The little courtyard playground is all too peaceful for this time and place. Shadows are lengthening, and it isn't hard to imagine a time not too long ago when mothers were calling their kids in for dinner. It's a damn godsend that zombies lack the basic motor coordination to open doors, or I'd still be up to where my ears used to be in them. There's a little bench in the corner, and, ignoring the moaning and shuffling of the nearby undead, it's almost pleasant. Almost like a little piece of someplace else. Someplace that isn't crawling with reanimated corpses and skeletal thugs. Someplace nice.
It's a welcome reprieve, that's for sure. I shrug off the straps to the life-support device on my back, and set the machinery aside carefully. The zombies still don't quite recognize me as one of the living, and it's made it easier to catch them off guard. At least Sam was happy about that; soon he'll have a lion's share of severed heads to do God-knows-what with. Despite an undeniable aura of, well, creepiness about the man, he's one of only people left to talk to, and keeping in good standing with him is necessary. It might not be, if I'd been reanimated by a real mad scientist, not some senile old bastard using murder victims for his science projects. Hell, I'd take a face like Frankenstein's monster over this current brain-in-a-jar situation. At least then I'd have fully functional eyelids.
I guess it's true what they said, the little things you take for granted are the ones you miss most. I know I do. You just don't realize how much you use your sense of smell until your nose is gone.
Though, with the rotting corpses and all, I may be better off without it.