*WARNING NOT A ZOMBIE STORY*
Yesterday a woman sat down next to me on the bus and started a polite conversation. As it went along a thought hit me, I could ask this stranger for an idea. There was a lull in conversation: this was my chance. And I don’t know if it was because I’m introverted or shy or lazy, but I said nothing.
The longer I left it, the more my mouth felt as if it was glued shut. I found myself repeating my starting line over and over in my head. Then finally, I spat it out and asking was easy. She turned out to be a creative writing teacher for people with mental health problems, so I’ve taken that as my prompt.
It was as if the city had been sleeping for years and had just woken up. The nightmare had been violent and the memories were still vivid. Peace felt surreal and people wandered aimlessly through its streets looking for lost loved ones. Tourists labelled it the “zombie town”, scared of its tortured citizens.
So the Mayor bought paper in bulk and ordered every person to spill their thoughts onto it. Then she folded them up and posted them across the world, so their burden could be shared.
The zombie town was no more. The people felt understood and their problems seemed distant.