KAYME CONWAY
Writings.
Short previews to writings that Kayme has began. Most are unfinished. There is one self-published book that you can purchase on Blurb, it's shown right below: Zora and Al's Adventure: Under the Bed.
Zora and Al's Adventure:
Under the Bed
There's really nothing to fear in here. At the end you'll want to cheer! Zora and Al have quite a tale ahead about what they found Under the Bed.
Jimmy has run away!
Oh no! Zora and Al's friend, Jimmy the frog, has ran away... UNDER THE BED! Al is heartbroken, but Zora knows what to do! They must face their fears and find Jimmy! Are you
scared of the monsters under the bed? So is Al... but Zora is fearless! Stick with her and her trusty flashlight and you'll find Jimmy for sure! Come on, we have to hurry!
We have to find Jimmy!
The characters and backgrounds are created with paper cut outs, then edited in Adobe Photoshop. If you wish to buy the book, click the banner saying Blurb Page!
"I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists." - Brigitte Bardot
Our UNEnding
j.1
- Johnny's P.O.V.
Dead. It's a word this world has become all too familiar with. Death? One could only wish for such a happy ending when you have your undead mother's jaws snapping at your neck while your undead girlfriend tears her teeth into your thigh--if only she could have had the guts to do that before the outbreak. Well, now she doesn't really have guts. She left a trail of them when she knocked down your bedroom door.
All we know now are the dead, or as we've learned to call them: tourists.
It began as a comedian's punch line to a joke in the beginnings of the outbreak, and, like the virus that slowly infected us all, it went viral. Tourists stay where it's warm and sunny; hot sites to visit become good places to chase down a quick meal then afterwards wander aimlessly for the rest of their undead lives.
The virus was spread by a youth group that had a global mission trip for the summer. They skipped some expenses and didn't get routine shots, so with each destination the viruses inside them mixed around like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.
We learned soon that there was no cure to this newly discovered virus. Most people believed in the "No Cure, No Hope" facility to find one fast, but when all NCNH broadcasting went down people just began putting bullets in their family's heads. Because nobody wanted to live through this one-way trip to hell.
That's exactly what we are. The 'nobody's.
We are survivors. We grasped onto the will to live and we fight for it like wild animals. We learn to live with what we have, and learn to deal with what we don't. Anyone that's left close to us is our family. The only family we have considering most people didn't survive the first week of the apocalypse. You think someone's pulling a prank and nom, nom, your brains are gone.
Not literally, though. Tourists don't seem to really be interested in brains, because they would probably be starving along with the stupidity in our society. They just eat flesh. Any flesh they can get a hold of, really; humans are just a fine cuisine, served hopeless and screaming. So when you see some hooker with a tube top and short shorts she's way too old to be wearing in the first place you can bet she's a hungry tourist's next meal.
Of course you could be, too. It's a dog eat dog world out there, so to speak.
Surviving began as some animalistic instinct we all were born with, but when the tourists grew in numbers and the human race rapidly declined, you couldn't just survive anymore. It was kill or be killed. When a horde of tourists is running towards you like a raving paparazzi, you have to have some quick thinking and some good fighting skills. Either that or you are literally torn apart. Fun.
You will see it all the time. You will be on a run scavenging for supplies and some idiot girl has to scream when a rat runs by her foot. If you are scared now, girl, you better run. Because every tourist browsing this area heard your mistake, and it's probably going to be your last.
Charles Darwin's theory states that it is not the strongest of the species to survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most adaptable to change. I can never thank Mr. Tate enough for teaching me that in high school. Well, of course, he's probably wandering around right now himself trying to find a tasty arm to sink his teeth into. No, no, maybe he survived. You never know.
And that's exactly what kills me.
You never know.
k.1
- Kadin's P.O.V.
"It could be worse."
That was like his catch phrase. You can never technically hit rock bottom. You would probably suffocate before you did. But it could be worse.
This apocalypse thing we got going on seems like it is the definition of worse, but I know I'm wrong. There are whole countries that have already been wiped clean of humanity. Merely tourists wandering for new sites to see. It could be worse and we could all just be dead. But then again that doesn't seem like such a grim thought at the moment.
A zombie apocalypse seems so cliché, but then again it could be worse. Global warming could have eventually cooked us all to death. The Mayan Calendar could have been correct. World Wars could have broken out. (That might have been nicer than this.) Or we could have all just starved to death. Everyone in the whole world. What could be worse?
Oh, right. Starving to death during a zombie apocalypse.
Surviving is one thing, but living is another. I mean, we're alive, but what's the point? Is there even a point? Maybe there is, maybe there isn't, but my brother and I are determined to fight for the answer until the very end.
When the NCNH stopped broadcasting their progress, thousands of people decided that there was no point. But that isn't something they should have decided for their children, their wife, or their husband. Fathers and mothers just killed off their family and lastly themselves. All you could hear for one whole night were gun shots.
