November 4th, 2010
|11:30 pm - Just for a change...|
It's been a while since I wrote anything original (and this probably isn't either), but I can't help but remember a story idea I discussed with captainlucy outside the Transylvanian restaurant in Dublin during PCon 2008. And while I don't have the time even for a short short story right now, I've come up with a drabble for it.
They were a threat. How could they not be?
It was not, strictly speaking, their fault; but they were there, and they could not be ignored.
Simple creatures of appetite and action; dangerous to a degree, but controllable.
They could be kept.
(Picture the camps; orderly rows of huts and outbuildings; rationality and cost-efficiency overlaid on the bedrock of horrifying abomination.)
(Because you have a by-product; and by-products all too often go astray.)
Someone joined the dots; and made a monstrosity.
The day they discovered that zombies taste like chicken.
That was … the day that conscience died.
|Date:||November 5th, 2010 12:27 pm (UTC)|| |
*grin* I like it. Taking the Shaun of the Dead ending one step further, and a large step grimmer.
One small typo (They for The in the second to last line).
|Date:||November 5th, 2010 01:09 pm (UTC)|| |
Cheers! - duly corrected.