Zombie Tales- Under Supplied chapter 4rth w/poem

Hey you, with arms held wide
walking around, like someone died
you’d probably learn, if you ever tried.
But instead of living, your brains been fried.

You shamble on, without a thought
and pick up things you never bought.
You’re heart is dead, but you should not
be acting like, you wanna get caught.

Zombie Tales:
Under supplied
chapter 4rth w/ poem

I determined to walk around for a few days till it became safe to return to town. Thievery, especially thieving from the most prominent person in town, was not looked upon kindly.  but a zombie can walk a really long time. Sleep is not a necessity.  Heading off in a random direction, I shuffled away, with my eyes closed. Almost immediately I plodded right into the middle of a wolf pack.  apparently it had been slim pickins for them, for they were ravagingly hungry. zombie flesh is not dog food. I had to kill the lot of them. For extra measure, I skun them too, pelts would fetch a good price in the right market.

I salted and scraped the flesh side of their skins. This, the first step towards a nice supple tanned hide. It wasnt until I had rolled them up, flesh side in, and affixed them to my pack, that I realized my first challenge of the day.

Looking at my gear, I realized that I had never, in fact resupplied. I also had not taken a shower and removed the grime of previous road miles, from my body. My packs still held the spoils of ill gotten gains. I had about 20 pelts with me. Heavy and bulky they were. Hard earned, I knew I would not be abandoning them.

Food was not so hard to come by, but  ammo was another story. Spending time exposed and curled up around rocks had allowed  moisture to find its way into my powder supplies. I now had only 6 working bullets left, which themselves went to a pitiful weapon. I was drastically overloaded and under-supplied. My clothes, decaying rags.

True to my zombie role, I continued undeterred. “Duuuuuh, Town boring”.” No town. Must walk”. “No bullets. Duuuuuh”. “I could die. Must fix”.

I began to keep an eye out for solutions to my problem, while walking in a straight line. Soon I was cursing the world. No solutions were entering the picture. All it would take is another threat like that dog pack and I would be forced to abandon my pelts and run away as fast as unzombified feet could carry me. The unfruitful miles, added anger to frustration. 

The further afield I went, the more needy was my situation. It was a bit like playing russian roulette with fate. Zombie, though I was, I was not about to get myself killed by such a manner as having no bullets. I soon came upon three travelers. They were well supplied and confidant. They offered me meat which I had no need off. I eyed their weapons, knowing they carried everything I could want and need.

Alas, 6 bullets would not do the trick, neither would a knife to the throat. These three watched out for each other. Roaming apart but always within eye contact, ready to come to the aid if one should need it. Still, they had extended hospitality. I became the fourth to their third. Pulling to the rear of the line, I tagged along.


did you like this poem story?

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s