Write a story or a poem about a zombie birthday party.
It most contain zombies and birthday cake - beyond that imagination is the limit!
Here we are at the graveyard filming the great occasion. We are a little early viewers, as we know that zombies prefer to appear only when the sun has completely disappeared and the moon is high in the sky. Thanks to advanced technology we are now able to film occasions in the so-called underworld.
Today we are celebrating a birthday, not just a birthday, but that of the most well known zombie living here, if we may use the term. He is not the oldest, but he has been active for so long that he is the idol of the cemetery. Yes, Rasputin just did not want to lie down and die as we all know. After many attempts by poison he still came back for more. After overcoming death and becoming one of the first recognised zombies, he decided to leave his home country as he just did not feel wanted, and after long travels eventually found his home in our little graveyard which is said to have originated from the days of the Great Plague.
As the camera sways over the grass and stones, we can see a phosphorescence surrounding some of the graves. These are those belonging to the “grufties” the colleagues and fellow zombies in the Rasputin group. As the sun has slowly disappeared from view and the fiery appearance of the sky has now turned dismal, we can here the creaking and rattling of bones. The moon is now ascending and I believe that I can see the first zombie appearing out of his gruft. Yes it is Deadly Earnest, the spokesman for the group.”
“Good evening, may I ask you a few questions on this honourable occasion.”
“You may, but I might be a bit short on answers. You look very tasty, can you come nearer. Is that a camera, am I being filmed?”
“Yes, thousands of people are watching you through the country at this very moment. Am I near enough? Please stop gnawing at my hand, I need it to hold the microphone.”
“Tasty, tasty, I just love a gnaw on a finger bone. Ok, I get the message, I can wait, Ha…Ha…Ha, zombie joke.”
Taking a few steps away from Deadly Earnest, I will continue. “Does Rasputin know that his birthday is being celebrated this evening?”
“Of course, he does, he gave out orders that we should not spare any expense. My friend the chef will be able to give details. He is very good at preparing specialities and is at this moment arising from his grave. In his time he was a well known person, serving last meals to the victims ready to be hanged; Mort come here and introduce yourself. This nice tasty gentleman is making a television film about Rasputin’s birthday party.”
“Good evening, I am pleased to meet you.”
“Your name is Mortimer?”
“Yes, but they all call me Mort, suits the situation much better, don’t you think Ha…Ha…Ha.”
“Ok Mort, what are you planning to cook for Rasputin on his birthday?”
“Cook, cook??? Are you out of your mind? We will not cook for Rasputin, the food just has to be prepared. Just pep it up a bit. You know what they say, food must be a feast for the eyes. First of all as a starter I will be preparing a blood sausage. An original recipe gathered from one of my fellow zombies, used to be one of the best butchers in town in the days before he arrived here. As a main course it will be fresh cut steak, one of my colleagues is at the moment shopping for the steak. No need to get the food too early, it has to be fresh, a nice healthy red colour.”
“And will Rasputin have a birthday cake?”
“Of course, but that is not my department. The ladies will be arranging that little surprise. Here comes Lucretia, I am sure she can give you more details.”
Cameraman, your camera in this direction please. Then just kick them away, I told you to wear a long sleeved shirt and not a t-shirt. They seem to be developing quite an appetite for arms at the moment.”
“Hello, I am Lucretia, you can forget the Borgia bit, that was my name in the olden days. Today one name is enough. Yes, my girl friends and I had to do a lot of thinking about a cake. Good old Raspy does not have such a sweet tooth, but we finally found the solution. We decided on a sandwich cake containing a raw liver paté and decorated with a wonderful sticky sauce made from the fruit of deadly nightshade.
Do I notice a cut on your finger Mr. Interviewer. Oh dear. Can I lick it clean for you.”
“No, no thank you it will be ok, I will just cover it with a plaster.”
“Oh, what a shame, you should let it dry out in the air.”
"Thank you Lucretia, no problem and here comes the man himself. Good evening sir, Mr. Rasputin and may I wish you a happy birthday from our viewers all over the country. This is indeed a great occasion, how many years is it?”
“Good evening, fellow zombies stop sniffing around this television man and his crew, they are here to make a programme about me. Unfortunately we must let them go home afterwards in one piece.
You were asking how many years? You know after a while years just do not count any more. As long as there are always little delicacies walking around to spice up death, then the years are not so important. So if you will excuse me, my fellow zombies are calling. The table is laid; Lucretia what a wonderful cake. I can smell it from here; just beautiful and filled with raw liver. You see Mr. Interviewer, even in death the ladies worship my presence and spoil me. So if you will excuse me, I would now partake of my birthday food.”
“Then I will leave you to your party, and thank you for the interview: just one further question. Are their other festivities planned this evening?”
“Of course, my friends and I will take a walk into town, it might be that we develop hunger early in the morning.”
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