Things have been crazy busy this past week or so. We finally decided to get rid of our pool, which has been nothing but a drag on our time and money for the past year. So the last couple hours of each day have been spent slaving away at dismantling the damned thing (work and the unbearable heat pretty much make it impossible to anything during the day). Work has been busy. This past Saturday was spent at the Can’t Stop the Serenity charity event, which was fantastic, as usual. I spent Sunday wading through half a foot of sludge to cut the liner out of the pool. I’m be glad when it’s all finally gone, at least.
Most annoying, I missed out on seeing Moon this past weekend. Since Fort Worth is a cinematic wasteland, I’ll have to either drive to Dallas to see it or wait for the DVD.
At any rate, I’ve been kind plucking away at this zombie flash piece, but I’m not very happy with it. It needs to be more immediate and immerse the reader in what’s going on. It feels too much like a big info dump in these first few paragraphs, which in my opinion doesn’t work well for flash.
It’s going to be a very depressing story. My stuff is usually pretty light and fluffy. I almost feel bad for how dark this story will be. This is what happens when you write about zombies and it’s not a comedy, I suppose.
So here’s the first few paragraphs. I’ll be keeping some of this, but likely reworking it heavily to make it feel more like the reader is there in the house with them, rather than reading some account of it later.
Untitled Zombie Piece
Colton and Becci cowered in the bedroom when they heard the pounding and screaming at the front door, as though they were hiding from a traveling financial advisor and not a neighbor desperate to escape the living dead. The pounding ceased when the neighbor fled to the next house. Colton squeezed their pistol, never fired more than a handful of times at the range. Becci clutched Colton’s arm and wept.
They had not been outside since…whatever had happened had happened. Colton at one point started to say “apocalypse” but Becci hushed him with a glare. The news agencies had reported similar events all over the world – the dead rising from graves and morgues. Particularly disturbing footage, shot by a tourist with a hand-held camera, featured decaying corpses dragging themselves up the beaches of Maui. The dead were slow, moving slow enough for anyone even remotely fit to outrun them, but they never stopped.
Becci had spotted one first, shuffling down the sidewalk in front of their home. It had been a man once, and still wore the suit some loved one had buried him in. Most of the skin was gone. They watched it stagger past the house and decided it was time to go.