As for the research, there has been plenty done. Believe me. A plan has been sitting in my room for several years now with constant additions. This post was merely a humorous musing inspired by a toe resembling that of a zombie

I suggest somewhere above the snowline as once it snows the zombies will freeze and you will be able to forage for materials and maybe even find a new safe house for the next year.

One could out live the entire apocalypse and die a normal death only due to getting old as long as they took the time to prepare. I suggest you do a bit of research on zombie survival as most people have the ability, but not the brains to actually survive.

And the zombies would only last so long before rotting so chances are they are all gone long before you die of old age.

My name is Keith Smith. I was abducted, beaten and raped by a stranger. It wasn’t a neighbor, a coach, a relative, a family friend or teacher. It was a recidivist pedophile predator who spent time in prison for previous sex crimes; an animal hunting for victims in the quiet, bucolic, suburban neighborhoods of Lincoln, Rhode Island.

I was able to identify the guy and the car he was driving. Although he was arrested that night and indicted a few months later, he never went to trial. His trial never took place because he was brutally beaten to death in Providence before his court date. 34 years later, no one has ever been charged with the crime.

In the time between the night of my assault and the night he was murdered, I lived in fear. I was afraid he was still around town. Afraid he was looking for me. Afraid he would track me down and kill me. The fear didn’t go away when he was murdered. Although he was no longer a threat, the simple life and innocence of a 14-year-old boy was gone forever. Carefree childhood thoughts replaced with the unrelenting realization that my world wasn’t a safe place. My peace shattered by a horrific criminal act of sexual violence.

Over the past 34 years, I’ve been haunted by horrible, recurring memories of what he did to me. He visits me in my sleep. There have been dreams–nightmares actually–dozens of them, sweat inducing, yelling-in-my-sleep nightmares filled with images and emotions as real as they were when it actually happened. It doesn’t get easier over time. Long dead, he still visits me, silently sneaking up from out of nowhere when I least expect it. From the grave, he sits beside me on the couch every time the evening news reports a child abduction or sex crime. I don’t watch America’s Most Wanted or Law and Order SVU, because the stories are a catalyst, triggering long suppressed memories and emotions of fear and horror. Real life horror stories rip painful suppressed memories out from where they hide, from that recessed place in my brain that stores dark, dangerous, horrible memories. It happened when William Bonin confessed to abducting, raping and murdering 14 boys in California; when Jesse Timmendequas raped and murdered Megan Kanka in New Jersey; when Ben Ownby, missing for four days, and Shawn Hornbeck, missing for four years, were recovered in Missouri.

Despite what happened that night and the constant reminders that continue to haunt me years later, I wouldn’t change what happened. The animal that attacked me was a serial predator, a violent pedophile trolling my neighborhood in Lincoln, Rhode Island looking for young boys. He beat me, raped me, and I stayed alive. I lived to see him arrested, indicted and murdered. It might not have turned out this way if he had grabbed one of my friends or another kid from my neighborhood. Perhaps he’d still be alive. Perhaps there would be dozens of more victims and perhaps he would have progressed to the point of silencing his victims by murdering them.

Out of fear, shame and guilt, I’ve been silent for over three decades, sharing with very few people the story of what happened to me. No more. The silence has to end. The fear, the shame, the guilt have to go. It’s time to stop keeping this secret from the people closest to me, people I care about, people I love, my long-time friends and my family. It’s time to speak out to raise public awareness of male sexual assault, to let other victims know that they’re not alone and to help victims of rape and violent crime understand that the emotion, fear and memories that may still haunt them are not uncommon to those of us who have shared a similar experience. For those who suffer in silence, I hope my story brings some comfort, strength, peace and hope.

Men in My Town is the story of my abduction, beating and rape and the unsolved brutal murder of the man who attacked me.

Men in My Town by Keith Smith, available now at Amazon.com

For additional information visit http://www.meninmytown.wordpress.com or http://www.linkedin.com/in/meninmytown

You won’t have to say “I told you so.” I’ll be playing the song ” Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”

“Mama take this gun from my hands–I can’t use it anymore.”

I’ll live alone, drink beer and keep to myself. And like it that way.

Which two lines were you re-reading, if you don’t mind me asking?

Well done. You cap it off with two especially wonderful lines; they had me re-reading your poem to “figure out” more of what you were trying to convey.

I’m adding you to my blogroll based on this one stumble.

–male, 47, and admiring your zest.