“Can you go to the store and fetch a new gallon of milk, honey?” Mom asked as she began dumping out what was left in the jug down the sink. It came out in creamy thick chunks.
“Sure.” I said. I started for the door, but not before ruffling through the front closet.
“Be careful, Ray!” She added as I took hold of the knob. My other hand adjusted the leather strap wound around my shoulder.
“I will!” I smiled. I opened the door to a street full of undead and a finger at the trigger of my AR-15.
Beck Scassellati over 3 years ago
The imagery of the milk down the sink is so vivid and gross and that really works for a zombie story. It's kind of a funny twist, since the disgusting thing you describe is the mundane part instead of the army of the undead outside.