Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Zombie Stories with Humor (and a Cat) by Rhonda Parrish

Today we welcome Canadian author Rhonda Parrish who thinks zombies should be, well, funny. And since I happen to like gore (and short stories) with a few laughs, the collection sounded like a great idea. (Especially the OZ story idea!) 

Rhonda's collection of three short stories, Waste Not: And Other Funny Zombie Stories, offers readers a chance get three of her favorite stories in one purchase.

About Waste Not And Other Funny Zombie Stories: (34 pages)

The collections includes:

Waste Not - The coming of zombies forces humankind back to the land, to a simple lifestyle where ‘Waste Not, Want Not’ becomes more than a motto, it becomes the key to survival. And revenge.

Feeders - The zombie apocalypse will affect more than just humans, explore the repercussions of walking dead through the eyes of a cat in this story guaranteed to make you smile.

...Oh My! - What if the Wicked Witch of the West wasn’t killed by Dorothy’s house? What if she couldn’t be, because she was a zombie. Dun dun dun! 

 ** For the animal lovers here's an excerpt from FEEDERS - what happens when the zombies come,  from a cat's point-of-view. (And thank goodness she says it's sure to make you smile)

The last time I saw my former feeder he was rushing out the door to work. I thought it odd when he didn't come home that night, but truthfully, I welcomed his absence. It meant I didn't have to endure his incessant ruffling of my fur, or the condescending high-pitched voice he reserved exclusively for talking to me. Plus, I got to stretch out and take up all the bed I wanted.

The next morning I was woken by the sound of a loud explosion. It hurt my ears and rattled the house's windows. After a nice, long stretch, I had a bite to eat and climbed into the west-facing window upstairs. Smoke filled the air and irritated my nose. It must have been even worse on the other side of the glass.

 Over the next few days smoke came and went, some clouds more offensive than others. Mostly I stayed in my window, enjoying the sun on my fur and the interesting view below. Ghouls chased the feeders through the streets. They came in waves, like the fires. One group of ghouls and feeders would pass through with much screaming, banging and excitement, and then, sometimes for hours at a time, the world would be silent. Eerily silent. Even those insufferably chirpy birds had nothing to say. Then, eventually, inevitably, another wave of predator and prey would pass by, giving me something to watch and leaving carnage in their wake.

It was a good life.

 Then my water dish ran dry.

That was my first hint something had gone wrong.

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