As part of the exercise, I’m making myself highlight what exactly inspires me about the image. This way I can access my creativity more easily in the future, and without the help of Pinterest (teehee).So. I love that there’s a zombie. I love the way the zombie looks – like the boogieman!!! And I love that the image appears to be set in the past. This, to me, is the real allure. I love the idea of writing zombies in the past – like colonial America or something. Or London back in the days. I DON’T much like the expression on the chick’s face (she looks like she has a thyroid problem), but I do like the guy. It could be her uncle or something cool. And that’s about it. Here’s the fiction:
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My breath shuddered to a halt in my throat like an old car without any gas. Slime coated the street below my boots; the creatures’ secretions. Jonas looked over at me, his head pressed up against the blackened brick wall, chest heaving. He was thinking the same thing as me: One of them had died here.
Moonlight glanced off his shotgun as he silently checked the bullets.I heard it coming closer, smelled its rank festering flesh in a gust of dead wind. Beside me, Jonas sucked in a breath and I squeezed my eyes closed, trying not to think about the fact that it might be his last.
“Another will die here,” he whispered.
The gun went off.