NO THNKNG ALOUD

...	I am in a supermarket. A low platform--18" high--has been built in the front. The cash registers have been removed. But everything else is as it should be. Except, of course, for the zombies. There are a lot of them, all resembling people I knew from grad school and my hometown. Cadaverous and blue, with vacant staring eyes, they try to no avail to reach me and my female companion. Fortunately for us, they can not step up onto the platform. We need to escape, and I discover that by taking my pencil, placing it to their foreheads and screwing it into their skulls, we can kill them. The woman and I do this, and kill enough of them to get safely to the door, and lock the rest inside. On waking, I wonder at the meaning of all this. There are two possibilities. One: we must escape from the zombies while we can, or: Two: we must use writing and art to try to wipe out the zombies around us. I prefer the second option.	...