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There’s a zombie on your la-hawn

October 26, 2009

Yesterday was the best day I’ve had on the Sunnie Coast by far. I got to dress like an idiot and parade around the street of Brisbane with hundreds of other kids, also dressed like idiots and scare unsuspecting commuters on the way home. It was the official Zombie Walk in Brisbane, and it was legend–wait for it–ary. Seriously, so much fun. Kat and I were the only two in Varsity brave enough to venture out into the big scary world and shake up our usual routines. When we arrived at the Wickham Park (after a 1.5 hour train delay at Nundah), we really weren’t prepared for the magnitude of the situation we were entering.

I was dressed in my short pirate leggings and recently cut up Die Ignorant t-shirt, being the zombie of civil disobedience. Kat, having never experienced a proper Halloween, what with being German and all, didn’t really plan out what or who she was, but looked smashing, nonetheless, wearing my tattered tights and all black clothes. Upon our arrival at the zombie meeting place, we rushed to throw on our make-up. First pale the face, then blacken the eyes, then eat the blood capsules. Use all the extra make-up on arms and legs, so as not to look like your head was the only thing decomposing. About the time we were wrapping up our transformation, a large amount of the horde had assembled, and, suddenly, we were hugely under-dressed. The costumes were among some of the more innovative I’ve ever seen, ranging from bloody, decaying business men to zombie Santas to zombie brides. Former men, women, children, and even the odd dog filled the park, and we knew that today was destined to be absurd.

We found a spot near the front of the chaos, but there was no hope of finding the actual front of the mob. There were simply too many zombies. Looking back, we couldn’t see the end of the horde; just a never-ending throng of undead. The march was underway, and the unsuspecting townsfolk watched in shock , awe, and–probably–horror. There were bloody hand prints smeared on everything we passed: shop windows, city buses, ATMS. We even saw a zombie taking money out of an ATM. What a perfectly mundane activity being completed by a brain-munching entity. People snapped photos of us, news stations sent cameras, and almost every window revealed someone paying close attention. As we passed occupied shops (most doors pulled closed and locked with the employees trapped inside), we banged on the glass and moaned for brains. We reminded those silly enough to wait for a bus on a parade route that zombies will approach you and beg for things if you try and ignore them. We stopped into the bottle shop and, in a very orderly fashion, bought booze for the night’s festivities.

We massed at the Brisbane Valley Festival, which is an annual event held in Fortitude Valley. Waiting for us was a stage with some excellent live music, and, of course, Thriller. Some zombies had learned the whole thing and danced with talent that would have made the original dancers proud. They received thunderous applause from both living and undead alike (the stage was, after all, infront of some lovely cafes full of patrons). And as the cheering died down, what did the DJ switch to but the Time Warp! The zombie horde went nuts. Hundred of zombies through their hands in the air and did the Time Warp like it was the last time they’d ever get the chance. We all shouted the words and timed our movements the best we could. I couldn’t stop smiling the entire song, and Kat, who has never even heard of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, caught on quickly and was jumping around with the rest. When the song was over, most of the mob collapsed on the pavement, rising again to jam along with the next tune, which was, of course, the Monster Mash. The music went on, and Kat and I tore it up, dancing and singing and laughing. Sadly, there was one casualty: my small camera. While dancing some strange combination of skanking and swing, my camera lept (or was lifted) from my pocket and never seen again. But I can’t even feel too sad about that, because it was my lame little camera, and the fun outweighed the loss. I just stole Kat’s pictures later on to make up for it.

When the music stopped, we toured the festival briefly before hopping a train back to the Sunnie Coast, recieving all manor of looks from humored to appauled by our fellow commuters. One older lady in particular seemed horrbly offended by the zombie presence on the train, since Kat and I were not the only zombies who caught the 6:30 train. At our change over in Caboolture, we scared a woman when rounding the corner, and continued to be oggled while we shared coffee. We ran into more of the horde at the station and made small talk, eventually making it home, at last, to our showers and living lives.

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One comment

  1. Hey! Hey! I saw news footage of this! It was in the Oddbox, which is a weekly top-ten-odd-things-that-happened-this-week video on the BBC (which is my homepage so I don’t lose touch with the outside world). I’m so excited that you were in it! It looked great. Sounds super exciting too. And I can’t wait to see you when you come back!



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