The day the zombies came.
|Fifteen years ago, exactly on this day,
zombies attacked at dawn in northern
Arizona, where I live. It seems like
yesterday. So return with me now
to that frightful morning…
It had been a warm and quiet night.
The sky was ebon black and the
stars looked like you could grab
a handful at will. Once again,
the heavens had stolen my
heart. Sleep then came
shortly after midnight
Then, as night
was folding up its
rollaway bed, I heard
a peculiar scratching sound
on my window—that had startled
me awake. I had only wanted early
morning repose, and perhaps some REM
sleep in which dreams could dally and ply.
Yet the eerie scratching persisted, grew
louder and more forceful; more threatening.
Add to that were painful moans, as if some
agony en masse had control of all reality.
Suddenly glass shattered with a roar of
evil; I bolted from my bed and dashed
mad-like out into the dawn, barefoot,
tee-shirt and sweatpants, weaving
like inebriation among zombies,
a blood-thirsty mob of decrepit
skin and crooked yellow teeth.
Fear was a shroud of chain-
saw seizing, the crooked
zombie torso bend, the
drip of drool and maw
It was never going to
be the same again—
just like it was before.