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        Who killed Cock Robin?
        I, said the Sparrow,
        with my bow and arrow,
        I killed Cock Robin.

        Who saw him die?
        I, said the Fly,
        with my little eye,
        I saw him die.

        Who caught his blood?
        I, said the Fish,
        with my little dish,
        I caught his blood.

        Who'll make the shroud?
        I, said the Beetle,
        with my thread and needle,
        I'll make the shroud.

        Who'll dig his grave?
        I, said the Owl,
        with my little trowel,
        I'll dig his grave.

        Who'll be the parson?
        I, said the Rook,
        with my little book,
        I'll be the parson.

        Who'll be the clerk?
        I, said the Lark,
        if it's not in the dark,
        I'll be the clerk.

        Who'll carry the link?
        I, said the Linnet,
        I'll fetch it in a minute,
        I'll carry the link.

        Who'll be chief mourner?
        I, said the Dove,
        I mourn for my love,
        I'll be chief mourner.

        Who'll carry the coffin?
        I, said the Kite,
        if it's not through the night,
        I'll carry the coffin.

        Who'll bear the pall?
        We, said the Wren,
        both the cock and the hen,
        We'll bear the pall.

        Who'll sing a psalm?
        I, said the Thrush,
        as she sat on a bush,
        I'll sing a psalm.

        Who'll toll the bell?
        I said the Bull,
        because I can pull,
        I'll toll the bell.

        All the birds of the air
        fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
        when they heard the bell toll
        for poor Cock Robin.

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?

Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?

Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?

You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, “How are you?”
Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
with the next hundred chores running through your head?

You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short
The music won't last.

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?

Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say,'Hi'

You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last..

When you run so fast to get somewhere,
You miss half the fun of getting there.

When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital

While it slithered up her leg, a million regrets ran through Tess’ mind. She cursed herself for caving in when her boyfriend, Jared, begged her to go camping with him earlier that week.

Tess despised the outdoors and knew she would have a terrible time. She hated herself for allowing him to convince her that they would be fine in a tiny little tent out in the middle of the woods. At the very least she wished she could go back and warn her past self to nap inside of her sleeping back and not on top of it (the night had been so hot though).

Alas, a regret is just a regret and Tess knew there was no changing the past. Meanwhile, the rattle of the snake’s tail grew louder.

It’s funny what kinds of things flash through your mind when you feel like you’re about to die. Tess remembered back to some nature show she watched about Rattle Snakes years ago. She could hear the soothing British accent of the narrator, probably David Attenborough, as he explained how the sound of the snake’s tail indicated it was ready to strike. She glanced over to Jared on the other side of the tent – his face swollen to the size of a basketball. Blood trickled down his puffy cheeks where the venomous rattler had bit him. His chest hadn’t moved for minutes.

Tess clenched her eyes shut as tight as she could and prepared for the worst as she felt the snake’s cold, scaly skin slide further up her leg. Then in an instant the rattle had ceased and the terrible, slithering sensation on her thigh had disappeared. Tess had not been bitten. Feeling a moment of relief, she peeked out one eye to see if the snake had changed its mind and withdrawn from the tent. Unfortunately fate had not chosen to be so kind to her.

The sight inside her tent sent waves of shock through Tess’ body. She watched the serpent’s rattle, mere inches from her face, as it disappeared into the mouth of the most hideous creature she’d ever seen. The horrible thing stared at her with its big black eyes, while it swallowed the last of the snake down its massive gullet. Again, Tess became paralyzed with fear as the monstrosity shifted its revolting body on top of hers. A wide, shark-toothed grin crept across the creatures face.

Tess could smell its vile breath, still fresh with the stench of the rattler’s innards, as it began to speak the last words she would ever hear.

“I’m still hungry.”

Credits to: Vincent_VenaCava

The living dead shambled aimlessly down the street, their clothes and flesh in tatters. My heart in my throat, I angled the van around them as best I could, but they flail at the vehicle as it passes, their slimy fingers streaking the body.

