Like Father, Like Daughter...

In case you haven't heard, my youngest, Zoe, seems to have been bitten by the writing bug.  Not just that, but the evil temptress that is horror.  Yep, my little angel writes horror.  See the poem below.  Why am I bringing this up?  Because two weeks ago, Zoe entered her first creative writing contest.  The Kyle Public Library hosted their "Spooky Story" contest, which was open to middle-school and high-school kids.  Zoe entered her story, Perfect, which was about a demented doctor who kidnapped women and cut them to pieces in an attempt to make his "perfect" bride.  There were 140 entrants.

Zoe won.

She beat out 139 other kids from high-school on down to win bragging rights and a free Kindle.  Do I sound like I'm bragging?  Like maybe I'm a proud poppa?  Because I am.  Proud.  Proud. Proud.  I've also had a few relatives (grandmother, aunt) who have asked to read the winning story... Not sure I want to send it to them because I'm pretty sure it'll freak 'em out.  Seriously.  I read it.  This is twisted stuff, and I love it.

So anyway, here's me bragging.  Her name is Zoe Johnson.  Remember that name.  You'll hear it again.  And again.  And again.

Poetry by Zoe

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.
But...
How could you kill someone you love the most?