I decided that I am going to start being a productive blogger, and that means doing Starting Sparks again.
Two incredibly gifted and lovely people, go read their things and comment! :D
As soon as I saw this prompt, I knew only one of my character's could do this one.
This one was just for fun, so don't judge it too harshly.
It had already happened twice this week, twice. You would think they would be distracted by all the traps he had set up. Of course they bypassed those and went straight for his camp. The deer carcass in the camper was untouched which was odd, because he honestly couldn't smell the difference between it's blood and a humans.
It was cold though, cold blood didn't hold the appeal of warm. He would know.
Maybe they were finally figuring it out, but that would mean they were somewhat intelligent, which he knew from observation, they were not.
Cocking the shotgun in his hands, he stood waiting to be ambushed. They only attacked when their was a lot of them, because for some unknown reason. They were scared of him.
It was ironic, he had been a nobody, a wimp. Now flesh eating zombies stayed clear of him, he was like the Norman Reedus of this abandoned city.
A stuttering hiss, almost stopped his heart. He gripped his gun tighter, and fought the urge bolt, he had good footing in the camper.
No matter how many times he faced them, they made his blood run cold. Sure they were basically rabid humans, not the decaying, puss oozing dead ones, that somehow made it worse. Seeing inhuman, humans. Was scarier than any horror movie could create.
Seeing their empty eyes made him wish, he has lost it too. Lost the shred of humanity, that his body had clung to as it developed the virus. Giving him an undying hunger, but no will to quench it. He eyed the deer, thank God, he wasn't a vegan.
A slurping sound caught his attention, it was coming from the bedroom.
There was one inside. He raised his gun, already planning his shot.
He pushed the door open and fired, watching the bullets find their mark, but feeling no pleasure in taking another life, it went limp, dead. So not exactly a zombie at least in the traditional sense. He didn't look at it, just another human victim of an incurable plaque. Something orange squished under his shoe. He studied it, Fredrick, his goldfish.
"Really dude," He kicked the body away from his aquatic friend. Fredrick was the last living thing in his life, a friend even. Yet here he was, his tail fin gone. Walter picked him up, feeling dumb for wanting to shed a tear for him, and for wanting to eat what was left. Solitude and hunger could really drive you mad.
It didn't matter though, his mind was filled with french fries and revenge.