i ran into
another old
zombie
poet
and we made this together
before
i beheaded
him:
[Z(o]
my(z
om
bi
e)
ni
ght
mar
e
s
(Inspired by my recent book being published! Check it out!)
Tag Archives: dennis finocchiaro
zombie e.e. cummings
Posted in Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged apocalypse, dennis finocchiaro, e.e.cummings, living dead, monster, poem, poet, poetry, the undead, The Z Word, zombie, zombie poetry, zombies, [l(a]
The Z Word Origin Stories – The Dane in Combat Boots (Annya)
Annya had to do something to escape the memories of him and their awful relationship. Everything in the apartment still reminded her of him even though he’d moved out months ago. She needed to get out of Denmark, leave Copenhagen behind, and what better way than to travel during holiday to the U.S.? She could definitely escape her demons there.
The long flight was boring but uneventful, exactly what she wanted for the whole trip. The plane hit very little turbulence and the landing was flawless. She arrived.
She tried to speak as little as possible to the cab driver, just a quick mention of the address of her hotel and he nodded; she was a bit self-conscious of her accent. As they waited at a red light she watched a pale woman walk very slowly, dragging her left foot, and noticed the general disrepair of her business suit. A brownish stain covered the front of her blouse, and Annya wondered what sort of chocolate concoction the woman spilled all over herself, and then forgot the woman completely as she yearned for chocolate. If she’d watched a moment longer, she would have witnessed the woman attacking an unsuspecting older gentleman walking his poodle, and might have been horrified to see his blood spurt out of his throat, freshly covering her blouse.
The driver pulled up to a fancy hotel, and Annya was surprised at how nice it was. She looked at the address on the side of the hotel and then down at her agenda, making sure it was right. This luxurious palace couldn’t possibly have cost her so little, could it? She gasped and then realized the driver was waiting for his money.
As she paid him and got out, difficulty with her suitcase exasperated the driver. he seemed rushed.
“No, no don’t help me, I’m fine,” she said to him.
“Sorry, miss, but there have been a lot of attacks around here lately, I’m not getting out. I have a family!”
She finally freed the suitcase and started pulling it toward the front entrance as she heard a scream from somewhere a few blocks away. She looked around, saw nothing and headed inside the hotel to the desk.
“Hello,” she said to the perfectly groomed clerk . She handed him her passport to keep from chatting, and the man took it and found her room number. He grabbed a sheet of paper that shot out of the printer and asked her to sign.
After getting the key to her room she went to the elevator and hit the up button. The sound of the bell woke her up from a daydream, and she was surprised at how relaxed she was already. This trip would be the uneventful but fun adventure she needed to put all her horrible, scarring past behind her.
This story is the origin of one of the many characters from my new book, The Z Word, available on Amazon in paperback and for Kindle. Like us on Facebook.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged cannibalism, Dane, death, Denmark, dennis finocchiaro, holiday, horror, love, monsters, murder, relationships, romance, The Walking Dead, The Z Word, undead, vacation, zombie, zombie apocalypse, zombie flash fiction, zombie stories
My first book!
My first book is out and available via Amazon! Check out the paperback or Kindle version HERE or click the cover art:
War. . .murder. . .disease. . . A zombie cares not for these things. In a zombie apocalypse, you’re only as powerful as the weapon you wield, only as strong as those you surround yourself with, but no matter how hard you try, you probably won’t survive in the end. The Z Word is a collection of short stories about people trying to do just that. Zachary, a former nerd, uses his vast knowledge of zombies learned from pop culture to survive, rescue others and even-he hopes-get his first girlfriend. A principal strives to keep the few child survivors alive in a school, while neighbors battle it out over a zombie hunting contest, and a teenage girl leaves home to take her chances out on the road. Some barricade themselves inside their homes while others stay on the move. But humanity will endure and humans can sometimes be the best in the worst situations. The Z Word is a manual of what to do-and not to do-in a world ruled by the dead. Don’t make the same mistake others have, heed these stories . . .they may be your only chance at survival.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged apocalypse, apocalyptic fiction, art, dennis finocchiaro, fiction, first book, hipster, horror, Kindle, love, novel, published, record, romance, short stories, survival, The Z Word, undead, zombies
The Z Word Origin Stories: Zachary
This story is a prequel to my upcoming zombie collection The Z Word. Like it here on facebook.
