Note: It is not the writer’s intention to upset anyone. Stop reading if you’re easily upset. This is speculative fiction, just words.
Two men sat on a ridge overlooking the city. Far below they could see the zombies, the living dead, groaning and moaning. A stiff breeze took care of the stench of rotting and burning flesh, but the ridge wasn’t a pleasant place to be.
There was no better place, anywhere. Anymore.
The elder of the two cradled his rifle and spoke. “Did you see the professor?”
The younger spat, looked down at the burning malls and the remains of the University, and nodded. “Yes. Shot him a few times through the chest.”
“Was that enough?”
The young one gave a weary grin. “Of course not. He’s somewhere there… wandering around with the rest, the poor in spirit that hunger. Who could have believed he was right?”
The older one — formerly an assistant at the University’s department of Ancient History — sighed. “At least no-one’s going to sue or fire him now.”
“Fire at him, maybe”, the younger snapped.
“Sorry. Still… It makes sense now, even to unbelievers such as us. Those old rites of devouring living flesh and fresh blood, surviving only in a jokes about eating brains, and all that.”
The young one rubbed his hands; he felt vaguely angry that in this world full of the undead there was no place to complete a Ph.D. thesis.
Or no review board anyway. Talk about a speck of light!
The older one continued. “Eating flesh and blood, and that they shall never die, and all the dead shall rise up… Who would have known time distorted the truth so badly?”
Far below, the living dead roamed the streets, clothes in tatters, bodies covered with blood, grime and burns, maddened eyes rolling in rotting grey sockets.
And a great moaning, groaning voice rose from the congregation of zombies, all around the world, three days after the second coming of the thorn-crowned Lord of Golgotha, which is the place of the dead —
“Kyrie eleison… kyrie eleison… kyrie eleison…”