Zombie Prom

I've been locked in this closet for the last three days. Well, I like to think of it as I've locked them out of the closet, it makes it easier to accept living in a five-foot-by-nine-foot room. I'm just lucky the janitor liked to snack at work. The place had a decent stash of chips, soda, and beef jerky when I got here, although it's starting to run out.

It's quiet most of the time, just footsteps stumbling back and forth in the hallway on the other side of the door. Of course, sometimes, they start banging on the door. The meaty sound of their fists hitting the aluminum might go on for hours or just a few minutes. I'm not sure if they get some whiff of me or if they just bang on random doors for whatever registers as fun for them.

What’s their reason for rattling my door? Can they even have reasons for what they do? They’re dead. They’re dead and they’re still moving. There’s nothing about any of it that has anything to do with reason.