Some days you write and wonder why on earth you'd do that. Surely the world was just fine without you adding this to it.
Today was one of those days.
I've artfully combined walking the dog and zombies. Yep.
She heard them, a rumble of broken sticks and tripping bodies, up the hill to her right. She'd thought it was late enough to walk, that they'd be sleeping in their graves. She'd been wrong. Early morning fog obscured her view through the cemetery. Oscar, her basset hound, howled at her feet, straining at his leash. She pulled him closer and snapped at him to quiet. As soon as she spoke, the rumbling stopped. She could feel them watching her, despite the fact that she couldn't see them. Oscar whined quietly, but she knew he was not finally minding her. He was afraid. In turn, she felt her limbs go cold with fear. Slowly she backed up, watching the fog and everything it concealed carefully. Then she tripped over a flat headstone and landed on her back, looking up into the fog. Oscar licked her cheek and wagged weakly. In the few seconds it had taken her to sit up, they'd come closer, transforming into gray blobs, like apes. They were wandering across the hill, maybe ten of them she could see, staggering as if drunk, which she supposed in a way they were. But they were drunks with a keen sense of smell and she knew they were aware of her and Oscar. Their only hope was to run, but in the fog... She had no choice. With a tug on Oscar's leash, she took off. She heard them spring into action, heavy muffled footfalls, bodies tripping over headstones, mumbling in confusion. Getting closer.
Week Eleven: Creative - Write Every Day