I love anything weird, so when Lee (the main guy from my zombie book) decided to talk, I had to write it down. The world is now in the hands of kids. When kids hit 18 they turn into a zombie. Needless to say, the world has changed a lot! Lee, my main character is a kid who owns a shooting range, keeps his zombie mom tied up in his living room, and drinks coffee out of mason jars.
Then he meets Cleo
I introduce Cleo in a hospital, and she’s in bed, in a coma. Cleo has no idea what’s gone on in the last five years. So, when Lee sees her outside the Feelings Center, after waking up from her coma, he has to talk to her.
Even though Lee hates talking to people.
Cleo has an extremely innocent personality, and I have enjoyed adding her to the story, because she’s still mostly disoriented about what’s going on all around her. Here’s another picture of how I imagine Cleo.
Here’s a snip of my book Zombie Central:
A girl was huddled against the building, her dark blonde hair hiding her face, her arms wrapped around her knees. Welcome to the Feelings Center, sweetheart, get over it. Part of me wanted to book it back home, but the part my mom had raised, told me that she’d want me to help this girl. Dang it, Mom, why did you have to raise me to be a knight in shining armor. Despite the bleakness of the world, I still clung to hope. However stupid that seemed—I still had hope.
I cautiously made my way toward the crying girl, wondering if disturbing her good ‘cry’ would make it worse, or turn some sort of womanly curse on me. Just…do it, you wimp. I reached down and lightly touched the girl’s shoulder.
She jumped, making me jump backward, nearly stumbling over my own two feet. Her face was splotchy and red, eyes puffy, black makeup smeared. What a sight—eesh.
Glad to, sweetheart, only my conscience won’t let me. “Do you want to talk about it?” I bent down in front of her, my eyes full of concern. Something about her face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place what. She caught my gaze, fresh tears filling her eyes, her lip trembling. Oh no. Water works. Coming at me.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, the words halfway garbled, since she was still crying, sniffing, and snotting all over the place.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I woke up this morning in a hospital—and everyone—everyone is gone. A girl dropped me off at this place—said she couldn’t deal with me.” She waved her hand at the building, her face pale. “Then they tell me my parents are zombies? That my older brothers are all zombies too? I don’t understand.” She rubbed her eyes, sobs still choking her words.
“What’s your name?” I asked. Has this girl been living under a rock? Zombie Central happened five years ago.
“Cleo,” she said.