Jennifer Taylor
Bio
Working in IT at the moment, BS:DMDA and MS:ITM. However, creating and writing is a secret passion. I love to use my smarticles to build alternate universe where I'd like to reside.. or avoid at all costs.
Stories (2/0)
Little Brown Paper Boxes
Billy sat at the rickety wooden table with aged folded hands. His lips pursed as he pressed his toothless gums together in contemplation. He watched as a new brown paper wrapped box appeared in the stack by the opposing wall. "That just ain't right," he thought passively. He'd been in the little house for so long now he'd lost track of time. The clocks didn't even tick, or chime, or blink anymore. Sometimes the old house would groan, and the walls would shake as if the earth was moving underneath. But, Billy stayed seated at the table. What could he do about a shifting plate of the Earth anyway. He sometimes felt the pain of the shifting in his bones, but he remained still as a statue.
By Jennifer Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
Chocolate By Death
It is my birthday. It is also 927 days after the end of life as we knew it. Wow, really? I guess I had not considered I'd be keeping track at this point. Or that I would even be around to be keeping a daily count. So, I'm roughly two and a half years into surviving this thing. This thing, eh, some survivors have reverted to calling the roaming dead “walkers.” Believe it or not "zombie" is still a popular term. I just refer to them as "Them." And, we must always avoid Them. Always. Sometimes a person can be tricked into believing there is recognition in those cloudy, cataracted eyes, but it is just best to put your head down and move along. There is nothing left inside but squishy parts. No firing synapses in the brain to spur them to speak a recognizable word—in any language. And, for heaven’s sake do not let them follow you home. They just roam around scaring the wildlife and that possibility of leaving germs around that you might inadvertently introduce to your system. Are you immune? No one knows until it’s too late. Then you just wander aimlessly. Forever.
By Jennifer Taylor3 years ago in Fiction
