Let's rewind. It's easy to deter from a boring subject when a more exciting object heads your way. Jiro was volatile in the face of that zombie. Jiro wasn't the kind of boy who would do something so barbarous. He was a good kid. A kind of kid you never found in a zombie movie—the kid who you never invite to your birthday parties. If you were in the lunchroom you would never sit beside him. He was just a nobody.
Jiro was a librarian's aide and a bookworm. After school he would stay in the library and read. From after school until the library closes he would read any intangible piece of literature he touched. He started by reading small books; two hundred to three hundred pages long. That raised to four hundred to seven hundred pages in two weeks. He started reading Haiku's, poetry, science, math, and history. Some books he even read twice. Jiro had no friends and no social life.
Jiro's father was a struggling writer. Before he was a writer he taught English in middle school. He soon got sick of listening to all those little writers articulate complete rubbish of writing, use Wikipedia for book reports, and not understand the words of the most important writers. His dad was complete OCD. He was starting to grow crazy from his work. One time Jiro walked in his room while he was on his type writer.
" Dad," he said, " how is your writing?"
" Exhausting," he said. He picked up the piece of paper from his type writer and rubbed it into a tiny ball. " Nothing is making me nostalgic. It's all just continuous rants. And it's making me apathetic."
" Mom wants to know what you want for dinner. We're going to order take out."
" Tell her I don't care what she serves me as long as it's quick." Jiro wanted to open up to his father. He seemed to be more entwined in his writing than he was with him. Jiro wanted to change that. He wanted to go to bed once knowing his father loved him.
" I-If you want, Dad, I can make you a tuna sandwich."
" I'm not hungry. I'll eat when dinner is ready."
" What about drinks? Would you like some chocolate milk?"
" Some nice orange juice?"
" What about water? It's transparent so you can drink it and look at your—"
" Do you know what would really help me? It's if you would leave me the fuck alone. Can't you see I'm busy? I have great ideas—wonderful ideas for writing. But every time you step into my office…" Jiro's father picked up the scrunched piece of paper. He ripped the piece of paper in half, then pieces, and he kept ripping the paper until nothing was left but confetti. " They all go down the drain. If you can't see I'm working you can listen to the sound of it. Listen to this."
Jiro's father pressed on the keys of his typewriter. It was quick but it was loud. It wasn't like the keyboard of a PC. Jiro's father didn't want to be annoyed by his own son, so Jiro walked away. He was going to find his mother. He would tell her what he did at school today. He woul tell her how they dissected a fro. His mother always wanted Jiro to be a surgeon. But, she would probably be grossed out at the pat where they poked it's colon. Jiro found his mother sitting at the round table with her Mac out. Her face ruminate over a email she was going to write to her boss.
" Dad says he doesn't want dinner," Jiro said.
" Uh-huh," his mother replied diverted from the outside world. She was unduly pessimistic about helping Dad.
" He's not making very healthy choices,mom. He's defer dinner for two days. The only thing he eats isn't big enough for a mouse."
" Jiro, could you please leave me alone. I know your father is acting strange, but he's persistent about finishing his novel. If you want to talk to him wait until he wakes up and ask him why he isn't paying attention to you."
" But I have to get up early for school, and the only time I get to speak to him is Saturday."
" It's not my problem, Jiro. Every family has some faults in them just like your father has solecism. You don't try to argue with him, you don't talk back to him, you just bide your time until something positive comes."
Jiro saw a movie once. In the movie a boy went to a cottage with his brother and friends. The movie talked about the lives of the boy until he wanted to take his girlfriend to a special spot where he got ice cream, drunk. The boy died and a dark-skinned ghost of the person he killed in the collision told him points that led to his death. Jiro remembered the ghost saying " It's a good thing your father said that. Most people have regrets when they crash into each other." Jiro had his regret. He regret not having the courage to live a true life for himself, and not the life others expected for him.
In the woods Jiro picked up long stick he found just lying under the deterioration of an old tree. He filled his pockets with small rocks. Jiro walked down a rocky knoll to a small pond. Jiro was thirsty. The boy needed water more than it needed food; without both in the body his body couldn't function. He splashed the water in his face, pummeled the water, and dipped his hair in it to keep it wet. Next he put his school uniform in the water. It wasn't until the whole shirt was wet and sodden did he wring the water in his mouth. It was small water but it was better than sticking his face in the water to drink. Jiro lifted his shirt and saw small pieces of dirt in it.
Jiro didn't know how he was going to survive. He watched a lot of survival TV shows and was in the scouts when he was younger. He just never thought he would be in this scenario. Jiro didn't know if he should stay near the water or journey farther away, avoiding those freaky savage men, in hopes of finding food. Even if he did find food it would probably be a squirrel or a white fuzzy rabbit. Before Jiro could leave he heard a rustling sound in the bushes!