:: Speaking of Zombies

The smell of weeks buried underground exhumes from the languid stalks that were once arms and legs. The bloated midsection squirms with the pulsating movements of unknown numbers of maggots, a few occasionally dropping to the ground. Fingers creak from unaccustomed movements across the keyboard, a whisper of a breath sends dust motes scattering. Dust bunnies scurry into dark corners for safety. Dry cracked lips part and with a raspy moan, a voice escapes from the hollows of long deflated lungs... "I pity the fool".