Wicked Zombies


After fighting off a giant horde of shambling, rotting corpses and being separated from my group, I run for cover to a 3 story home off the main street. 


I barricade the front door and just my luck the windows are already boarded up tight. Just to be safe, I run up the stairs to the top floor and set up shop in what looks to be an old couples bedroom. Doilies on the table tops, family photos in silver frames, a Tiffany lamp in the corner, nothing useful to be used as a weapon. There is however a glass sliding door to a balcony. 

"Great! I can scout out for my friends, if any of them are still alive.", I start thinking about the possible devouring of my loved ones flesh, "And we had done so well, so far. Shit."

I start crying. 


That's when I hear the sound of shuffling feet and that unmistakably squelching followed by a kind of sick plop of wet intestines hitting the floor. The tears immediately cease. My heart feels like its pumping ice water through my veins. I turn quickly to see the disemboweled, reanimated corpse of the previous homeowner jaws agape and coming my way slowly. 

I reach for the hatchet at my hip, as it's the only thing I have left on me and prepare to fight, once again, for my life. 


The smell is horrendous. It's like a combination of putrid meat, diarrhea and mothballs. I gag, hard, but maintain my focus on my target inching closer by the second. 


I swing the hatchet, and land it with a 'thunk' noise through this old man's skull, direct hit to the brain. The hit should have been enough to drop the walking corpse, but instead he reaches his arm up to grab at my shirt. My eyes open wide in sheer terror as I back away and swing my hatchet again, landing another direct hit to this decrepit, decaying man's head. It slices through like butter, on a slightly diagonal angle. I pull the hatchet from his head, and what looks like a perfect large slice of cake falls to the floor. Skull cake with brain filling. 


The advancing corpse now looks like its smiling a menacing toothy grin. Mocking my attempts to drop it as it reaches again for my shirt, this time grabbing a handful of cloth.

I began to panic swinging my hatchet once more, this time aiming at the neck to try and sever the spinal cord. Perfect swing and hit, the sharp blade cuts clean through the old man's neck leaving only an inch or so of flesh holding his head on.

I pull my weapon back, this things head falls to the side, but it advances again. 


I have no more room to back up, this rotting shell of what was once some kid's grandpa is still gripping my shirt and not falling down. I've destroyed it's brain, I've severed the spinal cord, according to every zombie rule I have ever heard this thing should be done for. 


"You are FUCKED.", my brain is screaming at me. My heart is pounding through my chest, the tears begin to fall again as I hear the barricade break at the bottom of the stairs and what sounds like dozens of feet stomping up the stairs toward me. 

The swaying head of this old man, gnashes it's teeth at me, dangling by it's shoulder, not having the ability to grip due to lack of leverage and force, but I feel the porcelain dentures scraping my skin in the attempt to bite through my soft flesh. I push, he doesn't move, I am backed into the corner and calmly accept my fate as I close my eyes and slide down the wall into the fetal position.


"This is it. You are about to be eaten by a horde of starving, rotting corpses."

The room is filled with the smell of decay. The sound of feet have made it into the room with more still coming. 


I breathe deep, on last breath and open my eyes to see whats coming. Dozens of dead hands reach toward me, clawing my skin and thats when I await the the sharp pang of teeth though flesh...

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Comment by Koma White on June 22, 2011 at 5:34pm
Thanks Doll :P
Comment by Komrad Lady Sunyak on June 22, 2011 at 5:33pm

The last part reminded me of this for some reason. Great writing...had me on the edge of my seat


Trash: Do you ever wonder about all the different ways of dying? You know, violently? And wonder, like, what would be the most horrible way to die?
Spider: I try not too think about dying too much.
Trash: Mm. Well for me, the worst way would be for a bunch of old men to get around me, and start biting and eating me alive.

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