Zombie Novel michele copy

I woke up as the plane landed and troubled by my

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I woke up as the plane landed and troubled by my dream, I wondered, if hospitals are supposed to be places where lives are saved, why do they always smell like death? I met my father right outside the airport; he had driven the old family car, an event that was becoming increasingly rare with the increase in gas prices. He shook my hand firmly and asked if I needed help with my luggage. I told him no, that I could handle it on my own. He nodded and started the car while I put my bags in the backseat. On the drive home I barely recognized anything; I told my father that things looked different. He said they weren't; he said that nothing had changed, nothing ever did. He looked more depressed than I had known he could be. When I got home my mother cried, and embraced me. She had prepared what could be considered a feast in my home. I told my family stories about America; they told me stories from home. We exchanged seven years of our lives in one hour over some cold soup and stale bread. Seven years of life and living, seven years of sun rises and sunsets, seven years of nights under the moon and stars, seven years spent with my Uncle and the nightmares, all summed up with such insignificant and
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nebulous words as 'good' and 'nice'. I was meant to stay with my family for a month. It was about two weeks into my visit when everything happened. Two weeks from when I arrived, the world cut open its belly and let all its stinking innards and everyone that had been rotting in them spill forth. We could not afford a TV; all we had was a radio. I remember being a child and listening to the radio with my baby sister. We were enthralled by it, listening to the sounds of lives we could never live. She was four when I left, she was eleven now, and the radio once again had us enthralled. At first the information came slowly, agonizingly slow. People were dying, but they didn't seem to be staying that way. The bodies of the dead were rising, and they were hungry. Corpses were reanimating and devouring the living. For a long time we were convinced it was a hoax, until it was the only thing on the radio, until it was the only thing people talked about, until it was the only thing we thought about. It wasn't isolated reports anymore, but entire towns were being attacked, the denizens slaughtered and reborn. Cities were threatened, people began to panic. Widespread looting and chaos were everywhere. Then suddenly the radio went to static, it became nothing but an insistent reminder that we were alone and deaf, facing the end of the world. Leaving the city was an obvious choice. We had next to nothing and no reason to stay. So one night with the fires of burning building lighting our path, we fled the city and made for the country. That last night before we left, lying in the same bed that I had for the first ten years of my life, I had another dream. I dreamt that I and my family were sitting down for dinner, everyone taking their traditional spots around the dingy table, but with the noticeable and ominous absence of my sister. I
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