water falling backwards onto the floor. His face swelled with boils as they quickly began overtaking every inch of skin, "Help." his cry gurgled as the boils swelled his mouth shut. Ehbon walked over to the goblin knowing he had to be quick as many in the bar were now watching the spectacle, he leaned over the goblin looking him square in the eye and whispered "it's mine now" he reached under the goblin's neck and ripped the ruby amulet from the goblin's neck concealing it under the sleeves of his cloak. The goblin gasped his last breath and as he died Ehbon saw in the goblin's eyes that he knew who had killed him and why.
Ooooh, goblins! Evil men in dark cloaks! Powerful amulets! LOVE fantasy!
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