My favorite writing prompt author is now in 5th grade. Although he has graduated from writing prompts and is now onto something called Book Buzz, apparently graduation did not occur for me…because his prompts keep coming. Here’s the latest. Give it a try. How would you deal with this situation?
His prompt: What would you do if you came to church and the doors were locked and you were being chased by zombies? (He then added: ….And the doors were made of metal, not glass, so you can’t break them… and you can’t climb on the roof and break in because that’s what I would do and that idea is taken.) Write at least 3 paragraphs.
My response: It was not a typical day. I arrived at the church on a late Friday afternoon to pick up my guitar. I had accidentally left it there earlier in the week and I needed to bring it home to practice for the Faith Youth Frosty Follies. The church was vacant, as it always is on Friday—staff day off. As I reached for my door keys, I felt a cold chill crawl up my spine. Something was different tonight. The chill wasn’t just from the cold. There was a stale stench in the air and the glow of the early setting sun over the mesa cast ominous shadows around the parking lot. I put the key into the door and turned. The lock didn’t budge. I tried again. My nerves started getting the best of me. Something didn’t feel right. There were no other cars in the lot, yet I could hear a dull sound like tires crackling slowly along the asphalt. I didn’t want to look back. I kept rattling my key in the door, a little faster now, and pulling on the door handle to see if I could jimmy the latch.
Just then I felt hot moist air hit the back of my neck. I turned in time to see a cold corpse with empty eyes reaching out for me. Filled with adrenaline, I whacked the creature in the stomach with my purse and sprinted toward the Cranberry Crush, pressing furiously on my car unlock button.
As I slipped into my truck, I peeked into the rear view mirror and saw not just the one, but ten additional zombies moving toward my vehicle slowly, relentlessly. I backed up hoping to run them over and slow down their forward progress. I knew this would only buy me a bit of time. After all, they were zombies so they were already dead. Bumping them with a car would hardly do the trick. As I skirted backward, Mr. Hot Breath (that’s what I now called him) and his ten buddies jumped in the truck bed. I floored the gas and flew down Old Golden Road carrying my payload of undead. It was only a matter of time before they learned how to slide open my back window. I had to think fast.
Think, Trish, think. What was it I read on Wikipedia just the night before? Oh, yes,…a zombie is already dead and the only organ still functioning is the frontal lobe of the brain. To get rid of a zombie, you must stop the brain. That’s it! I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I headed down Washington Street and up the hill to the Colorado School of Mines. As I reached the classrooms, I spun the truck around and backed up against an open classroom window. The zombies leaned forward into the window just as the calculus professor began to explain the finer points of logarithmic derivatives of multiplicative groups. The lecture was more than the feeble semblance of gray matter left in their craniums could take. One by one, the zombie brains were overtaken by the complex equations. And one by one, like a synchronized swim team, they fell out of the back of the truck and onto the campus lawn—immediately being swallowed up by the earth.
Finally, they had a place to rest in peace and a chance for their souls to crossover to a far better place. Heaven—where there is no homework!