Don’t cry. I say don’t cry because it will do no
good. The day of reckoning you say? No, but I have
wondered that myself at times. After all, what other
time is the dead professed to walk. If it scares you
I believe it should. I know I am scared. As I sit
here within the confines of my safe home, I see them
passing by the window. The many corpses of both
friends and strangers. I saw many go in my lifetime,
and they where sad days. But I never dreamed of
seeing them again, especially not this way. One day
in heaven perhaps but not shambling zombies wandering
among the living.
My wife sits outside the doorway. She left me five
years ago to join our sons in another world. But her
soul less body now slumps just outside the door. Two
hours ago she came pounding. She stood rapping and
crying, waking me from a dream. Her voice sent me out
of bed and to the floor faster than I believed my old
bones could go! Looking out the window I cried with
joy at the radiant beauty of the woman I loved. I
threw open the door and was stopped aghast at the
horrid creature that stood before me. If she had come
to me in any other way I would have greeted her with
embraces and kisses. Instead I quickly came to my
senses and slammed the and door quickly drew the locks
as fast as my old shaky hands could do them. She’d
only stopped pounding roughly ten minutes ago. My
sons have joined her now on the porch they all sat.
Three lifeless bodies somehow animated. It was hard
to pass judgment on what I saw and did not believe.
The pounding on the door has begun again and my poor
old heart is beating so. I find myself torn between
those that I love and the unmistakable reality and
terror of what they are now. I want to hold them ago
so badly. I don’t know what scares me more. The
horror of what I see, or the fact that I am so
blanched by that horror that I can not except them
unto myself.
The dead continue to walk, dropping appendages, skin
and clots of dirt onto the ground as they travel. I
see that other family members are also awake. Perhaps
they to are afraid to leave the assured safety of
their homes. Perhaps they to are afraid to reach out
to there loved ones.
A window shatters. The big picture window that my
wife always cherished. I see one of the boys has done
it. A re-enactment of something that happened long
ago. The image of a ten-year-old enters my mind as he
steps through the broken pain of glass. Sheepish grin
and baleful eyes. A smile crosses mine as I turn to
beckon him to me so I could hold him, embrace him like
I so dearly wanted. He comes to me but as he steps
closer the image falls away and I see him as he really
is. The infested and rotting corpse of my child long
dead. I turn weakly, and run.
x x x
|