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The Dead Party
The Dead Party
The Dead Party
Ebook42 pages34 minutes

The Dead Party

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Reader Review: "5/5: If you enjoy Black-Comedy and Horror, if "Sean of the Dead" made you chuckle, then you'll love this short story."

                                 

In Britain, the political party of choice — the party now in charge of every National decision — is The Dead Party. Since then, Sharon's life, her country, and her neighbours have changed unimaginably. Sharon's only chance is her newly acquired, though somewhat shaky superpower. But she has no control over it, the Dead want to recruit her (or eat her, they're not too fussy), and she can't remember seeing anyone else alive for months.

Will she live long enough to master her superpower, to escape an island of rot? Will she ever vote again? What fate awaits a seemingly lone survivor and reluctant rebel on an island where the Dead rule?

 

(This is a longer version of the original, which was published by Siren's Call Publications in 2012.)

LanguageEnglish
PublisherShah Wharton
Release dateDec 31, 2013
ISBN9781502298225
The Dead Party
Author

Shah Wharton

Shah Wharton is a British freelancer and author/publisher of dark fiction. She's a psychology graduate and in 2016-2018 she enhanced her creative and professional skills by achieving a Masters in Creative Writing. Her work has been published by Siren's Call Publications and by numerous anonymous clients. Her husband and their two dogs are the loves of her life. Some say she is mildly obsessed with Bob Dylan, and although she hated school, she's fantasised about attending Hogwarts. She adores fine red wine and robust coffee and lives in the West Midlands region of the UK.

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    The Dead Party - Shah Wharton

    FORWARD

    Siren’s Call Publishers originally published the original shorter version of The Dead Party in 2012.

    FROM MRS WHELMS' ROOFTOP—ONCE a doctor or medical consultant of some sort—I wait for the lifeless-but-animated Dead. Everything changed since they claimed control of our United Kingdom to create an island of zombies. But they have not claimed control of me. Not yet. Not ever. Even embraced by darkness, I see for miles from this height. It's not much of a view. Not anymore. Beneath clouds of noxious smog, the fierce orange roar of fire spreads across the North, muddying the violet night sky.

    Fire died here, leaving burned-out vehicles and structures, and mounds of a blackened tar-like substance stinking like the worst kind of barbeque. Where months of screaming and gunfire once reigned, an eerie silence lingers.

    Legions of the Dead moved from Britain and Wales to tackle the Scottish population, having saved the best (or the toughest) till last. Good military tactic to build up your strength before any head-on collision.

    It used to be vibrant in my multicultural West Midlands, now only memories exist of that life. Incredible as it may seem, 90% of voters chose The Dead Party to govern us. I'd be surprised if 90% of any population bothered to vote, so those figures never rang true. And you'd think even the Monster Raving Loony Party stood a better chance of securing the majority vote than The Dead Party. Especially in the absence of our Conservative, Liberal Democrat and Labour Councillors, who all mysteriously disappeared one week before the election.

    We all know UKIP and the Green Party never win. We were left to assume The Dead Party ate all major competition, and that Conservative, Liberal Democrat and Labour Councillors still adhere to the collective stomach lining of The Dead Party.

    Our new Dead leaders said, 'The democratic process has proved a positive one.'

    Positively putrid, more like. The living demanded a re-count but as with all other attempts to probe dubious government habits, the investigation went nowhere. They declared grounds to claim prejudice and named nonconformists 'necrophobics.' Within a week, they passed a bill criminalising necrophobia.

    The sentence for this crime: To become a member of The Dead Party. Then, they could re-educate offenders to stamp out prejudice in their fairer society.

    'It's political correctness gone mad,' we cried. Well, not me. At least, not out loud.

    Just because I don't want to decompose while animated doesn't mean I'm a bigot, does it? It didn't matter what they called us or how much we resisted them; the people soon admitted defeat when no one found proof of fraud to use against them.

    No evidence equalled no investigation. Soon enough, with power came numbers. The Dead recruited fast, and zombies popped up everywhere. Or rather they slithered and

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