Do Zombies Dream of Undead Sheep?
“Aww, dang it Eddie! Would you look at all this blood?” said Dan as he stared across the ever-spreading purplish puddle. This lifeblood tributary was filtering out from the neat stacks of peeled flesh and gleaming guts lying in ready-to-eat piles on either side of a field stripped corpse. Daniel scanned the crimson mess and was reminded of the time his college roommate spilled bong water all over the new bedspread. Being the Felix to Eddie’s Oscar, such untidiness was the bane of Dan’s existence. The extremities were removed from it’s trunk and stacked accordingly. Ya know, many different courses for such a damning meal. A hasty cross-section was split down the front half of dinner’s chest and torso; its ribcage spread, heart eaten. The remaining vital organs lied separate from the hollow trunk in a very special pile. The best is always saved for last. Dessert.
To the right of this macabre buffet was Eddie. The emaciated moron sat in his Lay-Z-Boy (he was taking a break, you’d have no idea how much tearing apart other human beings and eating them takes it out of a man) idly rubbing his overstuffed belly with pallid green hands. You could see, looking into Eddie’s gossamer face, that he was smiling that little brown tooth smile as half-chewed gristle hung out each side of his gauzy, sun-stretched mouth. A dazed look of dreamy satisfaction hung thick on that taught face as he gazed into nothingness; his brittle eyelids, half-pulled over the off-white raisins his eyes had shriveled into. He brought his lips together and sucked back the dangling sinew with an audible slurping sound. Such was life with Eddie: the token zombie.
“Eddie, you hearin’ me?!” said Dan.
“Wuh?” Eddie said through a mouthful of cannibal pulp. His voice is a syrupy gurgle, like that of a long-time smoker.
“Dammit Eddie, I just got these floors cleaned last week. Wuddaya tryin’ to do to me?”
“Nothin’” said Eddie, trying to choke down the last chunk of the unnamed man,”Nothin’ Danny, honest. I’m gonna clean all this up for ya, no time flat. You’ll see, Danny.”
But Dan wasn’t convinced “Wuddaya mean, ‘you’ll clean all this up’? Looks like you let loose the flippin’ Red Sea in my living room. I mean, who did you kill; The Kool Aid man?”
“Look Danny I said I’d-- wait, the Kool Aid man?”
“Oh, you know; the mascot for Kool Aid.”
A Blank stare from Ed.
“A big walking, talking pitcher with red juice in it.” said Dan.
“Oh… I get it. That’s not very funny.”
“Well I’m not here to make you laugh, I’m here to kick your friggin’ dead, rotten ass into gear so you can clean up this guy.”
“I resent that!” Ed said bolting upright in his chair, “I resent that and I think it was an anti-deadite remark!” said Eddie trying to fain anger best he could.
“Puh-Leese,” said Dan stretching his arms out in front of him, “I don’t wanna hear that B.S. Listen, I don’t care what kind of resurgence in pride ‘your people’ have had lately and could really give a hoot about all that ‘It’s twice-living-cannibalistic-entity not zombie.’ crap. I don’t need any of your propaganda or half eaten bodies running amok in my home!”
“YOUR HOME!?” said the indignant Ed. “Last time I checked I was paying half the bills here! And another thing--” Ed was now waving his knobby finger at Dan. But Dan’s attention had waned.
Dan looked to the fat severed head that soaked in a pool of its own juices aside the hacksaw. Its gin blossomed face had a cheery disposition. Actually, the damn thing looked downright elated. As if someone had just told him he won the lottery… and then ate him. He recognized the happy head, too, now that he looked at it. It was Steve; working class stiff and drinking buddy extraordinaire. Hey, wait a minute. He liked Steve.
“Hey, wait a minute. I liked Steve.”
-To be Continued Because It’s Late and I’m Tired-