This was just the beginning of course. The sickness was a madness that galloped through the mind of our community that night, a night that no one remembers, and no one forgets. Joking jackels journey, killing kindness, keeping laughter lurching. Lunchtime moans, motions meakly, nets naught. Nighttime obeys older orders, prehuman pantomime, played quietly, quickly.
Quaint resistance redirects rabid spy's suspicious scheming towards tougher tactics.
Yielding zealots zombie-zonked. Indeed, the threat lingers on, twitching in high winds, sometimes downed by rain, but never for long. You will not escape its sticky grasp. Gleefully assured of its own safety, my life is but its jest. But it cannot crush my memories, though the mind which views them is mangled beyond repair.