Papa walked through the door, holding his side. Blood oozed down his jacket.
“What happened, Papa?” I screamed, running to him for a hug.
“I’m just shook up, Princess. My car slid off the road and hit a tree.” Papa stepped over to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water.
I got him my favorite pink cup from the cupboard. “Did you call 911?”
“No. It’s not as if I’m dead.” He mussed my hair. “Just bruised.”
My eyes bulged. I pointed at his chest.
Papa watched the water pour out from where his heart should have been.
Author’s Note: (This idea struck me when a podcaster recounted a story, then stated, “Well, I’m not dead.” I thought, what if it turned out he was actually a zombie. The young girl protagonist was an attempt to make it as horrific as possible.)