Zombies - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
When the zombie apocalypse began the islands defended themselves and stood the best chance of staying alive; the big land masses were a mess with the virus mutating as it ran through such large populations. The navy patrolled those islands, those arks of humanity, with the fighter jets in the skies. No-one got in or out once it began - it was either a "total shut-out" or everyone would get infected.
Our zombie defence strategy was somewhat "Russian doll," with our areas colour coded.
When the zombie virus broke out I think we could have won, but the financiers got to bickering and simple steps to save lives were missed. It they'd picked love over money, the outcome would have looked so much better.
Dear Zombies of the Ecological Apocalypse, Earth, Circa 2020,
The following is a message for you from High Command.
Take note of the words that programme your brains for they contain a great number of "short-circuits" via words that are spelled differently but sound the same. These words programme you as a social virus, an unseen dream or unheard song, yet it changes you at your core. Take for example with the English meat eaters, the "lamp chop with mint sauce." You are here commanded by the Sinister Force to "chop" the "lamb" who attacks the "source of the mint." To your language, "mint" translates as "money" and "lamb" is an agent of the divine spirit who does work for the High Command. Until you gain awareness of these deep triggers and take action upon them, we cannot assist your kind because you do not meet the full criteria of a sentient and sane life-form. Should you cross that barrier, we will come. Until then, try not to "eat" the brains of those who are smarter than you - just thank them and do some thinking for yourself.
Kind Regards ("re-guards" because you are dangerous as zombies),
The Messenger Fleet of the High Command
The zombie had one ear missing and both it's lips had been bitten off, perhaps that was it's death-kiss from the zombie that turned him into one of the undead. One hand had been mangled and his right bicep was chewed away exposing the white humerus beneath. He had been scalped by some failed attempt to slay him and as he drew each rattling breath he made a low growling moan that chilled my blood.
The zombie was blind. It's eyes had been gouged by it's last victim, one last desperate attempt to stay alive as it's jaws ripped out her throat. It's snake-like brown-grey intestines dragged in the dirt as it staggered toward me using only it's ears and nose for guidance. I picked up a stone and threw it to the far side of the room, away from the door and my only means of escape. It halted and I could hear the bones in it's stiffened neck creak as it turned it's monstrous head. Then with a snapping of it's jaws it lurched in the other direction. I needed no other cue, I dived for the door and bolted out into the night, drinking in the cool night air as if each gulp could be my last. Then from behind me came a moan, and another to the right, the hoard was closing in.
Years after the zombie war Zara would describe the living dead with a tremor in her voice as she recalled their re-animated flesh swarming toward her like so many locust onto green plants. She shuddered to remember their inhuman groans from their drying, stiffened flesh. To her the rotting smell that permeated the air wherever you went, like the whole world was an unrefrigerated meat locker, made her constantly nauseous. Even to this day Zara is a vegetarian and cannot look at meat without suffering the effects of PTSD. She has flashbacks to the groping hands and gnashing jaws of the zombie hoard, she has night terrors and wakes up drenched in sweat almost every night. But then she was trapped in Brooklyn, and you don't want to know what they did to survive down there.
They had a sloppy gait as they approached slowly. Their jaws dislocated showing their torn tongues and blood stained teeth. They moaned as they smelt the blood in the air and ate those who fought pinned on the ground. Skin peeled away from their bones and organs, showing their black hearts. Although they did not beat, you could see that organs were torn, how their blood had turn in to a thick turbid brown and how their stomach slowly digested the flesh that was there own.
The zombie that entered my apartment I could only describe as looking like some kind of horrific burn victim, for she had no skin on her face. My guess, later, not at the time, was that it had been chewed off my other zombies before she reanimated. The lack of eyelids gave her eyeballs a popping look as they swiveled in their sockets, searching for her next meal. Her hair was grey and pulled into a granny's bun, like some dear old lady, but whoever she had been, she was now the enemy. I forgot my vertigo and shimmied down the drain pipe that hung within reach of my balcony. She groped and moaned for me from the railing but her rotting brain couldn't figure out how to follow. Her legs kept shuffling even though she could go no further.
The strange humanoid stomped into the room. As I stole a glance at it's face I saw something horrific. The sight could turn you to stone. It's snake-like emerald green eyes darted around with emotionless eyes, it's rotting lips were already half destroyed. I heard the bones crack as his neck turned and then a blood curdling moan. It spotted me. Death walked towards me. I did what I had to and jumped into the pitch air. The graveyard, my brilliant place to hide from the zombies, the sea of death overwhelmed me as skeleton and green rotting bodies came out of their unkept dirt homes. I ran for my life.
Grinning lewdly, severed arm, flesh hanging like tattered rags from the shoulder, teeth filed to points, long fingernails like claws, moaning, groaning, half dragging one bloodied and ripped leg, remnants of pink spongy brains smooshed all over haggard dull grey face, empty staring eyes, drooling, marching, relentless, attack in packs.
It's jaw was dislocated, the jaw was a full 5 centimeters away from where it should be, it's chest had so many bullet holes you would think is was a target at a firing range. You can see the bones in some places on the leg, from either a third degree burn or it rotting away. It's arms are covered deep cuts by axes, all of them penetrated the bone. The previous owner of the body's guns and knives still attached to his belt.
Living dead, demented, deranged, inhuman groaning, stink of rotting flesh, saggy, sallow skin, brutally strong, remorseless, relentless, marching, looking with expressionless empty eyes, grip of iron, flesh cold like a cadaver.
