He lay on the ground, on his belly, asleep, while the careless breeze caressed his broad defined shoulders. The open ground he slept upon lent it's
graciousness to his slumber. He had collapsed in the middle of the field, swooned by the harsh claw of a previous night's revelry.
He lay there dreaming, of times long ago, when there were jobs and an economy, and stirred, memories behind a memory of what reality used to be, a
solace from the starkness of what lay before him before he opened his eyes once more. Sleep was the only escape from the nightmare of life.
He snapped awake, cursing.
Fumbling about his head in a clearing fog, he raced to piece together the events of the previous eve:
Alcohol, homebrewed, and encampment in a borough south of Whitney. They were excited by the fact that there was other survivors. There was a party.
His head now pounded from the effects of cheap homebrewed alcohol. He remembered a girl, her name now a blank, but her face present while he lay
there in the middle of the field.
He groaned audibly as he rolled over on his side, head attached but far from complying with his wishes, when he noticed the girl laying naked on the
ground beside him. He jolted awake, noticing his own nakedness. Sitting up, he finally grasped the entirety of his position.
In a field, with a girl, naked, and the farmhouse over a mile away. He smiled.
What had happened? The economy collapsed, and the world went berserk. There was no food to feed everyone, there was no way to fix it. People turned
into zombies. Hell ensued.
He could only imagine why he was here, contemplating his own thoughts.
He looked at the naked girl beside him, half embarrassed, half aroused, thinking and feeling that they had shared their bodies in a drunken lust the
previous night. He stared at her nakedness, her curves, and realized she was breathing softly, her breasts heaving up and down. His groin pulled
He cautiously reached over and rustled her shoulder, hiding his shame, and she turned her head, clear of slumber, and smiled at him.
"Hi, hun. What a party, huh?"
He looked at her quizzically.
She leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around his head, and laid back, pulling him down to her, close. His lips were inches only from hers. It did
nothing for the tightness in his groin. He wavered, then kissed her, his lips melting in a smooth buttery flavor that couldn't be realized from
anyone else. He sighed, his lust re-kindled.
They made love, in the field, once more in the morning, the only repose from the insanity of death all around them, the privacy of the field yielding
the fact of 4 week old carcass that loves him. His own imagination provides the rest of horrible scenario, with death never reaching forward, but
always just outside the door.
edit on 9/5/12 by Druid42 because: forgot the [2014wc] title, had to fix.