Sarah and Seth Morrigan
Maybe if I cut his waffles into flaming skull shapes he’ll remember me, and he’ll talk to me and smile and laugh and touch me again.
But your zombies had standards. They would only eat brains that had been cooked to perfection in a raging fire.
He did not think about the fire. But then, he did not think. He existed. He took shallow breaths. He drank water. He ate sometimes. Waffles. Sarah liked to make waffles. But he did not think. His brain would go on its own, and he watched as the words and the images slipped by. None of it made any sense. Blue giraffes. Water wender way. In a box by the bay there is a thing, and all the children sing. He watched, and the words and the pictures and the time went by.
Daddy could tell they were coming. He said it was in the shape of the waves.
“You be careful out there. Boy got his head tore plumb off down that a way t’other week. They found his body on Ol’ Knocky’s grave. Ain’t found his head yet.”
Mighty nice of you to come. No, no, don’t leave. I’d have to come up there, and it ain’t so easy to climb up through six feet of dirt. ‘Specially when you ain’t got no head.
Glitterface the Necrofairy
But in this world, beauty could only belong to the Fairy Queen.
Glitterface spoke in the ancient tongue, from the days before there were queens and goons and palaces, and her wings moved back and forth through the still evening air. Small dark red blobs of light fell from them.
She grinned as shining golden finger bones broke through the ground.
She had time. His head was moving slower than a virgin who didn’t want to lose her ability to hang out with unicorns.
Edgar Allan Poe as a zombie
During my life, I had wondered what it would be like. Under the ground. In a box. With the worms. I had written about it. Poems. So many poems. And stories. Worms and gravestones and the deaths of beautiful women. These had been my favorite things.
There was the golden bridge and the sun and the water and beneath it the ruins, and he was there, infinite, and all was silent.
She flicked her cigarette off into the alley below. It came to rest under the graffiti. She glanced at it, at the word bridge, and went back inside.
The villagers had gotten so used to the mad laughter and the crackling bzzzts of electricity and the tortured screaming that they didn’t even hear them anymore.
“Three things shall you bring to me,” said The Nommer of All Things. “I require two extremely tasty cheeseburgers from The Diner Not Quite At But Very Near The End Of All Things, a googolplex of orphans, and one Infinite Red Hot Voidrock Candy Bar. Bring me all this, and I shall not nom you.”
Miss Cornice P. Reflecto, of Binky Toad Tower
The envelope was stamped with a logo of a stylized mirror, an oval outlined in flowing black lines, and beneath it was the motto of the Mirror Society: Reflect the truth, always.
George the Gas Station Attendant
His apartment was on the second floor. The harsh yellow light from the bare buzzing bulbs in the stairwell showed the gum wrappers, empty corn chip bags, and old gray receipts in sharp relief against the gray concrete.