Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 26-10-2013
Dino was found partially devoured yet inexplicably moving, so they put him down. The children were in hysterics, beyond intelligible, and Betty was missing. “Not good; not good at all,” Fred muttered to himself, the hairs on his neck prickling. He called for Wilma. He was late for work and fairly certain that Barney had just become the Stone Age’s zombie zero.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 17-09-2013
When the dead began to walk again, Laura spent a few moments in shock and then she was on it. Heavy rebar across the access points downstairs, concrete poured into the basement window wells, bear traps set along the perimeter of the backyard, new generator installed in the basement next to the sharpener, all downspouts removed (with buckets put in place to capture rain water), solar powered flashlights in recharging holsters tucked into the upstairs flower boxes, Molotov Cocktails in wooden crates filling the pantry, and her dad’s collection of guns, knives, and hand axes made ready with some elbow grease and bonus ammo from the pawn shop. Laura was divorced, middle-aged, not a natural blonde, and the proud owner of a BMI of 33; she was about to become a hero and a legend.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 16-08-2013
Jack and Jill went up the hill to the old well, carrying a pail and a coffee can respectively. The pail was full of sharp stones from neighborhood driveways and gardens; the can contained protein bars, fruit rollups, and Twinkies. They’d been working on the treehouse fortress for a while and could now concentrate on supplies. “We’ll be covered for water, obviously,” Jack said to his sister as they surveyed the stockpile. “And it’ll be some time before we need more ammo.” Jill nodded. This was the best vantage point in town and they’d each used slingshots since about age 3. “Brace to not fall and aim for the crown,” she repeated. Jack smiled. When the zombies reached the treeline, they would be ready.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 18-07-2013
Responding to a growing demographic, Disney took to the storyboards and produced a zombie princess fairytale. They were (predictably) criticized both for their lack of sensitivity to the families of plague victims and to the living-challenged themselves (for idealizing their look and behavior for the sake of marketing). Just as predictably, however, the film’s theme medley, “Give Me A Smart Boy (A Boy with Brains)” and “Pieces and Parts, You Know the Way to My Heart”, won an Oscar for Best Song.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 15-07-2013
“No! No!” Spielberg said, laughing so hard he began to snort. “Vampire aliens carrying the zombie plague arrive to conquer Earth through body possession!” He had tears in his eyes. “Now, THAT’S a reboot of E.T. for ya!” Inside the meat suit of his friend, Brian, Zlarg nodded gravely, trying to smile. He would have to send a telepathic message to his commander relaying that their plans had been discovered.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 10-07-2013
Arnie’s life had stalled at 8; for as long as he could reliably remember, he had been “your other kid”, “that chubby guy”, and the “what’s his name again” contingent. His had been a life cobbled together with other people’s spare time, rebound relationships, and jobs that no one else wanted to do. Suicide wasn’t an option (he had few friends and didn’t want to finish the game as the “bad smell coming from what’s-his-face’s apartment”), so Arnie volunteered to go down with a relief effort to Haiti when the zombie plague broke out and he allowed one to bite him. The infection slowly building inside of him, he returned to the States for one last and special “Team Member Recognition Meeting” at the office. He felt pretty confident that this one would make the local paper.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 11-04-2013
Professor Paulsen had left urgent notes on several lockers, basically commanding the underachievers in his class to see him in his office immediately if they wanted to graduate; these were the slackers, the bullies, the screw-ups who made it harder for everyone else to hear and concentrate with their ridiculous antics. Turning into a zombie was not an elegant process; he had been ill for some time and the progressive virus was causing almost unimaginable pain. Now that the end was near, however, Paulsen had devised a plan to “go out in style” as they say … and make the world a better place in the process.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 24-01-2013
Bedford (the Beagle) was the town howler; one if by land (animal control van), two if by sea (big storm coming in). When Dash and Smudge heard the long short short looooooooong short short, they paused. Three? “Zombie apocalypse,” wuffled Airstream lowly. “Get the others and tell them to bring their rugs or blankets and favorite toys to the warehouse. The retrievers have been dragging bags of food there for months. We’ll be fortified and safe.” A human scream sounded in the distance. “Poor bastards,” Airstream finished, moving into the night.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 11-12-2012
He recognized Nancy Benfield from fifth period math. She had taken the shambler down with one bullet. “Hey, Troy,” she said with a nod. He stammered his thanks, his teeth still chattering with fear. “I used to sit around wishing I was prettier, cooler, funnier – anything to make you guys like me,” Nancy said, putting her gun away and grabbing the fire escape ladder. “Now, I just sit around wishing I could find an unlimited supply of bullets – anything I can do to keep the right people safe.” She pulled the ladder up after her, not inviting him to climb. “You were a complete dickhead to me, so I’m only going to save you once. Good luck.” And she was gone. She was gone, he had just screamed like a B-movie starlet, and he could hear more shamblers on their way.
Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 22-11-2012
9:53am: Christopher is grateful for agility, dodging two zombies outside of the grocery store. 10:17am: He is grateful for exceptional hand/eye coordination, fighting his way to the front door of his house with the groceries and putting the key into the lock. 3:49pm: Chris is grateful for the Survivor Online Network, which runs a community board from a server farm somewhere (it helps with the loneliness, since his parents didn’t make it back). 11:08pm: He’s grateful for David Letterman, who’s living in his Hollywood studio with the show’s broadcast crew and a few folks from the last audience he ever had. There’s no turkey, of course, but the laughter makes it feel a little like Thanksgiving.