The Reunion

April 25, 2010

On the day of his funeral Jerry sat, incognito, at the back of the church and watched the mourners.

His elderly mother looked pleasingly distraught. His brother gave a moving eulogy in which he praised Jerry’s many talents. Rather ironic since the last time they had met Simon had called him a loser.

There was even a sobbing ex-girlfriend; what right had she to be there?

He couldn’t take it any more. Jerry strode down the aisle to confront the hypocrites.

His mother and the ex-girlfriend screamed. Simon’s face blanched as he fumbled for a crucifix.

“Get back, foul beast.”



February 13, 2010

Michael woke late to the sound of silence. All of the noises of the city that had recently disturbed his sleep were absent. Light poured into the bedroom through gaps in the curtains. Peering bleary-eyed out of the window Michael was greeted by a dazzling vista of white.

Thick fresh snow blanketed the street outside; smothering trees, rooftops and burnt out cars. Amid the carpet of white the zombie horde was motionless, frozen like grotesque street furniture. Their hideous rampage halted overnight by a freezing easterly wind.

Reaching for his trusty cricket bat Micheal cautiously started to climb the barricade.

[First posted Sun Jan 10, 2010]


February 13, 2010

‘Check it out! A gusher,’ yells Darren as the jerking zombie thumps against the storefront spraying the window with gore before convulsing to the ground.

Darren and I have been holed up in the shop for three days, unable to do anything but watch other survivors get chased down by the undead. Outside it is mayhem, inside Darren’s enthusiasm for the carnage is grating on my frayed nerves.

‘Awesome, that one has had its face eaten off.’ He points gleefully at yet another monstrosity.

I shudder. With a sudden resolve I cross the room, unbolt the door and step outside.

[First posted Sat Aug 01, 2009]

Arrival in New York

February 13, 2010

I stepped out of Penn Station onto 8th Avenue; an orphan and alone in the world for the first time. Outside a tumultuous surge of humanity passed me in every direction.

Searching for my bearings I scanned the street. Then I saw him, staggering through the crowd against flow of people. Gaunt and unspeakably filthy, he was dressed in a tattered black suit stained with mud.

I realised to late that the tramp was headed straight for me. He grasped my arm and croaked;

“I am… a friend of your mother”

In his outstretched hand he held her wedding ring.

[First posted Sat Apr 18, 2009]