Young Writers Society

It had all started with a walk around the dusky park to Sara, just to clear her mind of the disturbing rumors she’d been hearing. That and she was hoping to run into Andrew, the cute new boy in her class. He’d said, when he was introduced, that he loved long walks in parks, hadn’t he?

She’d spent about an hour agonizing over what to wear, just in case, and had finally come away from her abundant closet wearing a loose skirt and tight T-shirt, and incredibly high heels. She’d spent forty bucks on them and had had to sneak them past her mother to boot, might as well use them on the new kid, Sara reasoned, sitting down on a bench in the center of the park and resting her sore feet.

While contemplating what she would sign on his yearbook – nine months from then- a prickle danced on the back of her neck, setting her hair on end. Her stomach clenched around the salad she’d had for dinner and her face went from dreamy to uneasy in a second. She turned around and stared behind her, eyes sweeping the bushes.

Was that a flicker of movement behind the leaves? Was that her eyes, or the breeze stirring the plants?

A shrill cry knifed through the air, pulling Sara to her feet, looking about her in terrified uncertainty. A puppy bolted out of the bushes behind the bench, yipping fearfully. It bounded between her feet and shot off into the dark. Sara stared after it, but swung around as she heard stuttering, heavy footsteps behind her.

A thing emerged from the foliage. A horrible, gruesome thing.

His flesh had rotted away, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair was thick and tentacle-like, though it hung in lank ropes about his skeletal body. A bloodstained sword was clutched in his hand.

Its eyes focused on her.

Sara’s heart pounded against her ears, and she finally let out a scream to rival the one that had reached her ears earlier.

The man lunged, and Sara began to run. He let out a roar of annoyance and tore after her, sword raised.

She kicked off her heels and kept running, skirt billowing behind her.

Closer…closer…

He was getting closer…

She felt the sword enter her back. It didn’t hurt, though iciness was spreading from where the sword was rooted.

“YES!” Sara jerked around to stare at the man.

Andrew. The cute transfer. The lank hair was falling off to reveal his usual honey-blond curls, and his frame was rapidly re-fleshing, his eyes loosing the veins.

The iciness reached her hands, and she looked down. The flesh had rotted, and her fingers were now claws.

Andrew smiled at her, the same smile that had wooed her earlier that day.

“Tag. You’re it.”

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this is my entry for the "Tag, you're it" contest hosted by Imp. It's ended, and I forgot about this lonely little scrap of fic up until now. XD

The idea of the Undead has always fascinated me to a somewhat morbid point, though I haven't written much on subject. ^_^'

Anyway, um, any comments are welcomed. I'm thinking about expanding this....like I do with all my flash fics.... 0_0U

~Sumi (yes, it's sumi, Imp )