I had hoped to find settlements here on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. All I found was abandoned cars and shattered storefronts. The Pancake House was in flames, the grocery stores had all been looted, zombies milled around inside the showroom windows of a department store, gnawing confusedly on half-clothed mannequins. Every few miles I tried the CB radio, hoping to find someone, anyone out there that could help.

The seat beside me was filled with ammo and weapons. The medical supplies and food was in the back with Laura. She breathed harder and harder with each contraction. This wasn’t planned — you have to understand — none of this was planned.

I had been making my way North. Everyone’s been making their way North since the zombies came. The theory is that the undead will be less active in the colder regions. Don’t know if its true or not, but it seemed like a good idea.

I had came across Laura by the side of I-90; she had run over one too many zombies and it had gummed up the underside of her car. They had started to swarm her little Volvo.

I had pulled over to the side of the road and popped enough of them to give her a chance to make a run for my vehicle.

Sometimes it amazes me how good a shot I’ve become over the last year. When all this started, I didn’t even know how to fire a gun. Guess all those games of DOOM were good for something after all.

I had figured I’d be dropping her off at a settlement someplace, so I had asked her where she was going.

"North." she had said.

And that’s how we started traveling together. It was nice to have someone to talk to again, and someone to watch my back when I was foraging. She was no great beauty by any stretch. I mean, she could have been a real looker but there was something sour about her looks. She was good enough company though, and when we had made love at night in the back of the van she was eager and welcoming.

That was then. Now, the gas gauge read a quarter of a tank left. Laura was moaning in pain, she pushed and pushed but the baby just wouldn’t come. It had been almost twenty hours of labor and still nothing. She was going to die if I didn’t do something soon. I tried to CB again, hoping to find a settlement, a military base — someplace with a doctor.

I knew I should have worn a condom or pulled out or something, but she told me she couldn’t have babies. She said there was something wrong with her ovaries. Something gynecological, I don’t remember what exactly. But she got pregnant anyway. Figures, I never won a damn thing in my life before.

Suddenly an idea occurred to me. Ocean World was up ahead. They have — they had rides and animal exhibits and dolphins and killer whales. A place like that has to have a first aid kit, several first aid kits maybe.

Laura is saying my name over and over the whole time I made my way to Ocean World. The parking lot was empty. We drove around the skeletal remains of a bear on the way in but aside from that it was clear sailing.

There didn’t seem to be a lot of zombies milling around. Always a good sign. They had probably eaten everything there was to eat months ago. The living dead aren’t above eating animals — I’ve seen them chow down on anything from cows to kittens. I think they prefer people though, I’ve never seen zombies swarm a caribou the way they swarm people.

Maybe it’s the way we taste.

I parked the van as close as I could to the main entrance but Laura was beyond walking now. I told her to wait there and I’d get a cart or something to bring her in. She begged me not to leave her, not to abandon her.

It took me fifteen minutes to calm her down. Jesus Christ! Fifteen minutes wasted! I locked her inside the van. I had the hunting rifle and a handgun with me. Extra ammo was loaded into the pockets of my jeans. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need any of it but zombies are like fucking roaches. They get everywhere.

Ocean World might have been a fun place to visit before, but it was creepy now. The grass was overgrown and heavy with weeds. The rides creaked and rocked to their own rhythm. I found a couple of golf cart things right away but they didn’t have any power. There was a sign that pointed me towards the Visitor’s Aid Station. That was where I had to go.

Most of the animals were dead in their pens. Looked like starvation, but what do I know. Poor things. Some of the bears had gotten out somehow but the zombies had gotten to them and picked them clean.

Speaking of the devil, I spotted a pair of zombies staggering around the remains of little building called the “Snack Shack.” They were bloated and weird looking. Huddling in the corner of the aquarium building, I thought about taking them out.

Problem was they might not be the only living dead in the park and I didn’t want to attract too much attention if I could avoid it. I decided to cut through the aquarium and take the long way towards the first aid station. I passed through the archway that invited me to “Explore the Wonders of the Deep” and entered the darkness of the dead aquarium. I’d forgotten the flashlight, but I didn’t want to go back to get it. I was afraid I’d loose my nerve.