Click the photograph to see WhiteStag’s Etsy account where this print and more are available!
Zachary Ward was sitting in his old bean bag chair reading the recent Walking Dead when it happened. A scream ripped through the open window of his bedroom and he barely looked up from the issue. But then, who would? The second scream was the one that forced him to carefully place it on the shag carpet in the basement bedroom he “rented” from his grandmother and walk up to the eye-leveled window.
It had started. He saw two of his neighbors chased down by another, who seemed a bit slower than usual, and a bit more…gray? The slower neighbor latched on to one of their jackets and pulled the woman in, biting her arm as her scream reverberated off the walls of neighboring homes. Blood splattered across Zach’s window as her eyes met his and she reached for him.
It was time.
He ran to the comic he’d thrown to the ground in frustration and held the cover up, looking from the image to the view outside. It was definitely time.
He turned to find his grandmother standing in his doorway, the light from the basement steps silhouetting her figure.
“Mom-mom, how many times have I told you to knock first! I don’t care if you have to do laundry!” he whined. She stood, waiting for something, and that was when he looked back at the comic he’d been reading and flipped to the fourth page. It showed a back lit silhouette of someone in a doorway, a similar scene. He carefully placed the comic onto his sofa bed and reached under, feeling for something.
“Mom-mom, I would answer me if I were you…”
She made a sound, guttural, coming from deep inside, and that’s when his hand hit what he was looking for – a baseball bat. She lunged at him just as he pulled it out, and he swung it at her side, knocking her away from him.
“Mom-mom?” He looked into her eyes, a milky white. He sighed and knew what it was he had to do.
“Sorry mom-mom. You’re no longer the person I knew. I love you.” She stood again, her flowery moo moo flowing behind her as she jumped at him and he swung the bat at her head. The crack sounded different from those of the star baseball player’s he bench-warmed for. After all, his bat had never connected with anything other than wind that whole season his dad forced him to play.
She dropped to the ground, blood oozing from a crack in her skull. Zach looked at her for a brief moment and then started gathering items around his room and throwing them into a backpack. He’d been reading about these things for years now. He’d seen all the movies, even the terrible ones. The books, the graphic novels, everything prepared him for this moment. And he knew what he had to do next. It was time to save the hottest girl in his old high school who just so happened to live across the street and also, however unlikely, never pulled the blinds when she was changing. Why else would a twenty-year-old live in his grandmother’s basement?
As he burst through the old front door of her home, the screams got to him and he winced and lost his nerve for a moment. At that point he pulled out the iPod his cousin had given him when the new one came out and threw the buds into his ears after pushing random. With the bat in his hand he entered the street filled with monsters and victims alike, trying to catch some food or survive, depending which side they were on. He stepped to the other curb and was ready to swing the bat when a song started. The first few notes made him stop as the lyrics “Well no one told me about her…the way she lied” and he laughed at the irony of this song of all songs being the first to play. As he ran across the street one of the zombies came after him and he swung, this time right at its head. It went down fast as two more turned to look at him. He ran around her brother’s van parked in the driveway and checked to see if he could make it to the front door. He took off for her house and got to the door to find it locked. He rang the doorbell and turned to find the two from earlier coming at him rather slowly.
“Just like Romero said,” Zach actually said to himself as he gripped the bat tighter before thinking better of it and swing the bag around from his back. He pulled out a half-filled bottle of rum and stuffed a rag in it as they got closer, dropping the iPod and letting it yank the buds out of his ears. A quick flick of the lighter and the cocktail was lit. He threw it at the oncoming creatures and watched them ignite and fall, bringing three more into view who were apparently following them.
“Shit.”
He turned and banged on the door, rang the doorbell again and started yelling. Finally he heard a voice.
“Who is it?”
“Lucy! It’s Zach! Let me in!”
“Who? I can’t. Something’s going on! I’m not opening the door!”
“If you don’t open it I WILL DIE!”
He waited, the closest undead thing within reach of his bat and he took it down with one swing. The click of the lock turning caught his attention and as she opened the door he fell inside onto her.
“Quick! Lock it!”
