I'd move if I could, but I really can't right now

I am sitting still and alert on the sofa, exposed by the living room window. Of course I’d move if I could, but I really can’t right now. The best I can do is shoot nervous glances outside, praying from the bottom of my gut that one of them doesn’t stumble past and see me. The curtains were ripped down at the start of The End, but I like to sit here and feel the last of the summer sun. It’s like Hell opened up and spilled onto the road, the cracked tarmac seemed to glow with the embers of the fire below. Maybe it would be better to be in Hell than on Earth, at least you’d know when you’re going to ripped apart and eaten alive. As I wonder whether the Devil would be kinder to us humans than the world has been, a shadow crosses the corner of my eye. I freeze inside and out. It’s outside. Has it seen me?

BANG goes the glass under a clumsy fist. I try and stay as a stiff corpse, hoping it thinks I’m a long dead husk and not a tasty, warm meal. Please I think.

“Please!”

My head whips round to see a man, young and with a face full of panic. His eyes overflow with desperation and my heart jerks. This poor survivor slams his hands on the window faster and harder with each frantic plea. My breath starts to hitch and I try not to cry. I’m sorry, I’d move if I could, but I really can’t right now.

“They’re behind me! Please!” He screams.

I can see that they are, snapping and lurching, milky eyes set on him. They’re closer than I thought, but he can still run. Run I whisper, more to myself than him. He has to run, I just can’t help him. Unfortunately the man is too stubborn, or too afraid to give up. I retch as it happens, knowing he has run out of time when the first zombie clamps down on his shoulder. There are three of them, biting and chewing slowly, as if savouring their meal. The man’s face makes it so hard to watch as I remain still, hoping that his screams stop soon. Hoping that the creatures don’t notice me here on the sofa sitting like a snack on a shelf. Poor man, his face is pressed against the window in agony, so contorted that he looks as much of a zombie as his devourers. I’m sorry I think as we make eye contact for the last time before he slides down the glass and below the windowsill, the zombies following him with rotted tongues.

I’m sorry, I’d move if I could, but I really can’t right now.

The cat fell asleep on my lap.

(source) (story by themouthofthewolf)