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The dark is both contrived and uneasy.   Packed tight in plastic coffins that bury them almost upright, the waking dead shift and sigh, and the old air is pregnant with the compacted half-life.   Beyond the tomb is the real silence – the impossibly heavy sepulchre is suspended in an abyss that yawns, in defiance of gravity, in every direction.

The unwitting corpses shuffle a little and resettle, dreaming of light and breath and the passing of time, things half-forgotten in their enforced eternal night.   They ate before hibernating, but it seems so long ago – or was it just now? – and they yearn grimly in their dead sleep, hungry again for warm, fresh sustenance.

When the false sunlight breaks, the creatures blink and grumble, and shield their faces, and lick their lips.

The wait is over, the night ends.   The dead awaken.

The red eye flight has landed.





  1. Great awesome writing.

    You had me going there for awhile….thinking that zombies might exist and all but alas it was just all about normal mortals.

    You devil you, fooling me like that.

  2. I bow to your morbid creativity. Brilliant.

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