Zombie story

I’ve now seen the first two episodes of The Walking Dead, and it seems like a perfect time to publish this little flash piece:

Zombie Story

“Brains…” moans the zombie on my television. I change the channel. Another zombie. I sigh heavily and walk over to the collection of DVDs: Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie, Resident Evil… nothing but fucking movies about zombies.

“I watch too damn much TV, anyway,” I say, and turn to the bookshelf. Again, nothing but zombie titles, which is strange, because I don’t even remember buying books about zombies.

There is a crash upstairs, so I go up to investigate. It sounded like it came from my son’s room. I knock on his door, which is only half closed. I look in, and see him stumbling around, knocking things off his shelf. He turns to face me, and I’m a little surprised to see his skin has turned gray. I look closer and notice his eyes aren’t focused together, and his jaw is hanging slack. One of his ears is missing as well.

“Are you a zombie?” I ask. He moans and stumbles towards me. Uncertain of what to do, I exit the room and shut the door, which he tries to walk through. When he does it again, I decide closing the door is sufficient defense. I look around for my wife, as she normally knows much more than I about what’s going on around our home.

“Honey?” I say, raising my voice a little. “Did you know Junior is a zombie?” I hear another crash downstairs, and have a bad feeling about it. I call for my wife again, and again I receive no response.

Descending the stairs slowly, it occurs to me I should find some sort of weapon. I reach the bottom, and look around the room, and decide upon a fireplace poker. There is another crash, this time I can tell it’s coming from the office. I raise my eyebrow and the poker and head for the office.

“Honey?” I say again, this time with more apprehension. My wife stumbles from the office with the same slackened expression on her face as Junior’s. I say her name, but there is no visible response from her. She merely keeps shuffling toward me, step-drag, step-drag. I turn and run, closing as many doors as possible on my way out of the house.

Once I’m outside, I hear more moaning and crashing. Looking around, I see that everyone in the neighborhood has become a zombie. Zombies to the left, zombies to the right… everywhere I look, nothing but zombies, zombies, and more fucking zombies. Unable to stomach another second of the horror, I stab myself in the face with the fireplace poker, dying instantly.


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