I am living in a mobile home. The mobile home is on top of a dirt hole, with a wooden bridge foundation. The sides are a silver colored metal and the paint is a light blue. I am in the mobile home and it is very narrow and small. It is filled up with boxes of random things. There is food in some and non-food in others.
I keep hearing the door banging from the kitchen. There are about three different doors in this place. I go to the door and I hold up against it, pushing furniture into place. There is zombies trying to get inside of the mobile home and they are flailing their arms in the cracks of the doors. There are men and women, trying to get inside to take my life force from me.
Every sunrise and sunset, I repeat this process, in different parts of the home. The zombies never get in but, they always pound and bang on the doors, as they try to enter. It becomes routine and it doesn’t really even concern me after a while of this.