I told her I was sorry. I told her I had to do it. I told the judge it had to be done, or thousands would die. But no one listened. She didn't answer when I told Her. Everyone else could've tried. It started on a Monday that was shaping up to be another regular day. She was happy, at work, the kids were at school, and I was at home writing a rough draft for the book I was determined to have published. The kids came home. She came home. And that's right around when It happened. She told me she needed a cigarette and went outside. I ushered the kids upstairs, because they thought she had quit. They were in their beds and completely asleep when I heard Her scream. Out in the front yard there was a man gray skin. With one arm. And half a head. But he wasn't bleeding. He simply staggered toward her while groaning, and She wouldn't move. I, having seen all this from the upstairs window, made a dash downstairs to help Her, but when I wrenched the front door open, the man had reached Her. She, for fear, still hadn't moved. She saw me, though, and started to me, but the man was too close already. He lunged at Her, desperate to do what he had come to do. She didn't get too far when her clamped his teeth down into her leg. I kicked him in the face, careful to avoid his mouth, and his head, to my suprise, flew clean off. With him headless and limp, I rushed Her into the living room to see her wound. It was clean despite the fact it went straight to the bone, which confirmed it. I didn't want to do it. But She had to be done away with. Put down. I haven't yet found a good way to put it. It's what I had to do, though. So, I told her I was calling the hospital, and though I realized that would be the stupidest thing to do now, She merely nodded while looking forward with glazed eyes. I went to my office, to the locker I kept my guns secured in, and pulled out the 12-gauge that I knew would spare Her and the world so much pain. As quietely as I could, I walked up behind Her, but I knew she could hear me. She knew it was for the best. I thought for a second, about how I knew what she would become. How I had seen the creaures in China, near the Yangtze River. She had to go. I told Her. And She didn't answer. You an imagine how it was done, can't you? The 'famous' shot to the head? The horrible, red, insanity-inducing mess? She's gone because She had to go. I loved her. With all my heart. So much, in fact, I refused to let her become a Zombie.

Copyright 2007 Michael-Austin Witt
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