Zombies Made Me Do It

The dinner plate never made it to the table, because zombies just don’t wait for things like that. They come in, all mangled and jittery, and bite the nearest human being. I hate to tell you it, but the truth hurts.
It was your average post-apocalyptic Wednesday night. All of the remaining humans in the area (including yours truly) were settling in, readying ourselves for our meal. There are seven of us total, so food supply can be pretty tight sometimes. There used to be eight; Penelope, the old hag who never shut up. When we couldn’t find a Loblaws, she was the first to go, and no one really had anything to say about it, except for that old people are really stringy. That being said, you can imagine how much this interruption irked us all.

“Little bugger probably found us by accident,” Derek snorted, putting his shotgun down on the ground, the tip still smoking. Although he was a little of the hefty side, Derek had always been Darwin’s dream of a ‘clean leader’; he was the one who called the shots most of the time. He tried to say the words persuasively, but I had a feeling that no one else really thought so. Or, at least, I didn’t think so.

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I was very bored, and I wanted to write something about zombies [because who doesn't like zombies?] If I like the story, or happen to find a plot for it [which may not happen any time soon], I will continue with it.