Before we knew it, Rayford had provided emergency blankets from the shelter, and we portioned out the three couch cushions, and the three couch-pillows from the break room. Six of them, seven of us. Dave and Wayne said they'd share to make sure everyone had one.
Then Rayford turned the lights out, and the nightmares began.
I was clawing through some small drainpipe, feeling claustrophobic. The light at the end of the tunnel shifted into the sunshine of a normal day, at a park. I was with my friends from school. The boy I had a crush on was asking me why I was crying, and I said I didn't know. Then I kissed him, and then, he was biting my neck. I thought I was waking up from the pain of being gnawed on, but it was simply careening into a swirl of color that carried me into a memory of being with my grandma. We were going to a murder mystery dinner theater, and she surprised me with the fact that she was actually one of the actresses. I didn't realize it until the end when she whipped out a toy gun and began to confess her notorious killings, and the butler—whom everyone had voted to be the bad guy no matter how many times he said he was the host for the production and not a participant—practically tackled her and whipped out handcuffs. At first I thought she went crazy and was about to call mom, when they snapped a picture of my shocked face—showed it on a projection—and the whole audience laughed.
I woke up smiling.
YOU ARE READING
Bite
HorrorA motley crew of survivors during the zombie apocalypse head for a skyscraper where safety is promised. A short story that tries to answer the question - what do ZOMBIES think about?
