Long A words draped the fissures in its skin, ape and grape, not apple, artichoke, crass. The Zombie roamed, eh, traipsed, across acres, acres of cultivated plant nations. Date palms waved their fronds in hollow desert.
Zombie detected alien cave ants. Pained by the damage these aggravating beasts confabulate, Zombie baited, waited, laid waste to a spate of ant infested crates. It’s cause: annihilate stealth arthropods.
Exhausted, strained brain Zombie made a lake, baked a cake, took a stake. Ate dates from plates that estimate, cogitate, integrate. Zombie screamed, brayed, raised an alarm, hungry it was for repetitive chaining brains.
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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Monica's Monday Morning Flash 