Our dad had the surround sound blasting in our new home but we knew. My brother and I, that is. We know a lot more than our dad led himself to believe, with his whole 'it could be worse' every time we complained. I'm pretty sure if I had complained about the loudness of the speakers, he most definitely would have told me it could be worse. He was just funny that way. But not the funny as in haha but the funny as in weird, ironic, and so stupidly optimistic.
Here we are now. Driving in the dark on car littered highways. Swerving so we don't collide into some deer-in-the-head-lights tourist.
I carry a revolver around, just in case.
Two bullets, just in case.
"A bullet to the head keeps you from being an undead."
Maybe those dads and moms had the right idea. Because if I didn't have this gun, and these bullets, it could be worse. When it gets to the end, when my brother and I have no where else to run and there is a horde of tourists running at us ready to rip apart our flesh, I don't want either of us to suffer any longer.
Bang. Bang.
It could be worse.
Winter
Winter.
Winter means death.
If you don't have nowhere to be, you find somewhere to be. Because when winter comes - when the sun hides from us because it doesn't want to watch us die - it gets real cold. So cold you can't feel the tips of your toes or the tip of your nose. You best be scared when you go numb. It's so numb it hurts. It's that kind of hurt you can't take your mind off of, and it keeps you paralyzed like a snake's venom until, just like that, it's over. And that's real bad when you ain't got nowheres to be.
The leaves all died two months ago. They turned the colors of fire and fell right to their demise. Isn't it odd how they turn the color of fire? I've always found it ironic.
The North Wind blew in so quick after that that nobody was prepared.
Except Thomas. He lives in his little box near the vents. So he always gets warm air. Damn, how we all envy that fat cat. Riley tried scuffling with Thomas over his home, but Thomas gave him a good one-two and that was that.. Riley has the nastiest scar on his forehead, now. I guess he deserved it. But Thomas could at least share. All us cats would appreciate that.. I guess he wouldn't be able to enjoy his home, though, if he shared. I wouldn't share, thinking on it now. Then I might never get my spot back. Thomas is a smart cat.
For the rest of us? We scavenge for any fluff we can find. Soft fluff is the best in my opinion - though it does blow away too easily and you're constantly having to search for more. It's almost impossible to find close to our alley, so I like to find a partner from time to time to go hunt for fluff.
Some say food is more important than warmth, but what's food good for once you get so numb it hurts? Nothing. It's good for nothing. That's exactly what it's good for. My momma taught me that when I was little and she still gave a damn about me. But that's how it is around here, and Momma did what most mommas often don't.. Momma taught me how to survive. The rest I've learned, and am learning, living on my own.
They say it's bad to make a mistake. I like making mistakes because they always teach me how to be better. Like whenever I tried to sleep on a window sill because it kept me out of the wind. I rolled off and fell about two stories into some bushes.
Lesson learned, don’t roll in my sleep.. Also that it’s bad to sleep two stories up on a ledge, but that was just a minor detail. Knowing that I don't sleep still is very important. You can't protect yourself when you sleep, so drawing any movement could attract someone or something that could hurt me. Since then I've slept in small, tight spaces that have been training me to sleep still. Hopefully.
"Ded, you up yet?"
I poked my nose out of my make-shift burrow, inhaling to take in all the smells around me.
Rot. That's normal. Some rats are listening below us. Ah, Vince. The smell of metal hit my nose like, well, a car.
I emerged fully from my den, which was composed of soft fluff and a few old rugs on top to keep me from blowing away. Shaking out my fur, I blinked at the mottled gray tabby padding my way. "Morning, Vinny," I greeted him, stretching my paws in front of me and arching my back until I felt a ripple go from head to t--WHAM!
A flurry of fur and paws rolled across the alleyway and Vince and I both slammed into the dumpster.
"Reeer!" I heard someone cry from inside the bin as we thudded into it. "Watch it! I'm trying to sleep in here!"
"My apologies!" I called before swatting at the snickering cat entangled with me. I rolled away from him and swatted his ear, making sure one claw sizzled right above it so he could hear it ring.
"Watch the claws!" He yiped as he ducked away, jumping to his paws and shaking some bits of paper from his fur. He rasped his shoulder with his tongue, keeping a keen green eye on me as I washed my paw. I flexed my claw tauntingly, watching envy boil in his gaze.
Vince wasn't always a street cat. He lived with humans, once. Until they got tired of him. Because that's how it works. They use you until they get sick of taking care of you, then they kick your furry ass onto the street. Typical.
"So, Ded, what adventures are planned for today?" Vince still thinks this is a misunderstanding. He thinks they're looking for him; that they want him back. This is all just a game to him, and life is all just an adventure. He can go back 'anytime he wants,' and his life out here is just temporary.
I tried convincing him once, but he has to realize it in his own time. I'll be here for him when it happens. Waiting.
"I was thinking we could browse the park for any last picnickers," I retracted my claws and stood. "Before the North Wind drives them all in."
Vince's eyes brightened. He loves humans. I could care less for the two legged bastards. Nothing good comes from them no how.
