Other than the fact they were all
zombies,
dead zombies, freshly killed at the hands of their own family members, there was not much difference in their behavior.
I was sitting with them all, watching them interact, as they discussed what to do with me. My grandfather says, “We could hit her with a frying pan.” Grandma wanders into a room that is not the kitchen, looking for the pan and everyone rolls their eyes. Becoming the undead does not cure senility, apparently. My cousin Andy offers to get his bow and shoot me. I decline. The whole family talks about how they died “I was choked. It wasn’t bad!” my aunt says because she’s the upbeat zombie. My father makes a halfhearted attempt to choke me, thinking I would like that method best, but frankly I am irritated
“I don’t want to be a fucking zombie” I tell them and they all seem mad and hurt by this.