Preserved: Urban Fantasy

I am so sick of hearing your preaching. Dead or alive, I'm walking around, and I don't look so bad as most of those hordes. The fresh supply of pig brains you bring me might have something to do with that. I think better than most of the horde, too. And so I know that it isn't any divine grace--and least, none that passed through *your* hands--that keeps me well. I see them bringing their newly passed to you to lay hands upon, as if that will keep them from rotting, and it makes me so angry. I'm not a killer, but I think I could make an exception for you. I know that your congregation probably won't die, not if they're concerned about their loved one being a rotter. It isn't the rotters that attack, it's the ones who could almost pass as human.


Inspiration: "Whiskey Hangover" - Godsmack, plus probably a bit from White Trash Zombie.
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Eh. It's a take on the new, friendly zombie idea that may be coming in the urban fantasy genre.