Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Night of the Living Edgar

by Ari Collins

I again placed my right hand on the headless zombie's chest. Thrum-thrum. Thrum-thrum. I dug through filmy necrotic muscle. Thrum-thrum. Thrum-thrum. There it was: a pacemaker, loyal in the face of obscenity.

I stomped the creature's chest until the only heartbeat I heard was my own, in my ears, and joyful.

1 comment:

Alias said...

7th sentence is a keeper:)
like it!