The horde of zombies was coming closer and closer, their smell becoming even more unbearable. They had deformed bodies, and limbs sticking out at odd angles. Their bloodshot eyes darted over the land, looking for food. Reaching arms, flesh peeling, in short, they were terrifyingly grotesque. Groans and moans came from their open mouths, wanting human meat. My heart in my mouth, I ran for my life.
Now that I'm here, back in 2015, it's hard to believe that this is the era when the young folk started to stay awake. The zombie hoard population, to strange irony, made their own fiction about zombies and the zombie apocalypse. The humans in this time had seen ants, seen how they with no brain at all could communicate enough to build extraordinary nests and societies, but they were so sedated that they could not do the same. They felt sad when they saw death and didn't know why, they often assumed it was fear of their own mortality. They idealized a notion of individualism that left them lonely with a permanent hunger on the inside that the advertisers were eager to exploit. Their children were born awake of course, as all babies are, straight from the creator. They knew by instinct to treasure life, nature, the earth. But as soon as they could focus on a pixellated screen the reprogramming began. Awake humans were too hard to handle, they were connected to the earth and each other in the same way that ants are. Killing another would feel like killing their own child, they would sit and await their own demise quite passively before they raised their hand to another. For so long they had been cowed by religions that they had lost their direct connection to God. They thought love and God were different, or the love was something you bought.
For the children it was hard to be awake when their parents were still asleep. Moms and Dads fought back against the liberal ideas, their children didn't know how the world worked! But their children did know, they knew and they refused to "sleep." They refused to let themselves become conditioned into accepting behaviours that would destroy the Earth. They said "yes" to God and "no" to fear of hell. Their instruction came from a higher power. They were the generation to make His heaven on earth and they would succeed where their parents failed. How? Because they stayed awake inside even when they appeared to tow the line...
I recoiled in horror as I saw what had appeared in front of me. His trademark deathly-stare was still there, but there was no real life there, not any more. I would dare to say that stare was pathetic, that I almost felt a pang of sympathy for the fiendish form that hobbled, stiff and erratic, towards me. Almost. The fear gripped me just in time. I saw a hand appear from my right and ducked. Another one! Maybe this was another employee of the school, but I didn’t recognise the twisted figure that had lurched unexpectedly out of nowhere and attempted to infect me with a clumsy swipe. All I knew was that they were together, and after the same thing: me.
Some things will never change. As my teacher, he was always out to get me in life – chasing homework, telling me to smarten myself up, bellowing loudly down the corridor for me to get to lessons. Today was much the same, with the exception this time of his wanting to feast lavishly on my succulent, delicate flesh. And, of course, he said a lot less, communicating only in blood-curdling groans and tortured shrieks. I glanced around me. I needed to get out of this critical situation, and quickly. I spotted a goldfish bowl behind him, but it was out of my now-trembling grasp. Was this the end for me? As I backed towards the office wall I spied, out of the corner of my eye, his trademark accessory. We’d called him hop-along from day one, and he hated it. I picked up the walking stick with two hands and leapt swiftly, ninja-like onto the desk, sending a bunch of what looked like unmarked work on themes of racism present in “To Kill A Mockingbird”. Sorry, kids.
I swung, swiped and swished the stick until both of these lifeless ghouls were no longer moving. “School’s Out!” I attempted, feeling rather ashamed at chancing such a corny declaration of victory.
Another lesson learned.
The zombie approaching me was detestable to look at. It's dirty yellow eyes staring into me looked so empty and void of life. The zombies skin was like old crinkled paper and his lips the color of rusted iron. It's jaw which was open too wide displayed a set of rotting yellow teeth. The veins were about to burst from his bald head and blood was splattered like red paint all over his face and hands. His hands were like sticks with their flesh almost falling off but the disgusting rotting nails were what creeped me. Torn off from the fingers hanging on the edge they seemed like a drowning man holding onto a stick , about to drown anytime.
The emaciated man had dirt and grit all over his clothes and grimy body. His dark grey shirt (which used to be white) was tattered and shredded mainly where his heart should be. I should have taken pity on the unfortunate wretch but instead I felt an unexplained loathing at first sight. Even from the end of the street, I could see his cruel, detestable, disturbing smile in a permanent sinister snarl. Sunken, milky white eyes stared with mindless menace into mine.
Suddenly, the skeletal creature started shuffling towards me like a decrepit, decaying old man. As he got closer I could see that he had a dislocated jaw showing his torn tongue and blood-stained, razor sharp, savage teeth. Unexpectedly, a flame of anger seemed to ignite within him. He let out a piercing screech and charged towards me with ape-like fury.
The first sign of the zombie apocalypse was an increase in the customers for Starbucks. Over their lifetimes the people's subconscious minds had taken in that they needed to be rich celebrities to survive and that was the only part of their minds still functioning. To them the name simply meant "celebrity" "money" and it called to them in droves.
I crouch to the rain-washed dirt, leaves and twigs pushing into my chilled skin. The moans become louder, the dragging of limbs harder to ignore, until a zombie looms into view - ravaged by a dog, lower jaw so broken that its mouth hung open, tongue lolling.
They weren’t horrific because they were decaying. They were horrible because they still looked human. Aside from the missing patches of flesh and the torn clothing, the drying blood and white and red eyes, they looked normal.