This is from the zombie story I’m working on.

They let me go! I’m free, I’m cured!  I’m so happy I could sing, but I’m standing on the porch of my parents house, keeping quiet as I ring the doorbell so I can surprise them.  There’s no immediate answer, so I ring it again, but then I notice the door isn’t even closed.  With no more than a brush, it swings noiselessly open.
“Mum! Dad!  I’m home!  They let me come home!” I yell out, unable to contain myself.  Silence is all I get in response, so I grab my bags and head into the house, shouting for my parents.  I come to a very sudden halt halfway down the corridor.  On the ground, right in front of my feet, are long smears of blood that lead into the kitchen.  I drop my bag in the hall and follow them, still calling out to my parents.  The trail winds round the breakfast counter, and I become aware of a slurping, grunting noise that I hadn’t heard before.  I walk round the counter and there is my mum. crouching on the ground with her back to me, over my Dad, whose face I can see quite clearly as he lies there on the floor.  I don’t remember him having such grey hair as he does now, or such grey, pale skin.  Or such thin blue lips. The blood trail ends with him, in a great big puddle that my Mum seems to be kneeling in. 
“Mum?” I hear myself say, my voice shaking even though I don’t feel any particular emotion.  She seems to freeze, then she slowly, ever so slowly, turns her head round to look at me.  Her eyes are white, her hair lank, her face already decomposing, and from her mouth I see blood and gore, drip, drip, dripping into that puddle of blood.  In her hands I see flesh wobbling, possibly it’s liver as it’s dark purply red and wobbles like blancmange.  As she turns, I get to see my Dad better, and I see his stomach is ripped open, trailing intestines into that puddle of blood.  My brain finally registers what I should have realised immediately – his body is lifeless, broken and utterly dead.  Then his eyes snap open, white as my mother’s,  and I scream.

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