Zombie Drabble #124 “Subsistence”

There was an Audi in the middle of the street, driver’s side door open. At some point birds had built a nest of trash and dry uncut grass on the dashboard. There were no eggs, only brown shell shards. Rhonda moved on.

There were no zombies anywhere to be seen. There had been, once: corpses lay where they had been brought down by resisting survivors; gnawed bones could be found scattered on the street where they had not.

It was all irrelevant to Rhonda. She needed food. She would search the houses, but they had probably been ransacked long ago.

Zombie Drabble #123 “Drummer, Retired.”

He crept slowly along the hallway, letting his weight settle gradually to avoid making the floorboards creak. The doors on either side hid rooms still occupied, just not by the living. Once they had been the apartments of his neighbors.

When he reached his door, he turned the knob carefully, so that there would be no click or squeak. The small oil can was ready in his pocket just in case. He stole into his own apartment like a practiced thief.

There was plenty of food collected in his place, nearly a year’s supply now. He would eat it quietly.

SF Drabble #115 “Controlled Substances”

I took two white ones and a blue one, just like she said. We locked the stateroom door from the outside and pulled it shut behind us, secure in the knowledge that the steward would let us out when he came with breakfast.

“I’ve never done this with a human before.”

“Me neither,” I laughed.

She thought that was incredibly funny, and kissed me. She tasted like blueberries. I could already feel the chemicals mixing, taking effect. Their thoughts were forming, questioning, reading my memories. Soon the drugs would be fully conscious inside both of us, and it would begin.

SF Drabble #114 “Clarice Explains It All”

“Mom.”

“Honey, I just think—“

“Mom.”

“Clarice, your father and I don’t want you getting hurt. He’s… you just have to accept that he’s—”

“Why would I get hurt? He loves me.”

“Clarice, he’s not human.”

“I noticed.”

“Clarice—“

“I’m saying: be assured that in the nine months Klek and I have been dating I’ve noticed that he’s not human. Christ, mom: he has green skin. He has twelve fingers and eight toes. I notice that he’s not human all the time. Especially in bed. Seriously. We’re anatomically compatible, but barely. And I mean that in a good way.”

“Clarice!”

Zombie Drabble #122 “You can’t get a car, either”

“Dad, I’m ready.”

The old man sniffed. “You’re ready when I say you are. And I say you aren’t.”

“Dad—“

“Nope: too young.”

“I’m sixteen. Jorge was sixteen when he went out the first time; he’s one of the best scouts you have. I could be just as good as him.”

“You know who else was sixteen the first time he went out? Your Uncle Bobby.”

“Who?”

“Exactly. You don’t remember your Uncle Bobby because you weren’t born yet when he went out at sixteen and didn’t come back.”

“But—“

“Son, your mother would kill me if you got eaten.”