Zombie Flash Fiction: The Resolution

I can share some water with you.  We have a pretty good filter. There's no ball drop this year.  No parties.  No celebrations.  No champagne toasts.  Nothing.  With the infected and the dead roaming the countryside for most of last year, there's really only one resolution for the upcoming year:  I will survive.

If it means stabbing more zombies in the head, I will do what I need to do to survive.  If it means drinking muddy water, I will do what I need to do to survive.  If it means eating bugs, I will do what I need to do to  survive.  If it means killing cute little animals for meat, I will do what I need to do to survive.  Survival is my resolution.  It is THE resolution.

I've learned a lot in this past year.  I've persevered when others have faltered and failed.  I've become fit when I was once flabby.  I've become ruthless when I was once kind.  I've become cautious in situations when I would have been careless.  I've become bold when I was once timid.  The rise of the dead has really changed me.  It changes everyone who has the will to survive.

I only wish I would have resolved to be healthier, more athletic, more prepared and braver a long time ago.  Then, I could have saved more of the ones I loved.

 

 

Zombie Flash Fiction: The Gift

I didn't know what to get grandpa for Christmas this year.  But, now I know.  I'm still really nervous.  I have to calm down.  This is the worst gift ever.  But, he needs it.  He's been in the house for months with grandma.  He just wanders around the house.  I can see him from the loft in the barn.  I can see him through the second bedroom window.  

When I close my eyes, I remember working out in the garden with him.  I remember building that greenhouse out back.  I remember all the Christmases and grandma's turkey dinners.  There are so special many memories that I want to keep.  I have to give him this gift.

Breathe in.  Breathe out. Breath in.  Breath out.  There he is.  Breathe in.  Pause.  Squeeze. BAM!  It's done.  Grandpa has finally gotten the gift of death.  

We couldn't let him wander the house with his body rotting and his intestines hanging out.  But, the tears won't stop.  Merry Christmas.

 Crosshairs graphic by Delapouite, Lorc and Sbed., CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons