“Go away. I’m not technically alive,” George said without even looking up.
The knocking continued unabated.
“Look. It’s over. I give up. I can’t take it anymore,” George continued his pitiful rant. He was referring of course to the fact that by some fluke of the universe, during a zombie epidemic, he had retained his cognitive abilities.
The knocking still persisted.
George lifted his decaying body. “I have no one to talk to. I apparently can’t die again.” George opened the door. “So just leave me alo—”
“Hello,” said a disfigured zombie-ette. She was the most beautiful sight George ever saw.
