1usually zombia : the supernatural power that according to voodoo belief may enter into and reanimate a dead bodyb : a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies capable only of automatic movement who is held to have died and been supernaturally reanimatedb : a person markedly strange in appearance or behavior2a : a person held to resemble the so-called walking dead;especially : automaton
Their rules are simple – 33 to 333 words, use the third definition of the word. Head on over to submit your own work, or read some other takes on the challenge. And now I’ve updated mine to put back in all the paragraphs that wordpress apparently decided were unnecessary for my story. weird.
Jeannie sloshed her drink as she stumbled through the crowd.
He swore as the cold liquid seeped into his shirt. “Jeez, I am so sorry!” She shouted over the pounding music.
“Hello, Jeannie.” “I’m not Jeannie, I’m –“ She paused and tugged the hem of her skirt down, revealing more cleavage in the process, “SUPER-hic… Supergirl! Who are you?”
“I’m a reaper.” Jeannie tugged the neckline of her costume up. “Great costume,” she slurred disdainfully, taking in his jeans, shabby suit jacket and ancient converse.
“I’m working. I think a costume would be kind of tacky.”
“Whatever, grim reaper.”
“Not the Grim Reaper, just a reaper.”
“Whatever.” Jeannie stumbled, jostled by the crowd. When he steadied her she smiled and sloshed more of her drink on his arm with her over enthusiastic salute. She leaned in, smiling flirtatiously. “Thanks. I’m so trashed right now, I’m probably eighty percent zombie, you know?”
He wrinkled his nose at the sickly sweet of her breath. “I know.”
“Wanna get out of here? I could use some fresh air.”
“Yes.” Jeannie giggled and grabbed him by the hand. They wove through the crowded yard under orange and green twinkle lights, through the black streamers hung at the gate, past the incredibly drunk hulk dry heaving in the bushes, past female Woody and a maskless gorilla making out on the front porch and out into the relative quiet of the street.
She wobbled in her heels and swung their clasped hands playfully. “So, where are we headed?”
Jeannie giggled and tugged his hand. “Then we’re going the wrong way, silly.”
He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, turned back to face her. “Jeannie, don’t you think it’s time we stop pretending?”
She looked out at the rows of cardboard headstones on the lawn, a glossy red boot emerging from the shadows cast by tree and house.
“It’s just so stupid, y’know?” she whispered, completely sober. “Such a waste.”