User:Rosslessness/zombie fiction

Heres my first piece.

Warning! Zombie!

There's a zombie in my lounge. Its a bit of a problem. I can't get out. It all started last week. Zombies rose from the dead, and pretty soon were all dead. Apart from Greg. Greg's in my front room. I'm not going in there, so I'm stuck. Its the only door, and my phone is in there. Its all a bit annoying.

Ive locked the door, and sit in my kitchen watching the telly. There's a note on the door to remind me. It says Warning! Zombie! in big letters, in case I forget.

It will all work out fine. I've got plenty of food and someone will check on me soon. I mean, a man can't just be forgotten......

A Hint of Movement

Something moves, dislodging a crate as it passes. Slowly my eyes flick open. It's gone. Just the familiar sound of running. I rise unsteadily, the stiffness of my limbs slowing me. I tilt my head as I look slowly around.

What is this place, so empty, so quiet?

And then the feeling of hunger returns.

A Gift

The meeting of two roads.

There is a man here, I can smell his fear. He waves something he holds at another, remembered.

Several loud noises and the remembered falls. Still the man circles, a succession of noises. They stop as suddenly as they had begun, replaced by a clicking.

It is the first man I have seen in a long time. I approach slowly, a line of abandoned cars between me and him. He is very thin, and dressed all in green. A wild beard hides his face.

He fails to realise I am there until my hand touches his shoulder. By then it is too late. My vision fills with hatred and anger and blood. We fall together, his frantic movements slowing, until there is only stillness.

I stay there for what seems an age, stripping my prize, cracking long bones and shredding flesh. By the time I am done there are others here, picking the man clean, removing all traces.

It seems strange to me looking at this Man's own kill. Why did he kill the remembered? Why did he leave its flesh untouched?

Then I notice the gift.

Sticking out of my chest is a piece of metal, long and thin. Clumsily I pull it out, leaving a ragged hole. It seems to fit my hand perfectly.

Without realising it I begin walking west. Behind me others follow. They move slowly, but without a sound.

Leaving nothing behind.