Rifle drawn, I made my way through the murk by touch. Occasionally, my hand would stray across the clammy surface of a tank. I couldn’t see the dead fish floating inside but the cloying stench told me they were there.

The passage I was in seemed to be turning. I wondered if I was going in circles. What if I came right back to where I started? Could Laura afford for me to waste any more time?

Squelching footsteps alerted me to the fact I wasn’t alone. Something moved in the darkness, a shadow among shadows. I shouted a warning but there was a no answer. The shape moved closer. I fired, but th e shot was wide of the mark. The muzzle flash gave me a momentary glimpse of my attacker — a zombie in the garb of an Ocean World tour guide.

The bullet shattered one of the fishtank walls. Water and dead barracudas spilled out over the floor, knocking the zombie off-balance. It wobbled a moment and then fell clumsily into a heap.

When its head was up over floor level, I fired again. It twitched once and then lay still. I slumped against the wall, trying to bring myself to keep moving. I really just wanted to curl into a ball and wish this shithole of a world away. Before Laura I used to think about suicide — sometimes I would hold a gun under my chin and wait for my courage to take hold. Of course it never did. I don’t know what scared me more, the thought that there might not be a next life, or that there would be a next life and by killing myself I’d lose the chance for it.

But I couldn’t die now, I had responsibilities. I got up, started moving. Stagnant water and liquefied gray matter pooled around my feet. A few moments more of walking and I saw light at the end of the corridor. I picked up the pace.

The exit brought me out to a huge amphitheater, seashell-shaped with long benches interspersed with tall stairways. There was no stage at the heart of this auditorium though, just a huge tank. The thick glass walls of the tank were frosted with grime and lichen. The water was brown and murky and it sloshed gently over the edges. I had a momentary vision of warm weather, frolicking dolphins and laughing families.

From there it was quick sprint to the squat Visitor’s Aid Station. I kicked open the locked door to find medical supplies in abundance.

And wheelchairs! They had wheelchairs!

I grabbed one and headed back for the van. I didn’t go through the aquarium this time. I just popped the two zombies hanging around the “Snack Shack” and prayed my luck would hold out.

When I got to Laura she was hyperventilating and there was some kind of fluid staining the crotch of her sweatpants. It didn’t look like blood or water.

Not good.

Not good at all.

I took a long hard look around before I set the rifle down beside the van. It was all clear.

"I didn’t thin k you’d come back," she kissed my hand like I was the Pope or something. "I love you."
I shushed her and got to work. It wasn’t easy loading her into the wheelchair. No matter what I did it seemed to hurt her. In the back of my mind, I started thinking about that Robin Hood film they did with Kevin Costner. I remembered the black guy in the movie had delivered a baby by cutting the mother open and taking it out.

Jesus. Would I have to do that?

Grabbing a knapsack full of iron rations and bottled water, we got moving. I rolled her through Ocean World. Halfway to the Visitor Aid Station, I spied one of the living dead off in the distance. I thought about taking it down, only to realize that I’d left the rifle back by the car. I still had the pistols, but I decided to save them for now. As we passed the amphitheater, something I spotted out of the corner of my eye made me stop dead.

There was a dead killer whale floating at the top of the stagnant water. Had that been there before? Or had it jut bobbed to the surface? I couldn’t be sure. Huge swathes of its black and white flesh had been gnawed to the bone. It writhed with zombies. They crawled over its massive bulk like maggots, immersion in water had left their bodies bloated and warped.

The awfulness of what I was seeing held me there I couldn’t look away.

Suddenly one of them saw us. It fumbled off the whale’s body and clawed its way over the thick walls of the tank. It flopped onto the ground with a wet smack. Others started following, seething up over the edge of the tank trampling each other in their hunger.

Laura’s scream goaded me back into action. I started running, pushing the wheelchair ahead of me with all my might. I could see the Visitor’s Aid Station just up ahead.

I didn’t see the crack in the pavement.

The front wheel of the chair hit it at just the right angle, knocking Laura face first onto the pavement. The impact with the back of the chair knocked the wind out of me and I fell — I wheezed something unintelligible about the baby. Laura stirred groggily, blood trickling down her forehead.

