Moonlightaholics

Author’s note: Written very quickly for the February "Keep It Short" Champagne Challenge, and NOT betaed.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


28 Days Later

There was a knock at the door not ten minutes after Josef had finally said good morning and left for the freezer. Mick pressed the button on the remote as he ambled back toward the door. “Did you forget something?”

But when the door swung open, it was not his friend leaning up against the doorframe.

“Josh?” Mick dropped the remote. “But…you died!” He inhaled deeply and coughed. “You are dead.”

“The morgue was invaded by body snatchers. They pulled a Dr. Frankenstein and reanimated me. Tonight they set me free to wreak havoc on the world.”

After an impolite snort, Mick said, “I’m sorry, but…re-animated?”

Josh looked confused for a moment, then scrunched his nose in contempt for his host. “Well, hardy har har,” he mocked. “Beth thought I was fun. Her opinion is all that matters.”

“So now that you’re a member of the walking dead, you’re back…for what? Beth?”

Josh nodded stiffly. “That’s right. …But you’re still in my way.”

Mick tilted his head. “Hmm!”

The two undead men sized each other up for a moment, until Mick reached out and grabbed Josh by the forearm, twisted and pulled hard. Josh looked down at his empty arm socket and then at the limb in his opponent’s hand.

“You just tore off my arm.”

Mick glared at him and started to circle him slowly. “Yup. And now I’m going to beat you with it.”

Josh scowled back. “Not if I eat your brains first!” He lunged at Mick’s head.




Ladies and Gentlemen: Place your bets now for Bloody Micky vs. Josh “I-Cooked-A-Brain-For-You” Lindsey! For every bet made (one per person), I’ll write another sentence describing the fight—up until 500 words, or until it comes to a natural conclusion, whichever comes first.

Disclaimer: there are no losers, but no winners either—friendly bets only!

This is GREAT! I vote for Mick. He can beat Josh with one arm (of Josh's) tied behind his back.

that's a no-brainer. I'm betting on Mick. Josh isn't much of a fighter and one more good pull from Mick and poor old Josh will be completely 'armless.

It's Mick by a length!


toria

Werewolves wasn't enough, now we have zombies!!!


I'm betting for Mick. He is much more experienced with fighting undeads. And he's way more cool.

Gotta be Mick! I'll bet you will have few votes for Chicken Josh

Mick, Mick, he's my man....
If he can't beat Josh, NOBODY CAN!

Tell Mick.....
it's frustrating to have a battle of the wits with the unarmed.......

Thank you, everyone! Maybe I should have said fake bets and not friendly ones...I wanted to see what kind of money or goods people would lay down on this...

Anyway, holding up my end of the bargain:



Mick held up Josh’s arm to block him and then began to beat him back with it, striking him repeatedly. “Why are you hitting yourself? Stop hitting yourself!”

“URGHHH…” Josh groaned and stumbled as he was struck in the back of the head.

While he was distracted, Mick grabbed Josh’s other arm and tore it off. “Ha-ha!” he sang in a childish tone and pointed at Josh with his own fingers.


...To be continued?

Okay, I bet my old sofa that Josh won't hit back. But maybe he'll bite.

I bet my second-hand copy of Monty Python and the Holy Grail that Josh will try (and fail) to butt Mick to death.

As much as Josh is going to wreak havoc on the world, I've gotta go with Mick.

And Alle, you owe me a new monitor. I was in the process of swallowing when I read your post!

Oops! So sorry.

OMG, the puns in these comments...

Now that's exactly what I was looking for!

Here's the next paragraph (only one more after this--I discovered 500 words isn't very long)...


Mick’s cell phone began to ring, causing him to look away momentarily. Josh drew his leg back as far as he could and swung it forward, aiming at his foe’s posterior. The force of his kick caused his thigh to separate at the hip joint and carry the leg forward through the air, still hitting its target. “Oww!” Mick hissed.

“Damn it!” Josh cried, hopping around on one leg. “I wish they hadn’t soaked me in formaldehyde so long…”

Mick’s cell phone stopped ringing.