Blog of the Dead (Book 1): Sophie by Lisa Richardson Page B

really felt all that inspired recently, poetry wise.
    I can see through the living window that it’s raining heavily. I wonder if zombies mind getting wet.
     
    6.30pm Day 29
Ok, got a little further with the zombie inspired poetry:
     
Living, I thought I was doing that before.
But their transmission carried a deadly message:
I have never been so aware of my beating heart,
or of my breath as it clouds the window pane,
or of my soft skin as it touches cold, hard glass,
or even of the flesh moulded to my bones.
A body is a precious thing when possessed by
a soul, a functioning brain, a pulse.
Take them away and you are left with rot,
and a contagious, all consuming love.
I’ll not let them have me, but I will always
remember how alive they have made me feel.
     
     
    I know it’s dumb. But I quite like it. I might do some more work to it if I can be bothered. But I can’t escape the feeling of what’s the point, because who’s going to care?
    I’ve not seen much of Polly or Leanne today. Sam is in his room. I’m going to show him my poem …
     
    6.45pm Day 29
‘That’s cool, Soph,’ Sam said after he read my poem. ‘You’re the first of the Post Apocalyptic Poets. We could organise an open mic night at Googies!’
    ‘Are you taking the piss?’
    ‘No. I love it. Seriously. Would I lie to you?’
    He winked at me and punched me playfully on my thigh, and then held eye contact much longer than necessary. Externally I responded with a smile and a playful punch to his arm. Internally I responded in a manner that involved tingling ... Damn!
     
    December 13
12.15pm Day 30
Have you any idea how much it rained at 5.40am this morning? Well, I can tell you that it was a fuck of a lot. Windy too. And how do I know? I was fast asleep in Sam’s room when I heard pounding on the bedroom door. I could hear the rain pattering on the skylight above Sam’s bed, and hear the wind howling. It was dark and I felt disorientated. I could hear Polly’s voice yelling at me and I tried to figure out what I’d done wrong now and why whatever it was couldn’t wait until the fucking sun came up.
    The door flung open and in marched Polly, her voice even louder and scratchier on my ears now that a couple of inches of wood no longer separated us.
    ‘What the fuck …’ grumbled Sam, lifting his head from the pillow. I could just see enough in the dark room to know that he was rubbing his eyes.
    ‘Christ! You fucking deaf bastards! Can’t you hear all that bloody commotion out there?’
    ‘Out where, Polly? What commotion?’ I asked.
    ‘Outside on the street. The woman from the house across the road is shouting her head off. She won’t stop. She’ll attract every zombie in a ten mile radius if she doesn’t shut the fuck up.’
    ‘For Christ’s sake, Polly,’ I said as me and Sam leapt out of bed and started throwing on the first bits of clothing we could find (Sam only managed to get a t-shirt over his Spider-Man boxers, while I got a jumper over my pjs) ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that if she’s shouting her head off, there’s probably a really good reason.’
    As I approached the bedroom door I saw Leanne hovering just back from the doorway, her hand on the door frame, as though she would fall over if she didn’t have the support. She wore a pair of Polly’s pjs. Polly’s fairly slim, but the pjs swamped Leanne’s tiny frame. I wanted to smack her in the face for being so fucking pathetic and useless, and skinny. Even her frizzy blonde hair annoyed me. Argh!
    Me and Sam bolted down the stairs. I rammed my feet into my biker boots, while Sam shoved his into a pair of Converse. He didn’t bother tying the laces, and they trailed after him as we scrambled to the table to get our weapons and then to the front door. I could hear the woman – I didn’t know her name then, but I do now: Stella, so I guess it’d be easier to call her Stella from here – I could hear Stella screaming outside.
    Sam opened the front