Still dazed and more rotten than ever wandered into a graveyard.
A hand came out of the ground and soon found myself in front of an undead. I immediately thought of still being stoned, but I had to change my mind. The undead had incredibly bad intentions towards me: he said that the death was that he had called me from the grave. I told him that I had nothing wrong and he said, "Look in the mirror, damn it!"
I tried to explain that my face was in no way different from many others my age.
And he just said "Exactly."
Then time stopped, I think, because I did not really know how much I was there to talk to him. Together we were convinced that we could have much more of what life (or death) had given us.
I mobility of the army uprooted, unemployed, drug addicts and slakers my peers, promising everything that previous generations there had hitherto denied.
He commanded the army of ravenous undead, ready to win that second chance that life does not grant ever.
The world would be ours.
Now I stand on this cliff top and look at the great city that lies below. Our army of undead is ready to strike. The radio reported the first reports of our declaration of war: a single bass line, fired as loud as that human history memories, pumped cash from hell created by the most devastating that they are alive or dead, and that most likely will have already detonated several limbs and heads.
We are confident that our stench is already perceptible. Soon we will get there and realize that they should first leave the spaces that we now take tearing the meat.
None of them will be saved under and already we can not wait to test the consistency of their excuses and their members.
No mercy, the river of blood will flow copiously, so what has long been our lethargy.
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