PROMPT/CHALLENGE SUMMARY: In this interest of full disclosure, this is actually an old piece from last October, but as soon as I decided to start posting flash fiction here on the blog, I ended up not having time to actually write any. Because that's how these things work. I yanked the prompt out of. . . well, let’s say the sky. People talk about zombies a lot, particularly in October, and my youngest daughter was still a newborn and refusing to sleep when we actually wanted her to. The ideas just kind of collided.
Zombies are so cool right now. People are just falling all over themselves to jump on the zombie train. And that’s nice. Everyone loves to be the popular girl every now and again. But before you all get carried away with the grey face paint, open sores, and dirty hair, there are a few things you should know about zombies.
For authenticity and all that.
Firstly, we rarely shamble. That whole arms raised and stumbling around as though we don't remember how to pick up our feet image is just rude. It's prejudice, like assuming every black guy you see in a dark parking lot is looking for someone to mug or every kid named after a province in India is the best one to cheat off on the chem final. We walk. Or run, if the occasion calls for it. I have even, in very rare circumstances, been known to salsa.
Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Just shut up and go to sleep, dammit! All I want is ten minutes of fleurking peace and quiet around here so I can pee and maybe make a sandwich! Is that really so much to ask!?!
Sorry about that. I ate a stay-at-home mom earlier. That infant was never going to nap. I did her a favor, really.
Hey, I did her a favor by putting her out of her misery. Geez, I didn't kill the baby. What the hell kind of a monster do you think I am?
Oh right. Zombie.
And I guess I have to admit that the baby is probably in some trouble. I’m not really sure when Daddy gets home from work...
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Fun facts about zombies.
So we don't shamble. Secondly, we are totally capable of forming proper sentences. Clearly. We don't just go around moaning for brains all the time.
Braaaaaaiiiiiiiiins. Brrrrraaaaaaiiiiinnnnnssss. Brrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnssssssssssssssss!
How freaking ridiculous would I sound? Who would just stand there and let me chow down on their cranial goodness if I gave them that kind of warning?
Thirdly, a flamethrower will not do anything other than make it really hot in here. It's like silver bullets with werewolves and wooden stakes with vampires. People want to feel like they have a fighting chance. You don't, usually, but impossible has never proven much of a deterrent to humanity before, so why should this be any different?
Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep, little demon.
Good grief, lady, give it a rest. If I'd known you were going to give me indigestion... Note to self: stay away from the mommy types in the future. Bitches be crazy.
The whole thing with flamethrowers makes sense I suppose. Flamethrowers look cool in movies. They're a nice macho weapon for some inexplicably shirtless and--equally inexplicably--well-muscled dog-walker-turned-superhero to tote around, sure, but here in the world outside the silver screen, you're just going to hurt yourself.
Not that it really matters if you hurt yourself. You're about to be dead. So I guess you could spend your last moments flailing around with the combustibles if you really wanted. Whatever floats your boat, to each his own, all that nonsense.
Sorry for the rambling, by the way, but it's the fastest way to get you to stop thinking so I can get the psychic drain going. You didn't think we physically ate brains, did you? Ew. That's just gross.
Feeling a little sleepy? Maybe you should just lie down; it makes the dying so much more comfortable.