We found Mum in church, basking in the stained-glass light as her sparkles faded again. “Will you help us save the world?”
“Okay,” she said.
Today’s guest author is. . . well, it’s me. I’ve always had a fondness for weirdo stories (like, for example, twitter stories), and this is an early example. Each sentence starts with a consecutive letter of the alphabet (the original version went to Z, but I lost it).
Around the time other girls discovered boys, I discovered I was dead. Bodily odours have been a problem for my family ever since Granny was bitten by a dead neighbour.
Cats recognize us, naturally, and a stray attacked my brother as he and I sat with his new girlfriend in the park.
“Damn those cats,” said the girlfriend, and delivered it a swift stiletto kick in the ribs. Evie was the type of girl who was so busy practising her trendy self-defence moves she missed the apocalypse. Families like mine don’t heal, which raises unfortunate questions among her type.
“Gee,” said Art, attempting to cover up the latest lot of teeth marks in his arm. He looked at me in a frantic plea for aid. “I. . . I’m sure it’s nothing, really.”
Just then, I saw Evie’s brain switch to functional. Kind of not the best time. Like an idiot, I blurted out the whole story before she could run screaming.
“Me too,” she sighed at last, and settled back into Art’s gently decomposing arms without batting an eye.