Zombie President

“Why are you eating that crow?”

Acloch merely looked at the source of those words with a look that seemed to say he had no intention of sharing, for he was not eating the crow so much as the worms that had brought it down. He had thought it might be his pathetic bow and arrow made without expertise from a weeping willow branch and a piece of kite string; the arrow itself, a dried box elder that grew out of the foundation of the abandoned church on second street, but he knew it hadn’t even reached the slow, low flying bird that had barely topped the green poplar saplings in which he had hidden here having never really expected his weapon would yield prey. However, there it was, a fallen crow and it fell due to his archery, but whether it was the upsetting apparent attack by the youthful hunter, or the point of the makeshift arrow that brought the bird down made no difference; here before him lay a crow that upon further investigation proved to be nearly consumed by a mass of worms, a veritable writhing ball of worms in fact that virtually replaced all of the prey’s inner portions. Delicious, tasty and his, the worms were a special delicacy he was sure not about to share.

Finishing he threw the bird at his sister, a squeamish little ghoul, only recently infected with the so called zombie virus from outer space. She caught it. She squealed. She tried not to look, to flee; to keep it away from her face even. It was to no avail, the reanimated soul stealer plucked at her eye, severing the tendons that held it in place and it fell, as distracted, the bird looked down only to have the girl bite its shiny black head off, and let its body fall, finding feathers fully dissatisfying.

Then seeing she had lost an eye Acloch picked it up, looked his baby sister in her remaining eye and popped it in his mouth, chewed it a bit then swallowed it.

“Ma! Brother ate my eye!” she screamed and ran for her mother who was busy hungrily chewing on the fat of her father’s arm again while the feral fiendish paternal provider gnawed on the gristle of the nose of the friend they had for supper, wondering what wily work would keep the famished family in food now that those not infected were so few, the zombies had foolishly followed their appetites and begun to feed on fellow ghouls while wiping his cheeks with an old newspaper with a headline that read, PRESIDENT ACLOCH ZOMBIE VIRUS VICTIM.