The morning after....

Hair of the dog - as people used to say after an all-night binge - but prayin’ to the porcelain gods was the one Lisa enjoyed saying back in the day - back in the days when someone could afford to lose consciousness without fears of ending up in a stomach of the dead. No. Those days were gone - the good old days as they would come to say.

Today, the morning after meant the day after you saw your friends and neighbors eaten, or the day after your mom or brother turned into a demon and tried to feast upon your flesh. Or it could even be the morning after you witnessed a quarter of a million dead human bodies being blown to bits over the course of an hour. That was the day a blood mist from the disease floated upon the breeze, as a mist clinging to everything it touched. Cars, windows, and clothing were coated with blood, leaving your hair and skin sticky with residue. Eyes looked through a thin veil of red as the lungs of the unwitting breathed in and out.