Dmitri had only had to kill three men, before today.  Things were different now, not like the old days.  The Cold War had made things easier — the rules were more clear.  Now, Dmitiri thought to himself, you find yourself having to kill someone you considered a friend.  This man, Alexei Andropov, used to work for him in the KGB. In fact, Dmitri had recruited him at a young age when Alexei was training for the OMON in Moscow. Those days are long gone, Dmitri thought as  he glanced down at the body sprawled before him in the snow, the warmth still fading in wispy breaths of steam.  Dmitri let out a heavy sigh, and turned to walk away, but was surprised by the outline of a tall man making his way over the embankment.  He tensed briefly, then relaxed as he recognized the approaching man.  ”Thomas, you shouldn’t sneak up on an old spy like me” he said with a humorless smile.  Thomas did not return the smile, but instead reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a thick envelope which Dmitri knew would contain the agreed upon amount, in crisp $100 American bills.  ”Courtesy of our friends in Virginia” Thomas said, without a trace of irony.  Dmitri wondered if his old enemy was even capable of irony, or any emotion, for that matter.  Thomas turned to leave, and Dmitri quietly raised his gun to the back of his head. “Unfortunately, they’re not your friends anymore” he remarked, and fired two quick shots.  Thomas fell forward and slumped against the embankment. Dmitri dropped the gun by Thomas’ side and said quietly,  ”Spies like us have no friends”.  He put the envelope in the inner pocket of his trench coat and made his way up the embankment.

When the zombie apocalypse came, at least Paula was wearing comfortable shoes.  That’s what they teach you in school, but no one ever really listens.  And if you knew Paula, you would have known that wearing comfortable shoes wasn’t high on her list of priorities — she would normally be seen hitting the clubs wearing 3-inch black stiletto heels.  But on that stormy day in September, there she was, wearing a sensible pair of Stegmann wool clogs.  Not exactly the best shoe for running from zombies, mind you, but at least it was supremely comfortable.  That was the last thought to go through her head…”At least my feet don’t hurt”…as a zombie devoured her brain.  In the months and years following that rain-filled day, the Stegmanns passed from survivor to survivor, and achieved an almost mythic reputation.  Survivors seen wearing the shoes would be told “ah, you’re very lucky to have such comfortable shoes”.  Finally, as the years passed and the survivors dwindled, the last person alive on the earth–a pretty young girl named Melody–had inherited the ragged but still comfortable shoes.  She was doing a poor job of escaping from a rather large group of zombies, and ultimately, she was caught and quickly devoured.  If only Paula had decided to wear a nice comfortable pair of running shoes, things might have turned out differently for the human race.