I rolled over and saw zombies, too many to count, bearing down on us. I drew one of the pistols and fired four times, three zombies fell, and one stumbled, th e rest just swarmed over them.

Laura was trying to get to her feet, but she was too swollen, too sore to move quickly enough. Our eyes met. “Save yourself!” she said, “Leave me!”

Save myself? I knew that alone I could outrun them, she was only slowing me down. And for all I knew she might die anyway giving birth. It wasn’t cowardice. Not when she wanted me to do it.

The legendary settlements in the North beckoned me. I stood slowly, felt my legs tensing.

The zombies were close now, close enough for me to hear the squelching of their footsteps. Staring into a sea of putrid, black gummed mouths, I made my decision. I hefted the wheelchair over my head and with an indignant cry hurled it into the thick of them. Some of the zombies toppled like bowling pins; the others just kept coming.

Somehow I lifted her up into my arms and started running.

It wasn’t long before my lungs were on fire and my muscles were screaming in protest. I was afraid to look back, too afraid to see how close they were. Laura moaned with fresh contractions.

I barreled through the door to the Visitor’s Aid Station and let Laura slide from my grip.

Cold hands locked around the back of my neck, dragging me back through the door. I screamed and tried to kick free. More hands found me.

And I knew that this was it. I had failed her, failed my child, failed at everything, as I always knew I would.
Laura pulled one of the pistols from my waistband and fired over my shoulder. Blinded and deafened, I fell forward. On her knees, she fired again and again.

I can’t believe I almost abandoned her. Funny thing, I wasn’t really aware of how much she meant to me until that moment. I think that the real horror of all this isn’t that the dead were coming back to eat the living. The real horror is what it’s making us become. What we’re letting it make us become.

Hours later, barricaded in the Visitor’s Aid station, I watch Laura breastfeeding our newborn child. The zombies are camped right outside, we’re both sore beyond description, and the only thing more limited than our supply of food is our supply of bullets. We don’t know how in the Hell we’re going to get out of here, and we have no idea what the future might hold.

But right now that doesn’t matter.

Credits to: Al Bruno III

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an aversion to pickles.

When I was little, my grandmother would send me down cellar to bring up a jar, for sandwiches for lunch, or maybe a jar of marmalade for breakfast— I would start to tremble just at the thought of going down to those long, cool rows of jars, all filled with things that had once been alive and vibrant, and were now shriveled, shrunken, discolored versions of themselves, floating helplessly in sinister-looking brines, or jelled into sticky, pulpy masses.

Gran would stand at the top of the stairs, her long shadow falling down them, and scold: “Hurry, boy! I’ll pickle you if you’re not back up by the time I count to ten!” I wasn’t the only kid around scared of Gran—the neighborhood kids all avoided her— but I never knew anybody else scared of pickles and jars.

Anyway, the aversion grew worse as I got older, becoming pretty much a phobia by the time I was in my twenties. It caused some awkward social situations, but mostly I could live with it. My wife thought it was kind of cute.

Or she did. Now, we’re down in Gran’s cellar, cleaning. Gran passed away last week.

We’ve got to clean the place before we can sell it. All these jars, more preserves than any one person could ever use—and I’m finally figuring out my fear of pickles, and jars, and why the neighborhood kids were all as scared of Gran as I was…my wife is starting to get a little hysterical….

"Just throw them in the trash, don’t look," I advise, remembering from my youth how some of the jars seemed to have things in them that looked almost like body parts, or eyes, or ears. " Just tell yourself it’s only pickles …."

Credits to: Queenofscots

There’s nothing I can do. I feel so helpless and am really desperate. So, here I am. I guess, I’ll start from the beginning.

I’m 26, and my boyfriend, whom I’ll call “Matt”, has been my boyfriend since I was 17. I love him so much, and we rarely had fights. We would get married, if it were legal yet. He was even there when I came out to my parents, holding my hand. They were supportive, but I’m not sure if I could’ve done it without him.

Sorry, I’m rambling.

