( This is a 300 word excerpt--I hope you enjoy it.)
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Seconds after the demise of her husband, Mrs. Simmons (or at least I think it was Mrs. Simmons) came to the window of the top floor. She drooled something green over the white curtains and managed to open the window to step out, as if it there were an imaginary stair down to the garden. Except there wasn't, obviously. What shred of intelligence is left in these creatures seems easily squandered. She hit the earth with a sickening crack. I thought that would hinder her efforts to eat me alive, but even with one leg trailing behind and both broken hands flapping loose in front like grayish-green gloves she still managed get up speed. She must've been famished, poor wretch.
I wish I'd had one of those camera thingamajigs to take a photographic remembrance, Albert. I could have captured a great shot (pun intended) for The Windsor Times, I can tell you. This Simmons woman was quite the sight-tangled and matted hair; maggots falling from her right eye socket like yellowy tears. I let her have one blast. She'd earned that. Her plunge from the window gave me a quite a chuckle.
I took her left leg clean off mid-thigh. Next came her attempt of a crawl. Rather pathetic really. She tried her best, but with no real purchase from her broken and shattered limbs she ended up moving rather like a caterpillar.
Don't rush if you don't need to. Save your energy and cartridges.
I took a spade from the shed and lopped her head clean off. Well, when I say clean I'm ashamed to say I managed to hack at her shoulders a few times before I got the neck. One commiserates with the Countess of Salisbury. Eleven times before the executioner severed her head wasn't it? Mrs. Simmons should consider herself lucky with two... all right, four.
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