Zombie Cinquain Poem: The Quiet

No planes
No trains or trucks
No cars or highway roar
Just the still of night, moans, screams, and
gunshots!

For you writers and poets out there, here is a cool looking manual typewriter.  I'm sure that the tapping of a typewriter won't attract zombies.  Well, not totally sure, but it might not attract zombies.  You know, you might want to keep a big knife by the typewriter.

Zombie Flash Fiction: Good Eating!

    The end of the world stinks.  When the dead are walking around in the hot Georgia sun with their guts trailing behind them, it's not a good smell.  When you've got to stand guard by an overflowing dumpster and trash compactor and the front of your apartment complex, it doesn't help the situation.

    "What are we going to do with all this trash?" my wife, Karen, asked with her hands on her hips.  "It's not like they'll be collecting it with all the dead around."

   

    "We could burn it?" Larry, the former SWAT Cop suggested.

    "If we burn it," I replied. "We'll just attract the dead."

    "Yeah, but if we pile it up and leave it out we'll attract rats and other vermin." 

    "Yes," Larry said with a gleam in his eye. "And those vermin will be good eating!"

    "Dude," I said shaking my head.

    "That's just gross," Karen said turning away in disgust.

    "Bon Appetit!"

Flash Fiction: No Refuge

The house is quiet now.  I stand in the hallway coming back from the bedrooms.  The walls are covered with family photos from happier days.  A frame with a half dozen photos grabs my attention.  Camping in the mountains.  The time we rode the ferry.  High school graduation.  The canoe trip.  I pull it off the wall, rip off the cardboard back, and take a photo of me, my mom, my dad, and my brother standing in front of a long forgotten restaurant.  The old photo fits in my fanny pack behind the extra boxes of ammunition.  I make my way back to the remnants of the front door.  My eye catches a flash of purple, yellow, and black, as a skink scrambles under the deacon's bench in the front foyer.  It doesn't have to worry.  The cat is long gone. 

I step out and glance at the tattered flag hanging limply from the flag pole in the overgrown front yard.  Little lizards dash for cover as they see me.  They find hiding places everywhere.  But, not me.  The old family home isn't the refuge it once was.  There is no refuge.  There is no stopping.  The neighbors from down the street are dead but still nosy.  They see me and start to shuffle my way.  It's time to go.

Limerick: Dude with a Big Gun

There once was a dude with a big gun,
that really limited how fast he could run,
when everyone fled,
his ammo was lead,
and now he roams and rots in the sun!

Photo by Raymond Depardon Beirut 1978,
CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Zombie Complex: Inspired by Real Places

Zombie Complex is set in a fictional apartment complex that is inspired by a real one.  It's a complex that my wife and I have lived in on and off for far too many years.  When we had a dog, I walked every square inch of this place and even into many of the surrounding wooded areas.  I know where the possums are, where the racoons hide, and I'm familiar with at least three generations of stray cats in the area.  In real life, the inspiration dog behind Dale was quite a character and we miss him every day.  Nothing gets you familiar with the topography of a place like walking a dog every day and every night.

The real life inspiration dog behind Dale

When I write of cooking smells, bugs, and residents who can't park, that's my truth.  It's a truth that my wife and I lived for a long time as residents of this complex and several other apartment communities.  Even the weirdest neighbors draw a little inspiration from real neighbors that I have had over the years.  If there is a stretch, it's probably in the strength of the gates.  In real life, they break or get sabotaged all the time.

An aerial photo of the inspiration apartments doesn't reveal much.  If you read Zombie Complex, you may recognize some of the features.  I just hope that I was able to breath life into the place and threaten it with death by a thousand zombies.  When I look at the photo, I can immediately pick out the gates, the garbage area. the mailbox hut, the pool, and the vegetable garden.  It's easy for me to distinguish between the little bungalows and the big buildings.  I can also imagine where many of the key battles in my novel take place.  For me, the complex is a place where heroes live and die and it makes the location much more meaningful to me.  

An aerial view (from Google Maps) of the inspiration apartment complex behind Zombie Complex

I hope you enjoy getting familiar with my world and I appreciate everyone who has joined our fight for survival.  I hope that the authenticity of the place and its population shines through in my pages.

Zombie Dribble: To Make Sure

Someone or something is moving on the other side of the fence.  With the sun setting and gloomy skies, I can't tell if it is one of the living or the dead.  If they return, I can use my rifle to make sure.  I just hate to waste a bullet. 

A Savage 110 Snipers Rifle - photo by FrankWilliams, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Zombie Cinquain Poem: Tree to Tree

Leaves crunch

Twigs snap and crack

from tree to tree I run

to escape the moaning ones and

live on

Zombie Limerick: The Man from Mumbai

There once was a man from Mumbai 
who was a bits and bytes kind of guy
 while he submitted his code
 the dead came into his abode 
and transformed him into a Zombai !!!

A Train Near Mumbai - The original uploader was Nikkul at English Wikipedia., CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Zombie Flash Fiction: The Little Bugout Truck

With a knapsack full of peanut butter, I rounded the corner and ran down the alley behind the grocery store.  I looked over my shoulder to glance back at the horde on my heels.  That was enough of a distraction for me to get my feet mixed up and send me tumbling.  But, in this world, you can't stay down.  I was up in an instant and I hopped, limped, and otherwise made my way back to my little yellow truck.  I climbed in and looked over to see the dead clawing at my windows.  It's always an inconvenient time to dig your keys out of your deepest pocket.

