Little details cling to the moment for me, the whoop-whoop of my sling as I began to spin it faster and faster, the erratic twitchings of the shambler as it started stumbling toward me, the uneven heights its arms raised up to as it reached out its rotting corpse-hands, and the whiplike crack of the stone as I sent it hurtling through the dead man’s skull.
Then he fell back into the wild flowers, sending a tide of white butterflies scurrying into the air.
That was the last time I ever saw a zombie, and the day was unspeakably beautiful.
Tale Told 