It walked towards me covered in dirt from the grave. The tailored suit it had been buried in was torn and frayed. It had lost a shoe. And a toe. Maggots crawled along the rotting flesh. It's hair stuck up like it had awoken from a nap. Its arms were outstretched, wanting to grab me, but were unable to stay straight. They flopped around. It didn't have control. Its eyes were sunken in, the outline of the skull below protruding from the skin. It looked up at me. I recognized the face. But this thing was no longer my father.
Sean Reilly over 5 years ago
Nice idea for a zombie story. I hadn't thought of these tropes in, however many years or so.