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#9 Dream: The Zombie Apocalypse
by Rusty Barnes

No voices, just the crump and thump of limbs 
against the French door. I'm dozing on the floor 

fighting off the drugs when a child busts 
into the room and points out the smear 

of omphalos blood and the green sneer 
of the undead waving truculent at the glass. 

I need a shotgun but what I have is a butter 
knife. When the jamb breaks like a leg 

I try to hit the bread in the throat but miss. 
Behind me is my roaring teen with a shovel 

who takes off its head Shaun of the Dead-like. 
I realize I'm dreaming and I laugh 

but the suppurating bodies are livening 
themselves now just for my entertainment 

so I go to the closet and get the shotgun, 
pull out the plug and load up with #4 shot. 

The scene shifts. On my back I fight off 
a woman who grips like a gorilla, 

snaps at me with her long fangs. 
I wake with my hand on my wife's throat.

 
 

Rusty Barnes lives in Revere, MA, with his family. He's published stories on and offline for a little more than ten years. He has a few websites he'd like you to check out: www.nighttrainmagazine.com, www.friedchickenandcoffee.com, nudepoems.blogspot.com, and www.rustybarnes.com.
ISSN 2157-8079
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