A zombie fell out of the bushes after a mosquito bite.
Autumn leaves glowed like light bulbs in the dark light. A swamp. It was dark here. And damp. Very cool. The wind was already blowing cold. It was autumn, after all. But the zombie didn't feel any of this. And didn't understand. He practically fell out of the bushes and walked. Along the swamp.
Somehow, he knew the swamp was dangerous. And he had to walk along the edge. He walked a little slower than a normal person. And he even remembered. How he'd been bitten by a mosquito. And contracted some kind of virus. A week ago. He itched. And then reddish dots appeared. Like bleeding. He didn't have time to be scared. Everything happened quickly. The process was fast. He'd just gone to bed. And woke up in the bushes. Was it a dream? A transformation after an illness. The virus had done something to him. Some strange, large, green mosquito. He remembered that, too.
His mind was still working. He clearly remembered certain scenes as if they had happened yesterday. He was itching. And walking. Then bruises appeared. And he fell. And woke up in the bushes. He hadn't gone to bed. He had gone to bed the day before, at home. And then, during the day, he had gone into the forest for a picnic. On his day off. He loved wandering here. It always calmed him. And now here he was wandering.
He was almost fine. He had just gotten hurt. And a mosquito had bitten him and infected him. The virus had done something to him. And very quickly. He was walking along the swamp. Sometimes his legs wouldn't obey him, and he would grab fallen branches. Or leaves. He looked down. At his feet. He adjusted his movements. And moved on. Overall, everything was fine. He looked at his hands in amazement. As if he should see or understand something. But he just looked at them. That big mosquito was spinning in his head. So green. Swollen.
It was beautiful here in the swamp. He always liked to walk around these parts on his day off. It was almost night. Or evening. It gets dark faster in autumn. What leaves! He was fine, he could even walk around a tree. Or bend branches aside with his hands. He was sure of it. The main thing was not to drown in this swamp. How could he have slept in the bushes? But it wasn't cold at all. It wasn't cold for him. Maybe he had a fever? He'd have to see a doctor. But why did he have to sleep in the bushes?
He lost consciousness. He thought to himself, as if he were. He seemed to be feeling unwell. Some thoughts were clear. And then there was some kind of emptiness. As if he could see something clearly. And something was floating before his eyes. This was normal. It was dark here, after all. He remembered the way home. And that big mosquito. It was all green. Like the swamp. And big. And it was bloated all over. As if there was some kind of green in it. It was dark green. And he remembered the way home. The forest. The road. He needed to get to the road. He has a car there. And on the way home.
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