The dead were drooling on my windshield as I finally started the truck.  As it started up with one turn of the key, I smiled and reflected on my little truck.  I  always thought I'd want a really big four-wheel-drive truck with a winch and brush bars just in case the world came to an end.  Now that the world has actually come to the end, I'm glad I have a simple and reliable little vehicle  that sips fuel, cranks every time, and is incredibly reliable.

I put my little truck into drive, accelerated to thirty, and slammed on the brakes.  It was fun to see the dead roll off the hood and down the road.  Escape was simply matter of making a quick turn and hitting the gas.  I left the dead behind me in the rearview mirror.  

When I'm surrounded by a horde, I can't have car trouble.  You can't just call AAA for a jumpstart or a tow.

Photo by:  Ildar Sagdejev (Specious), CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Zombie Flash Fiction Story: Emcee Mike and Apocalyptic Bingo

    "B27!  Ladies and Gentlemen, B27!"

    The bingo crowd scanned their cards frantically.  But, no one seemed to have it.

    "I need a better number than that Mike!" someone in the crowd yelled out.  

    Mike nodded.  He was a large man who worked as a nursing assistant by day and dressed in a traditional black tuxedo to entertain the seniors as the emcee for Bingo in the early evening.  He spun the handle of the bingo cage vigorously to tumble the balls about until another rolled out of the selector.  Beside him sat Betty--a young lady who served as a nursing home administrator.  She looked nervously out at the crowd.

    "G15!" the emcee called out. "Anyone have G15?"

Photo by Cypher789, CC BY-SA 3.0
<http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>,
via Wikimedia Commons

    "Bingo!  Bingo!  I have it!" a gray haired old lady exclaimed with excitement.

    "Congrats!  Miss Higgins.  You've one this can of SPAM."

    The crowd looked at Miss Higgins angrily and hungrily.

    "Damn it," one old man cursed under his breath.  "I just needed one more square."

    "Don't worry folks," the emcee said.  "We collected a few more cans on the last run!"

    "We need vegetables, too." a grandma in a mou mou dress complained bitterly.

    "You know this is not the best idea we ever had," the emcee whispered to the nursing home administrator.

    "Mike, I thought they would like it," she whispered shaking her head.

    "Don't fret folks!" the man said loudly into the microphone.                 "We'll go out this week, kill more zombies, and bring back more food."

    "You better," another old lady piped up.  "I'm almost out of Cream of Wheat."

    "What happened to the National Guard?"  Betty whispered.

    "I don't know," Mike replied quietly.  "It's hell out there."

    In the microphone, the emcee announced, "Alright, clear your cards for a new game!"

Zombie Cinquain: Silence

 Under

complete control

is what they all once said.

Now airwaves and devices are

all dead.

Photo by William Pina, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

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

 

Zombie Dribble: A Letter to Santa

Photo by Tech. Sgt. Reynaldo Ramon / Public domain

Dear Santa,

I've been good.  Dad and I are still alive.  I don't want much for Christmas.  I'd like some chocolate.  We found some last year and it was great.  I need a bow and some arrows.  

I also need new hiking boots.  We walk all the time.

Thanks,
Timmy

Zombie Postcard Fiction: As Seen on TV

 

"There's nothing to eat!"

"Go collect some bugs."

"We can't eat bugs!"

"Yes.  We can."

"No way!"

"I saw it on TV."

"Your shows suck!"

 

Photo by fir0002, GFDL 1.2 <http://www.gnu.org/licenses/old-licenses/fdl-1.2.html>, via Wikimedia Commons 

 

Zombie Postcard Fiction: The Horde is Here!

"What about grandma's china?"

"Leave it."

"What about the photo albums?"

"There's no time."

"The cat is hiding."

"Leave her and get in the car!"

 

Photo by Leo de Vos from id., The Netherlands, 

CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>,

 via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Zombie Postcard Fiction: The Lost Bookmarks

Without electricity and internet, we lost all our useful bookmarks.  All those "how to" videos on youtube were suddenly gone.  We don't know anything anymore.

Photo by Игорь Орлов / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)

Flash Fiction: Try Again Later

"While the people appear to be dead, we have to presume that they are merely in an altered state of consciousness.  We have to remember that these disease victims are people's fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and children.  If you encounter a victim of this devastating illness, do not approach them, do not hurt them, and call 911 immediately."
--- Atlanta Mayor's announcement to the city in Zombie Complex.

   "Mom, 911 just plays a recording that says all circuits are busy.  Try again later."
   "Don't worry.  The government will take care of it.  They will clear the streets and deliver us some food."
   "What should we do?"
   "Try again later."
   "But, we are hungry now."
   "That's not my fault.  Your school should have brought you lunch."
   "But, we're hungry."
   "Quit bothering me and go entertain your brothers."
   "They're hungry too."
   "Don't make me whip you.  Leave me alone."
   "I guess we'll try again later."

Zombie Cinquain: Sleepless

They scratch
all day and night.
They know we are in here.
The dead can wait for a long time.
Sleepless.

Photo by Jay West /
CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Zombie Postcard Fiction: What Police?

  "You called the police, right?"
  "Yes, Mom."
  "When will they be here to deal with the dead?"
  "Never."
  ''What?"
  "There are no more police mom."

Badge Photo by Emu125 / CC BY-SA
(https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)