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He was the lord of Worthington Manor, purse-lipped and sharp-eyed with a tired pair of bent shoulders and bones that cracked while he walked.
"What a beautiful day for a stroll," said the ghost of his wife, who still walked among the grounds there.
The wind stirred, and the town began to wake. What a beautiful day, said a child with her matches close at hand, and the ashes of the neighbor's house swished at her little feet.
Something small -- something every small town has, you said. You said this coolly, collectedly, and I shuddered in the cellar with tears in my eyes while you ventured out the door to protect us.
I heard the zombie tear you apart, and I fell on my knees and cried.
The patient was quiet now. Sedated. Drowned out with Haldol until she became nothing but a puddle of drool. What a life, one tech said, how sad. The other didn't care.
The horror of it was -- as he lied there pale and not breathing -- she determined the body was still (somehow) alive.
She presented herself as fatigued and mousy with her tired eyes and somnolent slouch. But in the end, she died a heroine in the midst of a waking dream.
Her methods were dangerous:
She hitch hiked to every city to elude the ghosts at her heels, but the world caved in every time. She cleaned up each scene with enough money to travel out of the country -- but it didn't help. All she could think about was that night and how it changed her life forever.
the broadcast on the infection played in an infinite loop. reminiscent of a scifi-drama with will smith, one lone man stood on the docks of manhattan.
"Why?" he begged the sky, down on his knees "Why did this happen?"
and the sky did not reply, but the sea swallowed him whole.
"Because you asked the wrong questions."
there was something thick in july air. in summer storms.
it was a heavy night, and all she could think about was hopping a train. getting out of there. she only wept in thunder, you see. to rival the rain.
maybe she should leave to california, she thought
where the clouds would never cry.
She never knew what it was like
not to be an object.
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