Writing Assignment 8 1st Draft/Final Draft

Sorry for the lousy quality

It began like any day at Golden Acres Resting Home. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the residents were up and about. But in the afternoon, it began. At precisely 4:00 Mr. George Wentworth was watching television when it suddenly cut out, nothing but static and white noise. He flipped through every channel, but it was still the same. A crowd began to gather round as if the television was a fire. Suddenly the staff cam running in, telling everyone to go back to their rooms immediately. Pandemonium and fright appeared as the residents went as fast as they could to their rooms. But a few stayed unnoticed to see what the trouble was. The staff now coming out with guns: pistols, shotguns, and rifles. A coat of gray covered the once bright sky, as smoke seemed to have blown from a distant horizon. The streets were all deserted and void. The staff stood at ready with itchy trigger fingers. From a few feet away, a group of at least 50 zombies appeared. The staff began firing away, trying to kill as much as they could. But it was to no effect as the zombies came closer. Finally it was too late, and the staff was chewed upon. The scant few had seen it all from inside, watching with cold silence. They then headed outside to get the weapons, and hoped that the staff would stay dead and not return as zombies. For a week, surviving on limited firepower, the few brave seniors defended their home from the zombie horde. Eventually the military came in, and the zombies were disposed of. The sky brightened again, and the seniors all in one group walked up to the military unit and spoke in one voice. “Can we please have some staff?”