The zombie stumbled down the slope, grasping at the clean air before it. Bony, broken hands stretched out as gravity took its pitiless course. A living man would have used his arms to stop his fall, or at least to shield his head; the corpse only reached forward, its sanctifying hunger unblemished by fear. Perfect love, perfect desire—all it knew was its want, its need—left no room for thoughts of self and self-preservation.
Like a saint, or demon, free of earthly ties, it flew into the ravine without one cry of remorse, dashing its head against the rocks.
Psst! Hey kid, wanna buy a book?
Tale Told 