Since becoming a zombie Dave had been unhappy. Once a successful freelance writer for several national periodicals, now he just lurched around the streets with a few dozen other zombies whose names he didn't even know. None of the zombies ever talked to each other. Dave wondered sometimes why they even stayed in groups. "I guess it's just scarier that way," he thought to himself. "Brains!" he added. Zombie life wasn't Dave's first choice, of course. He'd had a wife, Wendy, and a son, Luke. They had been happy in their suburban home. Luke was in soccer. Wendy had just finished her second degree and was just starting a career as an architect. Dave had an office at the house where he wrote in the mornings and spent the afternoons, when the weather was nice, working in his garden. That life had been much better than this cold, dirty, violent zombie existence. It all ended, though, that morning when Dave woke to find Luke, or some awful little beasty that looked like him, gnawing on his shoulder. After that the fog of voracious rage overcame him and he became a zombie. Sometimes he looked for Luke and Wendy when they shambled past other gangs of roaming zombies, but he never saw them. He wasn't sure what he'd do if did see them anyway. Probably he'd just keep lumbering along. "I wonder if I could go back to the house and take up my old life?" he thought. "I still remember where it is. I'm not really sure where we are right now. Somewhere downtown I think. I'm sure I could find the house. Maybe I could fire up the laptop and write something. What would stop me? I don't think these guys would even noticed if I wandered away." But Dave didn't do it. He stayed with the group, kept foraging for food. "Brains!" he thought to himself.
Hello, friends. I trust you're well.