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image gets burned into your memory
against your will, and you have to suffer with it
forever.
    He finally gets some relief from the gruesome imagery when
the camera cuts into that rainbow colored emergency broadcasting
screen, and then back to the newsroom where the anchor's face is a
pale shade of blank. He sputters out a few words, and then sends it
too commercial. A fluffy bunny comes on the screen, an
advertisement for some sort of toilet paper. The father and his
family remain frozen in their living room, still shocked by what
they had just watched. The mother looks up from the couch to her
husband, still holding their daughter in his arms, and says
something. They both look down at her, tears welling up in the
blond woman's eyes, and the father begins to speak, possible words
of comfort, but before he gets the chance, a loud crash interrupts
him. All three family members look to their right, and the next
scream to be heard is the mother's when she sees what is coming at
them through their front window.

WORLDS COLLIDE
    By the time our zombie is
finished feeding, the only source of light is that of the stars. He
gets up from where he has thoroughly eaten the deer, and turns away
from it, but moves no further. He stands there in the twilight,
staring into nothing; stands there with his face dripping in the
deer's redness. Some pieces of its insides are still stuck to him,
and a couple of them slide down his slimy gore stained cheeks. Deer
blood drips from the corners of his mouth.
    While he stands, a cool
wind blows. At this point, he has travelled quite a distance, and
his clothes have become very tattered by the wear and tear of the
journey. The white t-shirt he wears has become a dirty brown. It is
torn throughout, and the dirt is mixed with the blood of many a
creature. His black business pants are in the same, if not a worse
condition than his shirt; muddy, bloody, and torn. He has been dead
for about three days now, as far as we know, and due to the lack of
cellular re-generation, his skin is starting to rot. On some areas
of his body the skin hangs loose, and on others it has completely
fallen off. Combine those with the cuts and scars that he acquired
along the way, and you have one disgusting display of zombie. Not
to mention the pus that some of the cuts are beginning to produce
due to no medical care or disinfection being applied. His bare feet
are a disgusting sight, as well, likened to the unattractive paws
of those loveable little characters in J.R.R. Tolkien novels.
Seeing him in this light, he has truly become a zombie, but one who
is still famished.
    Without warning, he starts
up again. He walks straight ahead and throughout the trees of this
wooded piece of land. The trees here are tall and thinly branched,
and the bushes are many. As he walks, our zombie trips over them
clumsily but continues on course to wherever he is going. Soon the
trees grow in number and the bushes become thicker, much thicker.
Walking becomes a chore, or it would be if he could feel the
fatigue or the irritation any normal person would be going through
trying to trek through the stuff.
    Eventually, he passes by a
few other zombies who have been caught and are stuck in the
thickness. The farther he goes, the more he passes, but he ignores
them, as well as the figurative warning, telling him that if he
goes any further he'll most likely get stuck. Some of the trapped
monsters struggle and fight to get loose. They roar at him when
they hear him going by, either for help or as an additional
cautioning to the one already given by the resistant terrain. Some
of them are still when he passes. They hang lifelessly in the
branches, moving their heads only slightly to watch our zombie when
he passes by. These ones must have been stuck where they are for
days, tapped of all their energy. Pressing on, a livelier zombie
can be heard, raging and wrestling around in the bushes as our
zombie advances. He passes this one without giving it a