Our Undead by Theo Vigo

zombie, still caught
in his snare. Oddly enough, he isn't struggling. He's just standing
there moaning to absolutely no one. It's a weird moan that the girl
has never heard before, more high-pitched than the normal bass
heavy gurgling growl she has become so accustomed to hearing from
the creatures, especially the male ones. It sounds almost sad, and
the way the thing throws it's head back as it wails, adds to that
impression.
    She opts not to disturb
him. It wouldn't be very smart to catch his attention from the
other side of the door. He might very well be able to get out that
way. No, she doesn't want to attract his attention, but she also
has a hard time looking away. Could it be that these nightmarish
creatures actually have some sort of emotional intelligence? It
almost looks that way, and it thoroughly intrigues her, so she
takes more one bite of her bread slice and swiftly pulls away from
the door.
    <><><>
    She enters the cabin again
by way of the front door, just finishing off her slice of bread.
Instantly at the sight of her, our zombie starts up with the
growling and flailing of arms. It's becoming pretty apparent that
he doesn't have as much vigor as he once did. He struggles, but his
movements now just seem unmotivated. It's almost as if he's
just acting like
a zombie to keep up appearances, for the young girl's sake. But she
couldn't care less. She throws the duffel bag and her big branch on
the floor, and chuckles at the monster.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: Heh… Are you still going at it?
    Our zombie
continues.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: You know, I just saw you a minute ago. I was
watching you from that room back there. You didn't see me, of
course.
    He snarls at
her.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: From back there, it looked like you were crying.
Like a baby. And now you're tryna act all tough.
    He continues snarling and
reaching for her.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: Maybe you're not all bad… I mean, it's not your
fault you're a disgusting, soulless, rotting, walking… dead, but…
not really dead thing.
    The growling and reaching
persists as the girl turns for her bag and picks the water out of
it. She opens it up.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: When people are dead they aren't supposed to walk
around, they're supposed to be at rest. (takes a sip) This… (sips again) This
is a curse. A curse for you, a curse for me…
    She starts limping around
in front of the captured zombie while she speaks, as if having a
real conversation, using hand gestures to help explain herself as
she talks, in a serious state of questioning and thought. Like a
sergeant or commanding chief talking to his men, or a dictator
giving a speech to his supporters, but it does nothing in helping
our zombie understand a single word of her notions.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: The only ones who aren't cursed are the ones who
are already dead. They are the truly lucky ones. And I'm talking
about the DEAD dead, not the… YOU dead… Yea, we're in the same
boat, you and I… both cursed to live through hell on Earth until
someone puts us out of our misery.
    She stops in her tracks and
turns to the thing.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: So, I guess I can't blame you for constantly
moaning either.
    He wiggles and reaches,
wanting a taste.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: You really want me, huh? Is that what all the
moaning is about?
    She starts limping toward
him.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: You would love to break out of that door and sink
your teeth right into my face wouldn't you? (stops out of his reach) Or for
me to take one tiny step closer?
    Our zombie swipes and
swipes his free hand, coming within an inch away from her face. She
looks him right in his eyes as she speaks, and then watches his
hand as it sways back and forth in front of her. Then, she does
something insane.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: Well, here you go.
    She slowly inches her head
forward just enough so that the tips of our zombie's fingers graze
the soft muggy skin of her right cheek. They leave behind little
trickles of week old