Three eggs frying in the pan sunny side-up, with bacon and frankfurter at ready, (the scent of crisp pork and spices had already reached you by now,) I didn’t have to drag you out of bed.  You scrambled out the tent with Lady barking alongside you (no doubt she could smell the bacon as well.)  You hurried beside me and kissed me on the cheek while grabbing three slices of bread and toasting them yourself with readied butter, garlic, and thyme, over open fire.

We weren’t camping– no, not this time.  We were hiding and on the move with loaded guns and big kitchen knives.  We promised we wouldn’t leave each other.  But once Lady left her bacon untouched and slowly sniffed herself away beyond the bushes, I knew that promise wouldn’t last very long.  All it took was her growl and the whimper that came after.  Then silence.

We needed to run.

And I did.  You were running too– okay, more like chasing me.  So I gave you two clean shots and sliced your head off.  The thing is… I knew you weren’t chasing me.  You weren’t infected, and Lady was alive.

The odd thing is, there was no zombie apocalypse.


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