i have heard it said that every good story resists being written. if that's true, then mine must be a doozy.
chaos swirls around me in the semi-dark; my daughter is collapsed, dead, amid a hundred others now jerking and twisting, rising to become, in fact, undead. the strains of michael jackson's 'thriller' resonate through the theater, and the bright eyed zombies raise their soprano voices to echo the king of pop. from my vantage point, there seems to be little hope that the choreography will come together by saturday, but thankfully, it's not my job to make sure it does. so instead, i let my mind roam through my own chaos, trying to find the beginning of all of this...or at least a place that will make sense once it gets rolling. i suppose the only way into the mess of any story is headlong... making course corrections on the fly. somehow that seems appropriate.