lucyoncolorado

In which I join a cult to seek safety from zombies...

I've found an old VHS recording of a young curly haired guy explaining how a particular charismatic cult leader is attempting to destroy the world. Curly provides a logical argument explaining why we should all be very concerned. I'm convinced. Later, I google the situation and discover that the charismatic leader will deliver a speech in my home town very soon. I decide to attend and see what it's all about.

When I get there, I'm asked to sign in. I worry that it might not be wise to leave a record of my attendance. After all, if the charismatic leader actually does try to destroy the world, I don't want my name on the list of his rosters. So I make up a name and write it instead. I walk towards the meeting room, but an older woman sitting behind a folding table waves me towards her. She offers me a sticker. I put it on my shirt. She tells me she hasn't seen me here before. I say that I've really only been following the situation via VHS tapes. This intrigues her. She asks if I saw Curly's tape. I say that I did. She asks what I thought of it. I tell her that Curly makes a very good argument, but I was curious to see the other side. She is smiling during this entire exchange. She is looking at me as if she's a tolerant elder, seeking to redirect a lost youth. I'm hardly young, I tell her. She says age is of no matter.

I walk into the meeting room. It looks like a 1970s elementary school auditorium. The wood panels of the stage rise up about three feet from the industrial carpet where the audience sits, cross legged. The room is chilly and damp; the rusty crank windows are not quite closed and rain thunders on the metal roof. Commercial fluorescent strip lights hang from the ceiling, completing the dreariness of the setting. I take my place, sitting on the floor with the rest of the crowd. It's hard to see over some of their heads. I sit criss-cross applesauce and lean back with my hands behind me on the floor. My fingers fidget with the small hard knotted balls of the carpet; it's dirty.

Our charismatic leader comes out on stage. The crowd claps half-heartedly. They do not stop talking amongst themselves, and he has to shush them to be quiet. I think that I've wasted my time by coming here, and I look behind me to the door. I wonder how I can get up and exit without anyone seeing me.

The charismatic leader begins to talk about world domination, about chosen people, about the decay in social morality, and about Curly. No one seems particularly enthused. I stand up, and, keeping my head down, start to walk towards the exit. I don't make eye-contact with anyone.

On the way out, the same elder lady stops me. She wants to know if I've seen all I need to know to counter Curly's claims. I tell her that I figure Curly and the charismatic leader are in cahoots. One makes accusations about the other and vice versa so that both of them can garner attention. She says that if I really believe that, what do I propose we do about the zombies? Do I have a better idea how to handle them?

Zombies? Oh yes. I look to the front windows again and see them snarling at the panes. What to do about the zombies? I'm forced to admit that I feel a hell of a lot safer here, in this old building, with this crowd, than I'd feel out there with the zombies. OK then. I'll stay for a while.

I start to walk back towards the crowd, but the elder lady calls me over to her again. She has an invoice for my previous visits. She asks that I pay my dues from the last few meetings and also that I pay back the loan she gave me when I bought the charismatic leader's books. I have no idea what she's talking about. She points to my name in the roster and shows me the invoice again. Seems I've chosen the name of another member, one who does not manage his funds very well. I can't tell her that this isn't really my name because I'd hate to be thrown out with the zombies. So I give her all the money I have currently, and we arrange a payment plan. Then, she lets me return to the meeting.

The charismatic leader is now down from the stage, walking around the sitting audience. He points to one sitting man and says, "What about him?" Everyone turns to look at this man, and all at once everyone starts to gasp or shout with alarm. It is a zombie! But the charismatic leader just stands there, calmly, pointing at him. The zombie sits still, his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth half open with drool coming out. He breathes with slow grunting sounds, but he does not move. He seems completely unaware of anything. Eventually, the audience settles down. They look to the charismatic leader.

"I have made the zombie passive!" Everyone cheers and claps. They all sit down again, this time in rapt attention. The charismatic leader jumps back up on the stage and delivers an eloquent and enthusiastic speech now. I'm mostly taken in. I really believe this man can save us and pacify the zombies. But I still keep looking back at the one still zombie. His presence makes me uncomfortable. And the zombies banging at the glass- surely they could get in at any time? I just can't rest easy.