Free Our Undead by Theo Vigo

instantly drops back down to meet the cabin
floor.
    Her exhausted expression
slowly morphs into the tiniest little grin, and her chest convulses
just slightly as the little grin grows into a little smile. And
more, her chest's rate of convulsing rises until she breaks out
into a soft chuckle. The chuckle soon grows into a laugh, and the
laugh into an absolute hysterical fit. Being there to witness it,
one might think she is a loon, arching her back on the floor and
holding on to her tummy tightly, trying to hold in the unruly
cackling.
    What are the chances? This
zombie had shattered all the hope and love she had left in her
life. In a world where a fanatical nightmare had become a reality,
her parents were her single source of comfort. Life had become
total shit, but her parents had created a feeling for her that felt
like old times, a piece of her past that she could look to for
comfort and to bring her mind back down to earth. This zombie had
taken it all away in one fell swoop, but now, when she is ready to
give in, the stupid skin-bag of rotting walking crap can't even
make it through a door. What type of luck is this? Hers
alone.
    But then, she remembers
what she has lost and reality schmoozes it's way back into her
head. Her hysterical laughter turns into hysterical crying, and she
let's it all out.
    LongBlondeHairedGirl: AARGH!!! I HATE YOU!!! YOU STUPID FUCKING
BASTARD!!! I HATE YOU!!!
    She screams her curses
toward the ceiling, pounding her fists into the cabin's dirty
timber flooring like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Our zombie
watches her mental collapse from the door, still wanting to take a
juicy bite out of her brains. He brawls with the thick wooden
bristles just as crazily, but the vice remains steadfast and
skewered.
    The delirious girl
continues to thrash about, and then searches manically around the
floor. She spots the still beaming flashlight and scuffles over to
it, grabs it and looks sharply in the direction of the zombie who
is still floundering in between the door. With all the strength she
can muster, she fast pitches the flashlight toward him and just
misses. The flashlight slams into the face side of the door just
beside his head, and then hits the floor. She growls with rage at
her inaccuracy and looks around again for something else to throw.
When she finds nothing, her anger compels her to get up and charge
the ensnared killer, to tear him apart with her bare hands. But one
step on her bad foot, and she goes careening back down to the
floor, crying at the severe prick shooting up the whole right side
of her body. Her hands and knees take the brunt of the rough floor,
saving her face from taking the impact, while her stalker watches,
wants and wriggles.
    It really is hopeless. The
pain from trying to run on her mangled ankle brings her out of her
unstable frame of mind. She cautiously turns herself around and
eases herself back down. There, she sits on the floor, out of
breath, looking into the eyes of the thing that killed her parents.
She is out of everything, out of hope, out of family, out of love,
out of energy and out of words. There's nothing left to do now. She
is tired, and if this useless zombie can't kill her, the next best
thing she can think to do is sleep. If by daylight the zombie has
somehow managed to break out of the door and kill her in her
slumber, so be it.
    She lays herself down on her left side, curling her left leg
up into the fetal position, but leaving her injured right one
slightly extended. The sharp pain in it is in a constant ring. She
can still see our zombie, growling at her and reaching for her,
trying his best to get unstuck. It is the last thing the girl sees,
the last thing she hears before her eyes become too heavy, her body
becomes too relaxed, and she drifts off into sleep.

ELUCIDATION
    It's a bright and beautiful
spring day. The girl with long blonde hair looks ravishing. Her
locks are luxurious and bouncing. They catch the light from the sun
and almost