"My thoughts exactly!" Vince bounced to his paws and headed for the chainlink fence that kept the alley closed off to, well, us? But most cats can squeeze right through it. Except Thomas, he's fat. He never gets up anyways.
I watched Vince slip easily through the chainlink before glancing around the alley. No one but us were awake. Twi, who I'm pretty sure was sleeping in the dumpster, had already fallen back asleep. Opi and her kits were fast asleep in the pile of discarded clothes and shoes, while her mate Remmy was most likely already out hunting. Brat and Sassafras were asleep in their pile of towels they had arranged into a bed on the metal fire-escape stairs above the alley. Israel has been missing for a week, and his brother Samuel lay on top of a pile of fluff, shivering in his sleep. I made a mental note to help Samuel search for Israel today as I gently pulled his rag of a blanket back over him while he slept.
I quickly followed after the excited Vince, slipping out the chainlink fence and shivering as a burst of Winter barreled into my side.
"Boy, it sure is getting cold." Vince mused as he sat under a car that was parked in front of our alley. "Do you really think any humans will be there today?" The hope dwindled in his voice.
"I'm not sure, but if there aren't then good riddance." I grumbled, but caught my tongue from saying more at the lonely expression on my friend's face. "We can always find some around, Vinny, don't worry." I pressed before leading the way down the sidewalk. The sun was barely climbing into the sky, and it was still pretty dim out. The street lights buzzed above our heads like the various bugs that swarmed them, and a few shops were lit up with neons and soft yellow and white lights. The stone beneath us was bitterly cold like the North Wind that blew at our backs. We narrowly escaped the sight of a human catcher that drove past in its metal box by hiding behind some empty cardboard boxes in front of an open store. How convenient, I thought to myself, that the Catchers would be up this early too.
"Ded," Vince called as I started along to the park again. I glanced back at him and saw him staring up into the display window of the shop. Inside were shiny human collars of all shapes and colors. They glimmered like stars as their display light flickered on. My gaze averted to Vince's face. He's such a character.
With a sigh I walked back and nudged Vince along, "C'mon, Vinny. It's still a while to go before we see your picnikers." I egged him on, smiling as he snapped out of his trance and hopped in the direction I was headed. I quickened into a trot to follow him, snickering as he turned right down the sidewalk at the corner. "You have no sense of direction!" I called after him.
Vince turned tail as he realized he was headed in the wrong direction. I glanced both ways down the dim-lit streets and crossed when I saw no cars coming. As we safely made it to the other sidewalk Winter caught up with us. I let out a soft hiss and quickly retreated closer to the curb. But I froze halfway there. I picked up a scent on the wind as it dragged some warm air back to us.
Dog.
Not just one; at least two, maybe three dogs, and they were wandering too close to our alley.
"Do you smell that?" I murmured to Vince, who was pouncing after a couple leaves that were skidding across the sidewalk. He toppled over his own paws and rolled into the side of the building in front of him. I glanced at him and couldn't help but chuckle. He was upside down, back against the wall, with his tail hanging in his face, paws pulled up to his chest.
He gave me a dark look and scrambled to his paws, shaking out the torn leaves from his fur. "Smell what?" He lifted his nose to the wind and sniffed at it, lifting a paw close to his chest as he did.
What a character, I thought again, whiskers twitching in amusement. "Dog. Two, maybe three of them." I said grimly, turning my head towards the direction we were headed. Towards the park. But they smelled closer than the park. They were wandering way too close.
"Maybe they're just with their humans at the park!" Vince hopped in that direction, excited once again at the thought of seeing humans at the park. He seemed so carefree, and I just wanted to believe him. I didn't want to worry about anything more than just Winter. Plus Israel, who was still missing... And looking after Vince, who tripped over his paws in his excitement once again.
"No, they're closer than the park. Let's go scout it out." I said with an edge to my voice.
"But Ded, we have to get to the park before the picnickers go away," Vince whined at me, picking himself up from the sidewalk again. "You promised." His emerald gaze looked at me sullenly and he added with a shimmer to his eyes, "Plus, once you see the dogs there, it'll confirm that you're just paranoid." Vince shifted from paw to paw on the sidewalk, ears flattened slightly against his head as he gave methe look.
I sighed. Maybe he was right. Hopefully he was right. I really hope he's right. "Okay, c'mon. Let's hurry; my paws are freezing off on the cement." I quickened my pace from before as we skirted through the buildings in the lightening world and headed in the direction of the park.
Man, I really hope he's right.
Her name was Mary, and she loved me very much. How did I know? I felt it in her touch. Her heart was worm, but was also worn, you'd never hear a grudge. Mary told me about new stories everyday. About adventures and great battles, but most of all, of love. Mary loved me very much.
Mary Loved Me
I make thought-provoking and emotionally charged art. I bring a scene to life from a blank canvas. I try and capture beauty and emotion where words fall short. I like to make the viewer see new worlds and to take them on a journey. I make art because it has always been something I am good at; my family is widely artistic, which is why I don’t just pursue one or two mediums but all the realms of art that I can – even literature.
Welcome to my website.