With a swift swing the bat connected with his head and he fell without making a sound; his brain oozing over the ground like the spread of infection across the city. Although I’d killed many zombies in the last few days I still felt an obligation to check for id – to say a silent farewell to the person who once was.

I found some cash and a house key. The house key was attached to a keychain engraved with the words ‘hinton waldrist’. I smiled sadly. It was an apt description for the walking dead.

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For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.

Today’s word:
hinton waldrist n.
One who persistently returns to a subject no one else is interested in.

Tomorrow’s word:
thornton steward n.
One who answers his telephone by clearly stating the number.