The inner workings of a troubled mind.

Polite zombies and screwdrivers.

I had another nightmare last night. The usual zombies attacking me and my kids nightmare, but this time with a twist. in my dream, I am a runner. I don't attack or kill them unless I have to. Even then I am batting my hands at them like I would swatting a fly. If my flailing hands do come into contact with them, somehow they end up dead and I run again.
In this dream, one of the walking deteriorating zombies talked to me. She introduced herself and asked me for permission to eat me. Her eyes didn't have the vacuous stare the rest of them did and it confused me.

"Excuse me. May I please feast on your flesh? I am very hungry."

I don't know what upset me more. The fact that she was asking to eat me, or the fact that she expected an answer.

This was the first time in these reoccuring nightmares that I happily drove a screwdriver through a zombies skull.  I am not zombie chow.

Why the hell am I so freaked out by zombies anyway?