Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 2: The Question Zombie

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

More Zombies, more trouble. Welcome to book 2 of Zombie Blues who give us their view on the world and life from behind undead eyes. This time round meet Diabetic Zombie, Racist Zombie, the Ice Queen and why is there a zombie with no teeth?

Now available on Amazon

          The Question Zombie

I’ll never forget that dark day in June.

We had just entered rainy season but the weather had been mild up to the 22^nd of that month. Suddenly the skies darkened and the rain began to fall. I stood blankly by the graveside with no more tears to cry. Inside I was numb with pained rage. My features were locked in a steely glare.  Even now as a member of the undead, my expression has not changed. I didn’t think there could any pain worse than what I felt that day in June.

I was aware that the other mourners who had come to pay their respects to my brother were casting furtive glances at me. Inwardly I was grateful that the trickling rain ran down my cheeks in place of real tears. To them I was simply a grief stricken sister lost in the thralls of grief; a statuesque pillar of respectful mourning clad in black.

My head was a muse of clouds of grey that reduced the priest’s sermon to a muffled drone that I could not contemplate.

All I could do was watch the raindrops trickle down the white rose buds of the flower sprays. It looked like the roses were weeping for the loss of the man in the mahogany coffin. All I could do was focus on that image mesmerised by the tranquil beauty of it. The spiral spray with the layered roses was eloquent in design. As the rain fell, each and every rose caught the droplets. Their gentle shaped leaves cradled the moisture as it slowly trickled off the edge of the leaves to the coffin beneath it. It was like a hundred roses crying in harmony for the loss of a soul. The polished wooden surface allowed the droplets to slide gracefully off its edge to the ground below. The white against the dark wood with its myriad moving rain drops gave it an ethereal look like other Nature herself was mourning the loss of Yugala. But as we know that bitch mourns nothing but herself.

 A voice whispered in my head sarcastically that at least something was shedding tears. My reserves were simply not there.

I barely registered the coffin being lowered and the ceremony ending with the priest shaking my hand as he gave his condolences. I think I acknowledged his graciousness and I know my husband Chuan gratefully shook the priest’s hand before slipping his an envelope with a gratuity. One by one the mourners dispersed like smoke on the breeze. I must have told Chuan to take the children back to the car as I found myself all alone staring at the grave.

My black overcoat was soaking and my hair was flattened to my head. Someone had put an umbrella over my head during the ceremony but that was gone now. Or had I ushered them away thoughtlessly? Anyone observing would have detected a slight tremble in my frame and assumed it was from the chill of the rain. It wasn’t. It was tropical heat still in this part of Thailand. You could stand shirtless in it and still not be cold. No, my trembling came from a burning desire for answers. I couldn’t understand it.