Generation Zombie

Chapter 2: Into The Game -Arthur.

Arthur Halifax was eager to remove his wet socks, dry off his clothes and crash into bed. It had been a long and rough day which began with a migraine and will probably end in a fever. His immune system had zero resistance to colds. Arguably, the universe was against him today. He had a bulk of assignments due the next day, and just that morning, his phone had slipped into the water closet as he flushed the toilet. And then the afternoon had presented him with weather inconvenience and a dead car battery.

Still, he struggled to stay positive in the face of his terrible luck.

“Mom, I’m home!” He called as he discarded his wet shoes by the door, shrugging off the hoodie that weighed him down now that it was soaked and dripping. He contemplated going into the kitchen to grab a towel and risk his mother scolding him for getting her Persian rugs wet, or going directly to his room to change.

“Mom, I’m…” He repeated, trailing off. His ears perked up at the faded voices he could hear coming from the kitchen. With an anxious heart, he clutched the soggy grocery bag in his hand and made his way directly to the kitchen.

Now he could hear the voices quite clearly.

“I can’t do this anymore Jeff. Let’s stop here.” His mother was saying in a tired voice, her tone resigned and drained.

Arthur stood deathly still next to the doorway. He could clearly see the figure of his mother hunched over the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of steaming hot black coffee. His father stood a few feet away, towering over the fridge with his hands folded over his chest, as he glared at his wife.

“What do you mean?” Jeff Halifax demanded in his usual authoritative tone that made Arthur cower back in fear when he was a little kid.

His mother sighed, and looked up to meet his father’s gaze, a ferocious determination shining through her dark rimmed eyes. “I want a divorce.” She announced calmly, like it was a phrase she had practiced to perfection.

“So you can cheat with that cleric without feeling guilty?” His father clapped back without missing a beat.

“There’s nothing between us, stop being paranoid!” She flared out angrily, almost tipping over the mug of coffee in the process.

“I’m gonna be paranoid! I’m gonna be paranoid because you gave me a reason to be paranoid in the first place Riley!” Jeff screamed back, banging his fist on the counter, making the little utensils on it rattle.

The coffee slushed side to side, slightly spilling onto the surface Riley had scrubbed clean earlier. She sighed again, regaining her composure and running a hand through her dark hair. Streaks of bright grey hair reflected the florescent light of the kitchen. “Aren’t you tired of it? Constantly screaming? Let’s give each other peace, please…”

Arthur had enough. His mother was clearly at her breaking point but his father wasn’t ready or willing to let her go. If it was up to Arthur, the divorce would’ve been a better option than constantly coming back to listen to their bickering.

“Riley I’m not…” His father trailed off at the sight of his son walking into the kitchen.

Arthur wordlessly brushed passed his father and dropped the wet grocery bag on the sink counter. There was a sullen, hard expression on his face that hid the sadness he felt overwhelming his being.

“Arthur, we…” His mother began, going back to holding her coffee. The warmth was a form of comfort and strength for her.

“Just sign the papers.” He cut her off, but directed the statement at his father, before shuffling out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.

Arthur marched straight up to his room and slammed the door. He had been keeping it together for the sake of peace for the last two years, but his breaking point was long overdue. The tears brimmed, but his toxic masculinity refused to let him shed them.

Boys don’t cry; he repeated as a mantra in his head.

Then what do they do when they’re falling apart? If going against the human nature to cry and gain relief was an option he had made unavailable to himself, then what other option was left?

Arthur desperately searched around for a distraction and his eyes caught a shiny game CD on the pile of laundry clothes in his room. He didn’t know where the CD came from, or when he placed it there, and in that moment, didn’t really care.

Quickly, he grabbed the CD plate and inserted it into the PlayStation 5. This was his distraction. He would play the game for a minute, just until the tears dried from his eyes, and then he would get up, take a shower, take a nap, and continue on with the burden of being alive.

His damp clothes clung and scratched his body uncomfortably.

Arthur was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the game loading up and automatically filling in the space where it blinked ‘Insert Name’ with ‘Arthur Halifax’.

It was only when his hand began to turn to dust particles being sucked into the television screen that his attention yanked back to the occurrence of reality.

But was this reality?

In an almost dream-like sequence, he watched the freakish event happen, frozen in his spot. There was nothing he could do, nothing he attempted to do, because part of his mind had convinced him that this wasn’t reality.

The threshold of space and time morphed around Arthur, his surroundings switching from his messy room to an unknown location with four grimy walls and ruptured concrete for flooring. There was a large door to his left, covered in graffiti and swung wide open. He could see a dimly lit corridor through it. The heavy smell of antiseptics was a telltale sign that he was in a hospital. But there was something horribly wrong with this hospital because the thick smell of blood was apparent.

Arthur scrutinized his own body. He felt lighter on his limbs, somehow a bit more agile and awake. This had to be a dream…

A blood-curdling scream tore through the silence, and it sent a shiver through his bones. “Help me! Someone, please!” Came the voice again, more desperate and terrified.

Arthur didn’t know where the voice was coming from, but it sounded eerily familiar. Before the voice of reason could stop him, his limbs sprang to action, sprinting out the door and into the corridor.

He could only imagine what made the screaming person so terrified, and the products of his imagination almost stopped him dead in his tracks. But someone was frantic for help, and Arthur Halifax had never been one to pass up an opportunity to be a hero.