10 minutes ago, Jack was serving the nice people of table 16. Now, he’s eating them. That’s kind of how things happen during a zombie outbreak. Jack had goals and dreams. He was an aspiring actor. Now he only has a hunger, and a sprint that would make Usain Bolt jealous. The infection had short-circuited his brain to the point that now his only purpose was to consume. And like the other zombies, that’s exactly what he did. Interestingly, every so often, he’d get a mental flash. Like a fading image of a dream or something that happened in his life long ago. And, that’s probably what drove him to especially focus on consuming children. It was an infected toddler that had bitten him and turned Jack the waiter into Jack the ripper. Call it revenge, or simply a meaningless receding imprint. Nevertheless Jack had a taste for the hair of the toddler that bit him. For some time, Jack lived the simple life. He ate whomever he could catch. But it was not to last forever. One beautiful Spring morning Jack was dining alone on a fresh catch. This time, a retiree. A bit bland and stringy, but Jack didn’t care. He was hungry. As he chewed into the soon to be reanimated carcass, his right arm was blasted completely off. There was no pain, however, only a brief interruption in his feeding. Jack turned and briefly met eyes with Jethro, a Kentucky redneck through and through. A second blast from Jethro’s twelve gauge was all it took. Jack’s head exploded into thousands of wet, gory bits. His body collapsed to the ground like a discarded rag doll. A thick, tar like fluid oozed from his corpse. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com