Anyway, 2 weeks ago, Matt and I decided to drive to the countryside for the weekend. We left on Saturday morning, arrived at the hotel at noon, and walked the seemingly endless fields. It may sound boring, but we both liked that kind of thing. It wasn’t even planned, we just saw the field, parked the car on the side of the empty highway and took a look. There was a fence, and I was reluctant getting into potential trouble with the land owner, or the law. Matt tried to ease my tension by rewording my claims of trespassing to “adventure”.

It was about 6pm when we got back to the car. I guess this because the sun had already set. We both were getting creeped out by the ever growing surreal nature of the area. It was almost like the land and sky were… warping. I don’t know the right word. Anyway, Matt put the key in the ignition, and in the typical horror movie fashion, the car wouldn’t start.

Out of gas.

The nearby town was only half a kilometre away, and so Matt suggested walking. I didn’t want to go out into that creepy, and… warping world. Matt then suggested that he walk to the town, and I stay nearby the car in case of any passing cars.

What a stupid fucking idea. I should’ve gone with him. It wouldn’t have done anything, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.

"Keep your phone on you", he said in a calm voice. I still remember those very words exactly how it was said. Along with, "It’ll be okay, alright? I love you", he reassured me noticing my unease. He then kissed my forehead, and walked out and away from the car.

That’s the last I saw of him.

I then proceeded onto the internet on my phone. I remember I was watching a youtube video of my friend of mine’s gig that I missed when I got the first call.

"Hi, you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, haven’t got there yet", he replied with a little unease in his voice.

"Just a little creeped out by the whole thing", he added.

"Whole thing?" I asked.

"Oh you know, the whole… walking on an empty road on a dark creepy night while all alone thing" he humourously replied with a chuckle. I laughed, but was also a little worried because I could hear how uncomfortable he sounded.

"You sure you’re okay? I could catch up with you if you -"

"No", he interrupted in a authoritative manner.

"You stay there. I’ll call you back when I get there. Love ya" he said in a more cheery tone. He hung up and I returned to my friend’s gig.

I remember when he called me the second time too. It was when my friend failingly tried to smash his guitar, then proceeding to throw it against the wall out of frustration and I openly laughed. As the phone rang, I looked at the time. My smile instantly dropped.

"10:03 pm"

I instantly picked up.

"Hi babe, are you okay?" I practically was shouting down the phone in worry.

"I… Have any cars passed yet?" he asked in a shaky voice, dismissing my question.

"N… No. Are you still on the road?" I hesitantly replied. Matt sighed.

"Yeah", filled with disappointment.

"Look, just come back. It’s clearly further than we thought. We’ll deal with it in the morning", I suggested. Matt opposed.

"I’ve gotten this far, may as well keep going. Though, the sky is kind of freaking me out", he admitted. I looked out the window, and the once warping sky now seemed back to normal.

"The sky?" I asked confused.

"Yeah, it’s like from Van Gogh, you know? Except… I don’t know", he said struggling to find the right word in his vocabulary to describe what he was seeing.

"Did we drink today, but I just can’t remember or something?", he chuckled.

What could I do? Matt was hours away, and was evidently lost. I was trying to think of something when Matt interrupted my thoughts, "Hey… Can you stay on? I just, uh… I kind of…" he whispered with slight embarrassment.

"You’re scared?" I cut through his murmuring.

"… Please don’t laugh at me", he softly pleaded.

"Aww, don’t worry. I’d be pissing my pants."

"Just give me a couple of hours and we’ll see."

So I stayed on, and I described my friend’s gig, and that seemed to comfort him. I was in the middle of talking, when he I heard him scream.

"What’s wrong?!" I shout.

There was brief silence, before he whispered, "… Thought I saw something."

"What?" I asked in a slightly calmer tone.

"It… Never mind. It just an animal or something", he whispered slightly louder.

"Maybe it was a ghost, or a demon, or maybe even Satan himself!" I joked in a "spooky" voice, thinking that would help for some reason.

"Thank you for trying to comfort me", he sarcastically said.

"It’s what I’m here for, babe", I said. So things went that way for who-knows-how-long, before I saw a pair of headlights behind me. I jumped out of the car and waved my hands in the air like those inflatable, stick figure mascots you find outside car dealerships.

