In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.
Every month or so I have a zombie dream. The zombies kept their memories from before. They spoke to us in imposter tongues, the same but not the same, having inherited a new hunger.
They found their way into our houses, they found their way into that football stadium we walled off, and massacred us on the field. They found their way into the valley- we built the walls high, but there were train tracks on a bridge above us, and they learned to ride the train. I owned an antiques store before they came; I fought them with old swords. I fought them with an office cabinet once when they had me cornered. But I am an old man, and I am getting tired. And they are getting persuasive.
That having been said, this week’s ink blot is a little woodland gnome putting out a campfire with his oversized fancy new boots.