Post by lighthouse on Nov 21, 2011 18:37:12 GMT -5
The night was still. The air was scented with the essence of flowers and evergreen. The clouds had parted and suddenly there were stars peeping out amongst the dark of the sky. Who would have known that thousands of walking dead were dragging their mangled limbs along the sidewalks of such an ordinary street? My house was protected by electric invisible fences and by the luxurious bushes and trees that surrounded the front yard. I slid outside the front door with a cup of tea and stood in the darkness. I knew better than to turn on the porch light.
I sat on the chair nearest the door. I could hear grunts and low groaning coming from way beyond my house. It was the same sound heard every night, time and time again. I had grown accustomed to the noise like one does to a train that passes through in the early morning hours. I don’t know why I continued to sit outside listening to this macabre sound. I tried to ignore the reality of where the noise came from or what was causing it. I just wanted a sense of normalcy. One of my favorite things to do in life was to rock in my chair on a midsummer night’s evening and enjoy the serene closing of another day. I so longed to have what was mine back in my life again. Unexpected turns and twists had caused my daily routine to be desecrated. I know longer knew what the next day would bring. I could no longer enjoy a good movie at the theatre or coffee afterwards at the local café. The small blessings of normalcy were taken away. Every morning was greeted by the decision of how do I stay alive today. The driving sense of survival remained in the forefront. Only the morbid would have lived this way before the zombies came, but now it was the right of passage to life.
I sat on the front porch and listened carefully. There were no crickets chirping. There were no hoot owls hooting. There were no sirens of a fire truck or music blaring from a late night rendezvous. There was only the sound of what I once knew slowly being eaten alive by the undead.
I sat on the chair nearest the door. I could hear grunts and low groaning coming from way beyond my house. It was the same sound heard every night, time and time again. I had grown accustomed to the noise like one does to a train that passes through in the early morning hours. I don’t know why I continued to sit outside listening to this macabre sound. I tried to ignore the reality of where the noise came from or what was causing it. I just wanted a sense of normalcy. One of my favorite things to do in life was to rock in my chair on a midsummer night’s evening and enjoy the serene closing of another day. I so longed to have what was mine back in my life again. Unexpected turns and twists had caused my daily routine to be desecrated. I know longer knew what the next day would bring. I could no longer enjoy a good movie at the theatre or coffee afterwards at the local café. The small blessings of normalcy were taken away. Every morning was greeted by the decision of how do I stay alive today. The driving sense of survival remained in the forefront. Only the morbid would have lived this way before the zombies came, but now it was the right of passage to life.
I sat on the front porch and listened carefully. There were no crickets chirping. There were no hoot owls hooting. There were no sirens of a fire truck or music blaring from a late night rendezvous. There was only the sound of what I once knew slowly being eaten alive by the undead.