Come here little zombies, come closer to this siren call, for here in the deep dark woods we have blood, brains and all. Come closer little zombies, come to the anti-light, for when you do I'll have you fall as skittles in an unfair fight.
We'd be eating the last of the zombie skittles, tasting the rotten rainbow, as we played skittles with real zombies, always inventing more deadly steel bowling balls.
We'd lure the zombies into the mountain pass, into the most narrow valley gorge, then we'd let the boulders loose, squash'em flat. Jed called it "zombie skittles" and it seemed as good-a-name as any. So it stuck. Soon we had a point scoring system and a pulley set up to return the boulders. We even had theme music for it. If we could have turned those ghouls human we would have - but they are simply too far gone. Whatever is in their skulls is rotten and repairing it is beyond the scope of what we can do in an apocalypse.
Those days brought out the worst of even the angel's, for war is war, and though we were sure of our morality based in love, there were times we went off the rails too. There was that game of zombie skittles, when we lined up the ghouls in a bowling alley set, strung together with handcuffs, ropes and zip ties. Then we'd get a bowling ball, Raiders of the Lost Ark kinda size, and we'd take turns launching it from up the mountain path. The winner was the one who flattened most in a single strike and they won the right to take the headshots, one bullet per rotten cranium.
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