Night of the living dead

Watch this…………….


Read this………………..


It starts in a grave yard, grief has made us wooden, awkward with each other, my brother scares me and i half scream, half laugh. Confident that nothing bad can really happen in daylight when i have my big brother next to me.

The distant lurching man is funny then, until he isnt and then i scream and scream and scream and finally there are no screams left, only a silence because there are no words for this.

They have made me silent, taken away language, meaning, sense.

They too are stripped away, reduced to a  hunger that pushes them onward, slow and focused, a tidal-wave of need, of desire.

We inside,  trapped or sheltered, it’s hard to tell the difference, cling onto language, difference, opposition, argument.

They, outside, share one vision, one drive,one nation under a groove

Zombie, zombie nation.

Inside, they wont stop talking, word after word after word. I want to scream

“Stop it, language has no place here”

But I have given that skill away , faced with the silence of those outsiders.

So, I peer through cracks in the hastily barricaded windows, their silence seems almost peaceful, their movement slow, restful.

I wonder what that hunger feels like and listen to the men who driven by other hungers, argue and argue and argue.

The night goes on forever, they silently circle, waiting to feed.

We tear each other apart in different ways.

And everybody waits for dawn.


About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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