#notreallybutcloseenough

Mrs. Connelly accepted the wilted flower from the zombie, her face frozen in a terrified grimace of a smile. His grayed-over eyes rolled up to meet hers, and he bared his awful teeth in an awkward imitation of her expression.

For some reason, his disturbing maw made Mrs. Connelly's shoulders relax and her smile open up. She said to the zombie, “Thank you... this-- this is really a very nice gesture.”

The zombie moaned in a gratified way and shuffled back and forth on his mummified bare feet. The hunch of the zombie’s back and his artless, earnest offer of the flower reminded Mrs. Connelly of students she had lost so long ago.

So many things had been lost after the outbreak. Despite assurances that most remaining Z-plague victims were now harmless, Mrs. Connelly realized she clutched her dread and resentment around her like a cloak. Anger had carried her for a long time; Mrs. Connelly had nursed its flame with a single-mindedness that she had once devoted to the nurturing of young intellects.

As she reminisced, the zombie’s gaze drifted off and glazed over. She imagined his far-away, unfocused gaze might be turned inward, introspective.

Once, Mrs. Connelly had harnessed her anger to defend herself against the ravaging monsters of the z-plague, against one-time friends and loved ones burnt away by fever and blood lust. 

And yet, while the threat of the plague had died years ago, Mrs. Connelly’s rancor had not. Just as the remaining z-plague victims were left to wander undying, but no longer truly alive, Mrs. Connelly had wandered purposelessly through her life, anger festering away in her breast.

 Stroking the brittle petals of her gift, Mrs. Connelly felt a crushing weight inside her lighten. Shock, horror, grief and blame wafted up, evaporating like the mist in the breaking rays of morning sun. She saw that the remnants of the z-plague, like this one standing slumped before her, had suffered far more than she at the hands of their fate.

Mrs. Connelly welcomed the warmth on her face in the chilly dawn, and felt something inside her unfurling.  She felt a deep gratitude for the urge which had sent her out in the early dark this morning. Her restless wandering had brought her more than the moments’ peace she had sought.

Bending into the straying gaze of the docile, hapless creature before her, Mrs. Connelly smiled her warmest. She clasped his dry, leathery hand in a tender grip. With just a gentle tug to his hand, she coaxed the zombie to shamble forward, as she led him down the field to the road, and home.