#zo

Mark Spitz had met plenty of the divine-retribution folks over the months. This was their moment; they were umbrella salesmen standing outside a subway entrance in a downpour. The human race deserved the plague, we brought it on ourselves for poisoning the planet, for the Death of God, the calculated brutalities of the global economic system, for driving primordial species to extinction: the entire collapse of values as evidenced by everything from nuclear fission to reality television to alternate side of the street parking. Mark Spitz could only endure these harangues for a minute or two before he split. It was boring.The plague was the plague. You were wearing galoshes, or you weren't. ↗

— Colson Whitehead

#blame #devine-retribution #zombies #death

Three hours ago I was in bed, I thought miserably. I should have stayed there. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

It's not necrophilia if she still has a pulse... ↗

— Scott Jonathan Nixon

#death

Don't we all hope to die with a smile on our faces? ↗

— Jeff O'Brien

#dying #humor-irony-death-zombie #irony #death

Whoa!” I jerked my hand up to stop him. “Wait, what?” I asked as sick horror shot through me. “You mean, like when the bodies get cut open?” Delight lit his face. “Yes, you’ll be helping with the autopsies. You didn’t know that? ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

Good morning!” my partner, Derrel, said in an insanely cheerful voice. “I need my Angel to come out and play. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

I walked into the café, bypassing the waiting people as I scanned for the hulking figure of my partner. It’s official , I thought with a sigh as I spied him at a table for four and realized who else was with him. God hates me. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

All of a sudden it seemed as if I could smell the brain, and not in a oh-how-gross way, but as if someone had taken the lid off a pot of gumbo to let the aroma fill the room. And I knew it was the brain that smelled so utterly enticing—knew it with every single cell of my being. What the hell was wrong with me? ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

Yeah, so? I was ignorant, but I’m not a fucking moron. Why would I give the shit to you just so I could buy it back from you later?” I leaned back against the counter. “Hon, you’re fucking with the wrong chick. I’ve been around too many drug dealers to buy into a scheme like that.” He shocked me by bursting out laughing. “Drug dealers? Well, that’s an interesting analogy.” He shook his head but a sardonic smile stayed on his face. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death

Hey,” I said before he could say anything else that would make the mood even weirder or break it entirely. “You wanna grab some coffee or something someday? I mean, some time when I’m not crawling with maggots,” I added with a laugh that sounded nervous to my own ears and probably sounded desperate and pathetic to his. I totally braced myself for him to hem and haw and say that he couldn’t or had a girlfriend or something. I was shocked instead when he gave me a nod. “That sounds nice. And I’m cool with the no maggots thing too. ↗

— Diana Rowland

#death