Dream, infected…

In the dream
the end-times had come
in the form of zombies…
and society was losing.
I had a shotgun,
of course,
and the remnants
of the army
needed all the hands
they could get.
The only remaining officer
was a chaplain.
As he handed me
a box of shells,
he pointed to a larger box,
full of the same,
and said,
“You’d better hold this door for us,
and get right with the Lord.”
I glanced around,
the hallway was crowded
with desperate faces.
He turned to go,
I grabbed his arm
and spun him back.
“The Lord? “
I said, with indignation,
“People are dying,
and you’re worried
about the Lord?”
He looked at me
with eyes burnt
by endless waking terror
and said,
“People are dying,
and it’s the dead
who are doing the killing…
of course I’m worried
about the Lord.”
I chambered a shell
and watched him leave.
I turned,
to the heaving door
that seperated sunrise
from sunset…
Then
my alarm clock chimed
and that world
slid
quietly
away