Frank pulls at the dead branches, cutting and breaking away the dead wood, fuming… for no real reason, but fuming. Bored and restless he’s tired of hiding out in this garden, hiding under Gloria’s protective wing. They don’t talk much about the zombie-ism but it’s always there, the fact he isn’t “normal.”
She’s tried to protect him, keep him away from prying eyes, maintain as normal a life as possible, but the fact is, this place is both sanctuary and prison. It’s no kind of life, not even for the undead. What’s the point of it all, coming back from the dead, to what? Glorified gardener… make that a horrified gardener, he chuckles to himself. Sure he’s slow and a wee bit lurchy and kinda grey, but he’s still FRANK! Somehow still a person, and he wants more than this. And he wants it more than he wants braaaains.
CRAP! That last clipper cut didn’t feel quite right… he digs through the debris of branches… find the chunk that looks a little more grey than brown. Picks it up… sure enough. Looks at his left hand, the sharp edge where his index figure used to be, matches the severed stump up against it. Yep. Crap. Wipes the slow ooze from his hand, looks at what was his finger, contemplates it for a moment… and… pockets it.
Frank crashes out the gate in disgust …literally crashes – he is a zombie after all, and that blasted latch just wouldn’t move! Frank crashes through the gate and out onto the street… pausing, his heart pounding in his chest – at least something’s pounding, maybe just fear.
He stops, looks around… nothing. A car drives by, doesn’t even waver as he stands on the sidewalk swaying in his uncertainty. He takes a shaky breath and starts to walk, anywhere, it doesn’t matter, he’s just got to move.
As people pass them on the street, they don’t even look. He may as well be invisible. I’ve been hiding out for this? Frank grumbles, not sure if he’s more mad he’s being ignored, or that he could have been out on the streets, being ignored, weeks ago. Really, people? he asks to himself, There’s a zombie in your midst and… nothing. Really? Sheesh, who’s the zombie?
He doesn’t know how long he’s walked, it’s overcast so the light really hasn’t changed, but he’s sure it’s been hours. He’s riverside somewhere now, he can see up ahead a woman sitting in the grass. As he gets closer, she flips the hair out of her face, distracted. She seems a little paler than most, and she’s… yep, chewing on a squirrel’s head. Munching away like it was a corn dog.
“Um.. hey.” He says when he gets within talking distance. She jumps up at the sound of his voice, tries first to hide the squirrel from him, then darts her eyes to flee, then drops the squirrel and starts to move towards him, clumsily. “Ah, yeah… how’s it going? Looks like we might have something in common.” he tries for openers.
Her milky eyes seem to look right through him, she lurches closer, “Arrrrrgh!” is her only reply. She’s now close enough to grasp, he grabs on to her shoulders “Look…” he says as he tries to get her to focus. Her head snaps at the sound, she pauses, sniffs the air, breaks his hands off her shoulders, grabs his face… and kisses him.
Startled, Frank takes a step back, at first fearful she’s trying to eat him. What good are zombie brains to a zombie? he half-thinks until her tongue moves in his mouth, and she tastes of squirrel, and blood, and death, and something familiar…
His hand wraps around her head, twists in her hair. Her hair… her hair, it smells… like home.
Dah dah DA….
I’ve been having fun with this! Find out what I’m doing with it next.