Support Group in the Village Hall
by Alex Harford
I enter the village hall, stepping over the busted door's splintered wood.
"Welcome." Dave's name is scrawled on a fresh sticker on his grotty cardigan. His wiry face pale, he chews a chicken leg. "Fresh from the supermarket dumpster. I'm not hungry but can't stop eating."
"My leg no longer hurts, but I still limp," says *Abby*, sprawled on a chair, staring at me. "How're you?"
Someone coughs, wet and curdled. I can't see their name badge.
I edge back towards the entrance.
"Leaving already?" Dave croaks.
"Uh...this isn't the kind of zombie support group I thought it was."
Contact:
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(AT)AlexHarford.uk