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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #2197111
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
without dreams. 

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
of hunger.

It was never going to 
be the same again—
just like it was before
.


40 Lines
Writer's Cramp
8-1-19
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2197111