Matt was ecstatic when I told him. It was an elderly couple heading back to the town after spending the week with their grandchildren. They pulled over and before I even could say hi, the elderly woman said, "Need a lift back to the town, dear?" in the gentlest voice I think I’ve ever heard.

I told her I did, and got in the car. I told them about Matt (But left out the whole gay thing, in case it being a deal breaker), and when I said how long he had been walking, the man driving cut me off by shouting, "What? Nonsense! The town is maximum 15 minutes from here if you walk. I jog here and back every morning!

"No you don’t, Henry", his wife cuts in.

"Okay, every few weeks", the man concedes. I wasn’t paying attention much beyond that because of what he said.

15 minutes, maximum. Oh god, where did Matt go to?

"Did he say what I think he said?" Matt asks, evidently as alarmed as I was. I told him he did. There was brief silence, before he started cursing.

"Oh for fuck’s sake! Fuck, shit, fuck, where am I!" he vented.

"I swear I followed the road, strictly. How the fu-" he paused. Another silence. I end it with, "Matt?"

"T-there’s s-something… watching me", he said as quietly as he could. I could hear he was terrified.

"What? What’s watching you?" I ask, concern never lifting. If anything, it increased.

"… I don’t k-know… I can’t see i-it’s body. But, it’s… it’s eyes… they’re yellow", he said on the brink of tears.

"It’s probably just a cat", I said, trying to comfort him. At that moment, there was a scream. The only way I can describe it is that it was like a fox screaming for its life, except this scream was far more aggressive and offensive, rather than defensive.

"…I d-don’t thi-think so…" he whispered, but the terror in it was very much audible. The scream occurred again, but was quickly overcome by Matt’s scream. Shortly after, the call was cut off. I was frozen. I tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail. So what did I do? I just sat there, trying to comprehend and worrying about the safety of Matt.

"What on earth was that? Is your friend alright?" the lady asked, clearly had heard the screaming. I didn’t know what to say, but I managed to ask them to take me to the town’s police station. We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

After about 5 minutes, just like the man said, the lights of the town appeared. My emotions were mixed with relief, concern and fear.

They dropped me off at the police station, and before I stepped out of the car and thanked them, the lady said, "I hope everything turns out to be okay", then she smiled.

Despite the situation, her warmth managed to give me a smile. The man just gave me a pat on back as I was leaving the car and said, "Good luck, son."

I told the police everything (Except the trespassing), and they started searching. I came with them, but we found what I expected deep down:

Nothing. But, I thought, it was better than finding a mutilated body.

They suggested I stay at the local hotel, and they’ll keep searching. I was reluctant at first, but then I agreed. Not sure why, I just felt like it was the thing to do.

So, I did. I booked a room, and headed to it. As I unlocked the door, my phone started to ring. I looked at the caller ID and picked up immediately.

"Matt?! Are you okay?!". I heard nothing but irregular breathing at first, but then I realized what it was. It was Matt crying. I was about to speak before he said,

"… W-where are y-you?" He quietly asked in between tears again. The pain and desperation in his voice tugged at my heart, like someone just grabbed it and squeezed as hard as they could. It wasn’t long before tears started rolling down my face as well.

"W-we were looking for you. We drove down and saw no one. The cops are now looking" I was babbling, but then he cut me off with,

"… They… are so… angry…" I didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. Or rather, what he was talking about. He broke down again.

"I… love you… so much", he blurred out. I told him I loved him too, and we both cried.

So, now here we are. It’s been 2 weeks, police haven’t found him, and he calls either in tears, or running from whatever is chase him, begging for help. I haven’t told the police he still calls. I know they’re just gonna take it away or something. I can’t do that.

I know whatever happened, and wherever he is, it’s probably beyond their reach or technology. This phone is the only thing connecting us two together, and connecting him to this world. I love him so much, and I miss him so much. As I type this, he’s on the phone with me. He’s got a message for you guys. I can hear the screams in the background. The message is this:


Credits to: Infamous_Harry

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