Here's something interesting. My youngest daughter writes. No kidding, you say? She writes well. She writes horror-themed stuff. Wonder where she gets it from... So, I'd like to present to you a poem by my Zoe. She makes me very proud.
Walking Among the Dead
by Zoe S. Johnson
Through the ruins of what used to be the city
the fallen men and women stumbled through their forgotten home
between the living and the dead
looking for warm muscle and flesh to rip away.
It doesn't hurt when you become a corpse like them.
You never feel pain, you never grow hungry,
and you just walk without a care in the world.
It was an undead Hell.
You still age and decompose.
You still rot away the shell of your old self.
Who you used to be doesn't matter anymore.
Your mind now belongs to them
and you can't turn back.
That's not the worst part.
Those who are alive have to deal with
the toughest challenge of their lives.
Some of the infected are recognizable.
How could you kill someone you love the most?