zombie contest entry
Feb. 12th, 2008 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coyotegothAs my first entry for the contest I mentioned yesterday, I offer the following- a reworking of Erich Segal's Love Story. (Please note that the story has been cut for the squeamish, as it depicts zombies doing zombie-type things.)
What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died, and came back? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. The Beatles. And me.
That when we finally decided to tell my father of our love, I could swear that there was a tear in Jennifer's eye as I carefully grabbed the handle of her restraint harness, and led her lurchingly up the manicured path to the Barrett family estate.
That when Father shouted at us to get out of his house, and then made the terrible mistake of attempting to remove her himself, a lump came to my throat as she hesitated in her endearingly indecisive way, before reaching for his neck.
That even as his piercing screams caused the Steuben crystal to rattle, I still found myself thinking of ice skating, and moonlit nights in the park.
That one of the guards, whose automatic weapons had brought this family tableau to a sudden and thunderous end, found himself unexpectedly caught up the tide of our passion; he blew his nose, and stumbled out an apology. Even as he did so, I wiped one perfect tear from the corner of my eye, before gazing back down at the corpse of my father- the father who had never understood me- lying next to that of my one true love. At last, the two emotional centers of my life had met.
“That’s all right,” I said. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died, and came back? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. The Beatles. And me.
That when we finally decided to tell my father of our love, I could swear that there was a tear in Jennifer's eye as I carefully grabbed the handle of her restraint harness, and led her lurchingly up the manicured path to the Barrett family estate.
That when Father shouted at us to get out of his house, and then made the terrible mistake of attempting to remove her himself, a lump came to my throat as she hesitated in her endearingly indecisive way, before reaching for his neck.
That even as his piercing screams caused the Steuben crystal to rattle, I still found myself thinking of ice skating, and moonlit nights in the park.
That one of the guards, whose automatic weapons had brought this family tableau to a sudden and thunderous end, found himself unexpectedly caught up the tide of our passion; he blew his nose, and stumbled out an apology. Even as he did so, I wiped one perfect tear from the corner of my eye, before gazing back down at the corpse of my father- the father who had never understood me- lying next to that of my one true love. At last, the two emotional centers of my life had met.
“That’s all right,” I said. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
