William Rose: The Seven Habits

Donny plopped down into one of the orange plastic chairs and leaned his elbows on the table.

“Why do you call him Corduroy ?”

“Name of the book he’s always carrying.”

Alfonso fished a wad of bills from his pocket and fed one into a machine. With the beep of a few buttons, a bag of chips fell from the top row and thumped behind the little door at the bottom. Rather than bending over to get them, he slid another dollar into the machine and selected a candy bar, and then a bag of cheesy popcorn followed by a double salami snack stick.

Donny looked away from the television and the bright yellow letters beneath the anchorman which boldly stated NOT EBOLA, CDC SAYS .

“Hungry much?”

Alfonso seemed to ignore the question as he slid yet another dollar into the machine. He punched the buttons and a packet of animal crackers started their descent. Just before gravity was about to take over, they got stuck on the metal coil and dangled precariously on the edge. “Ah, shit, man… come on!”

Alfonso took the machine in both hands and shook it so hard that Donny could hear the candy bars rustle against one another. Still, it refused to give up its prize.

Muscles bulged beneath the orderly’s short sleeves as he assaulted the hunk of metal and glass. It’s feet screeched against the tile floor with a series of sudden jolts, and then Alfonso was hammering the plexiglas with his fists, his lips curled back into a snarl.

“ Fucking money stealin’ piece of shit. Cock knockin’ son of a whore, I’ll fuckin’ cap your ass, you lousy fuckin’ bitch.”

“Hey, man… chill. It’s a fucking bag of cookies, for Christ’s sake.”

Alfonso spun around and Donny felt himself wither beneath his friend’s gaze. At that moment, the larger man’s eyes lacked any recognition. They raged with a cold fire of hatred towards the albino.

As suddenly as the outburst had come on, it faded. Alfonso shook his head and wiped sweat from the back of his neck.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. Shit… been hanging around these crazy mother-fuckers too much.”

Someone on the television was speaking into a cluster of microphones that encircled him. The man’s tie was loosened and the top buttons of his wrinkled shirt were undone. His silver hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. Dark circles fell like shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes.

“We’re not sure.”

An uproar of voices, so many questions that they canceled one another out until a female voice shouted over the din.

“Mr. Anderson? Mr. Anderson, is it believed to be a biological weapon? Is this a case of terrorism, Mr. Anderson?”

The man sighed deeply and exchanged glances with someone off camera.

“We don’t know.”

A woman in a powder blue dress suit stepped in front of the tired looking man. She was pretty in a conservative, professional kind of way and her tone was short and curt.

“All we know for sure is that if you think you may be getting sick, you need to get to a FEMA station as quickly as possible. Teams from the CDC and WHO are working around the clock to ensure—”

“Are we talking about Ebola?”

“It’s not Ebola. We’re positive of that now. However, while we don’t know exactly what it is, we do know how to identify onset. There are seven symptoms to watch for…”

All of my books to date have had an accompanying soundtrack. These are the songs which play in the background as I am writing, and lend themselves, in some way, to the story I am telling. When I’m away from the keyboard, they help keep my head in the world I’ve been creating. They provide inspiration and often motivation. For The 7 Habits of Highly Infective People , the soundtrack to writing was especially important. The songs helped create the tone I was going for with their dark and moody ambiance and they became very much like a real soundtrack to the little movie that was playing out in my mind. As such, I wanted to take a moment and thank the bands who created the aural tapestries that wove this particular reality. Other than the first song—which I came to think of as the opening theme for the book—and the last, they are presented here in no particular order.

Timekiller — Project Pitchfork

Madre, Protegenos —Ion

Cold —Chiasm

Dead Souls Dreaming — Diary of Dreams

Lost in Time — Arcana

Town E. — Love Is Colder Than Death

Buried Philae —Rajna

Une Nuit Ein Hiluern —Artesia

16 Miles —Ego Likeness

Here Comes The Rain Again —The Cruxshadows

Elyria —Faith and the Muse

Ein Enwachen —Illuminate

Sacrifice –London After Midnight

Precious New World — Project Pitchfork

Ad Mortem Festinamus —QNTAL

Cannibals —Diary of Dreams

Rache — Unheilig

Walk Away —The Cruxshadows

Formula — Chiasm

Sacrifice —Lacrimosa

Published by Permuted Press at Smashwords.

Copyright 2012 William Todd Rose.

www.PermutedPress.com

Cover art by Craig Patton.

Previously released as The Seven Habits of Highly Infective People.