True story and nothing cutesy to add at the end. I was defending my childhood home with my mother (deceased for several years) and my niece (8) who didn’t look or act like herself.
The zombies were people we knew in the neighborhood and instead of been grotesque, unstoppable creatures bent on brain consumption, these zombies just had goofy grins and bad fashion sense (they all wore baggy Looney Tunes tee shirts).
But they were pretty much unstoppable. At one point I had to rest from beating one with a baseball bat because it didn’t fight back, but wouldn’t lie down or go away.
Dream me was calm and methodical and hellbent that no one was going to infect my niece — though I didn’t seem concerned about her parents at all — and I was pretty sure my mom was infected. We finally closed down the house — apparently zombies can’t figure out mini blinds!– and got the garage door closed with one dog in the garage (not ours) and another outside (ours). I woke up at the thought of our lab-chow mix turning into a zombie.
So what’s the point? First, my brain is wants me to write more. I always get crazy vivid dreams when I haven’t been writing enough. And more importantly, I thought this was a better answer to the ubiquitous “where do you get your ideas from?” question that every writer encounters. Clearly, I write stories in my sleep.
This is the second time that zombies have invaded, which means I’ve got a zombie story somewhere in me. Obviously it’s trying to eat my (subconscious) BRaaaAAAAAaaaaAAAAIIIIINNNS!
Sasha, who is going to stock up on baseball bats
