In zombie movies, one guy always gets bitten, and tries to hide it from the group, and he winds up screwing things up for anyone.
And I laugh.
At his stupidity, and short sightedness.
Ignoring facts at the expense of his friends lives.
If it were me, I think to myself, I’d man up, eat a gun and save everyone a world of pain and danger.
But now, looking at the bite on my arm…
It’s barely a scratch.
And I’m so fucking scared.
I’m not ready to go.
Not like this.
I’ll tell them, I will. Just… not yet.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Labels: 100 words, Drabble, Horror, Horror Films, Short story, Zombies
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
...because you are starting to think, hey, it's not so bad being one of the living dead!ReplyDelete
i kinda like this interpretation. it's not what i meant, but i dig it too :DReplyDelete