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I barely smell the burlap smoke anymore, but I remember that it used to burn my throat and water my eyes. I blow into the tin fume-canister until a little flame leaps up then I slap the top closed and squelch the heat. I want the smoke, not the fire. A thousand or so honeybees swarm around the two hives I’ve placed at the edge of Old Man Orchard. I should camouflage them or put them a little deeper into the woods, but the big white boxes need sunlight if I want the bees to survive the long winters, so it’s a tradeoff I guess. (more…)

The sky was a mottled gray-blue, growing little brighter with the coming dawn.  There were still patches of snow in the corners of the courtyard of Barbour Middle School when Brian pulled into his usual parking space in the third row. He eased the old brown Volvo station wagon into Park, grabbing his dented brushed stainless steel mug and his worn leather messenger bag after the engine settled down and stopped. As Brian walked across the wet parking lot, he looked up at the old, two story brick relic of the late 1950’s. The first white “r” and the dot above the “i” had peeled away from the sign on the front of the building, showing a rusted casing beneath. The concrete gutter above the roof over the entry walkway had crumbled a little more over the winter, and snow-melt was dripping from the roof onto the middle of the pitted sidewalk. Despite the superficial flaws, Brian loved the old school. He just hated having to do all of the dirty work. (more…)

Mummy and Daddy have stopped shouting at each other and now I am just bored again. My DS has run out of battery and Dad didn’t pack the charger for the car. He shouted “There are more important things than your bloody DS!” at me when I asked if it was in the boot. In fact this is the worst car journey I have ever been on. We have been stuck on the motorway for hours with nothing moving, and the girl in the car next to ours keeps making faces at me and sticking two fingers up at me. Spotty cow. (more…)

..as I trudged through the tall snow, the wet fire of exhaustion steaming out from my mouth, I knew that I couldn’t stop: the temperature was supposed to top 40 degrees Fahrenheit and some of the snow was already starting to melt. The blizzard had been the only thing slowing the living dead down. They couldn’t move very well through the high drifts with their brittle limbs and stiff muscles. As afraid as I was of them, I had to admit that they were slow and their problem-solving skills were very rudimentary. One could literally stand and watch them flail around in the thick powder, panic blazing in their hell burned eyes like a soul drowning in fire. (more…)

More zombie art, this time from the talented socar.

The Zombie Ball by socar

Adding to the influx of artwork to the site are two new header images by Lethorgius and lychi. Many thanks to these two for sharing their work with the site.

Eram quod es, eris quod sum. “I was what you are, you will be what I am.”

The thing about zombies is that they are as eternal as the waves pounding the strand, the sun beating down on your back as you walk through yet another deserted street, the paranoia that has become ingrained in anyone who’s managed to blunder along though yesterday and somehow made it to today and wants to make it to tomorrow. It only takes one to start the cycle all over again, only takes one to undo all we’ve created and the War starts all fucking over again. (more…)

See Manarama’s Deviant Art page for an online gallery.

Zombie Mosaic by Manarama

Knowing that a picture can say a thousand words, TotZW will begin a more regular feature of zombie apocalypse artwork. To start things off we have a work by lychi entitled Zombie Yves.

John hopped around in panic. He had scrambled down the alley in hope of escape and found the end blocked. Turning he saw a group of Zombies round the corner, see him, and start to advance with that guttural growl. Fear rose in John’s throat and frantically he tried to climb up the sheer wall but couldn’t find a handhold in the well pointed brickwork. (more…)

Sequel to TRANSMISSION

John had always been impatient. He hated waiting. Not just the “Oh I can’t stand waiting around” type of hate, but the physical, makes you want to punch a wall in anger, hate. He just couldn’t stand the thought of waiting around for anything. If he needed something, it had to be straight away. (more…)