The virus had given his wife youth; after he exhumed her she followed him wherever he went, craving his body with a mindless desire. He didn’t mind, age had claimed her teeth long ago and he had never believed in “till death do us part.”
He moaned, staring at a faded, curled pin up poster of a playmate, and tried to eat her brain. He came away with scraps of brittle paper stuck to his rotting teeth and something ticking like a metronome against his belly.
Things long forgotten are stirring, eager to balance the scales and repay insults men have lost to the years. The undead have come home to Jersey, and not just the ancient Bon Jovi fans.
I turn to face the zombies who have cornered me in the alleyway, cutting off my escape. I start to scream when they begin to consume me alive.
Through the shattered window of the bank, the zombie fired off another round of bullets at the police. He knew there was no way they were taking him alive.
I’ve got to the point in my life that all the music I listen to is by dead people.
Not Zombie music, but that all the singers have died, I mean.
I’d like to be a pirate.
But then I’d be a pirate-ninja-zombie-lawyer-hippie-chef and that would be stupid.
Add any of the following to any situation and it is immediately more awesome.
Zombies, monkeys, robots, lasers.
He looked outside. They were everywhere. His house was surrounded on either side by Zombies. Blood thirsty, hungry for living human beings, they kept approaching at a constant pace. Not knowing what to do, he paced frantically around the house, searching for an escape, forcing his mind to think straight.
“We’ve surrounded the Zombie in a house, Sir. Would you like us to capture or kill him?”. “Take him alive” came the order. We need to study him to find a cure for this outbreak…