My Lovesick Zombie Boy Band by Damien G Walter

Author:Damien G Walter [G Walter, Damien]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-03-21T04:30:00+00:00

Father orders me confined to my room. To add to my suffering Bruno removes my music and all of my books. I am to be left alone with my thoughts. Mother always said father was a sadist, and now I have to agree. A day goes by, and then a night which turns into another day. As the sun fails again my mind is eating itself, my thoughts like a starving cannibal tribe turning on one another. I refuse to eat or drink the food that Bruno brings for me. Then deep in the night a stone clatters against my bedroom window.

The long term effects of dehydration and starvation are not pretty to look upon. The human body, once denied food and water, begins to shrivel and decay at an appalling rate. After death the decomposition only becomes worse. Add to this the effects of keeping a corpse animated for any extended period of time and the sight that greets me at my window is entirely unappetising.

Beneath the full moon, looming from beneath the canopy of foliage that shrouds the family estate, Adam’s face is a wreck of hunger and longing, a sunken cheeked ghoul haunting my window ledge. Lost in the desperate blue, blue eyes is the faintest spark of life. More than is left to the others.

Six more linger, illuminated by starlight, flesh in progressive states of corruption. The stench is palpable. Alexander, David, Michael, Phillip, Gareth and Simon. I count the names off ring by ring. Poor Ms Holloway, registration must be close to impossible these days.

My boys stumble along in the gloom, eyes always blindly searching. When I appear in the window they let out mumbling moans of love. How sweet.

‘ Pardon me? I’m afraid I can’t hear you. You will have to repeat your mumble.’ Their moans grow louder. The moment gets the better of me and I let out a small laugh of delight at my own joke. But inside I am far from happy.

‘Stupid zombies.’ Death has not improved my boys’ communication skills one jot. ‘A garden full of boys, and not a one to say I love you.’

‘I love you.’

A shiver like ice cubes pours down my back, fear and excitement one and the same.

‘Who are you?’ I glower into the night garden. My boys are all in gloom and I can not tell which one speaks.

‘One who loved you once. One who offered you a gift. One you turned your back on. One that would play for you.’

When I was eight I accidentally beheaded my teddy bear with a kitchen knife. I cried for an entire afternoon until Bruno sewed Mr Bumpkins fluffy bonce back onto his body. I really thought that was the worst I would ever feel about anything until I saw that tuffty blue hair staggering across the garden towards my window.

‘oh no.’

In one limp hand Hub drags the body of a six string guitar. Discordant tones echo as it bounces on every bump in the lawn.

‘Oh yes.’

‘You shouldn’t be here.

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