She sat on her ass looking at the monsters slowly approaching and began to shake so he jumped up and slammed it shut in their faces. He threw the latch and slid the chain into place, then offered her his hand.
“Are you okay?” She nodded and then wrinkled her nose at him.
“Oh, you’re that creepy guy from across the street. You live with that old lady.”
“Um…yeah. I was also in your homeroom.”
“Oh.”
She brushed herself off. “What do you want?”
“I was trying to save you.”
“Well, I’m fine. I’m locked in. Safe. You can go.”
“We need to barricade the door, block up the windows and do a quick survey of what you have in here. Got a lot of food? We’ll need it.”
Lucy just stood there staring.
“What?” he asked her.
“Why should I share with you?”
He pulled open the curtains to get a view of the street. “You want to be alone in all this? They’re zombies.”
“They’re what?”
“Zombies. Dead people come back to life. Eating people.”
“That’s stupid. They aren’t even eating the people’s brains. Zombies eat brains.”
“Where in the hell did you hear that? It’s a myth.”
“So are zombies.”
“Then what are those?” he yelled, pointing outside at the chaos.
She looked outside and her confidence wavered. “They can’t be z- they just can’t be.”
She rubbed her arm and looked at him as sweat began to form on her forehead. “Well, what do we do?”
“We do what they always do. Lock ourselves in. Hold down the fort. Hope others find us so we become stronger in numbers.”
The two of them went to work moving furniture and blocking the doors and windows with as much as they could find. A quick inventory found them plenty of food and he filled up the bathtub with water.
“Why do we do this?”
“If the water stops running you’ll thank me.”
“What if I need to take a shower?”
He rubbed his temples for a moment trying not to yell, but ended up losing his temper a bit anyway. He yelled “YOU DON’T TAKE A SHOWER IN THE MIDDLE OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!”
Her lower lip trembled and he instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean it.”
She took a good look at him and collected herself. “I’m fine. I get it. We’re in trouble. I’ll be tough.” She looked out the bathroom window and gasped. “This is for real, isn’t it.”
“Sure is.”
She turned and looked at him, a small smile forming. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m actually glad you’re here.”
He smiled and felt his heart skip a beat. The hot girl from his high school days was happy he existed. That’s when they heard the thump. Zach ran down as fast as he could, Lucy close behind, to find the front door being rattled. He ran to it and pushed up against it, Lucy copying him. That’s when the window shattered.
“No! Lucy get back!” By the time she realized what was going on, a hand grabbed her nearby arm and pulled it through the window. Zach grabbed her waist and pulled her back in, and as she turned he saw the distinct marks on her arm. Bite marks. She looked at it and said “I’m fine!”
“You aren’t. When you get bit you become one.”
She looked at the cuts, wiped away some blood and passed out. He picked her up and put her on the couch.
“Shit.” He knew what he had to do. He ran to the front door and added a heavy armoire to their makeshift barricade and then went back to her. She didn’t wake up. “I’m sorry. I have to leave you. It’s too late for you.”
At that he grabbed the keys to her brother’s van off the counter, ran to the back door, turned to take a last look at the hottest girl in his grade, and left through the backyard.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged art, dennis finocchiaro, dork, entertainment, family, flash fiction, found photograph, graphic novels, horror, love, monsters, nerd, origin story, people, photography, pictures, pop culture, prequel, relationships, romance, sad, The Walking Dead, The Z Word, undead, upcoming novel, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies
The Best Burger
Photograph by Gina Esguerra. Click the photograph for her amazing blog.
He opened the car door as if to get out when she stopped him,
“We drove an extra hour for this?”
“Trust me…best burger and fries I have ever had.”
“Where are we, anyway?” she said as she gathered her giant sunglasses and wallet and placed them into her Coach purse.
“Rosie’s Den. Arizona. Look, it’s on the steps!”
“Grand,” she said as she got out of the car. “Wait, where are my sunglasses?”
“You just put them in your bag. Look at these windows! Can you believe this?”
“You can’t even see inside there’s so much shit hanging in them.”
“Hmm, I was actually going to say there’s less stuff than I remember.”
She walked to the door and waited for him to catch up and open the door for her.
“Since when do you wait for me to hold the door?”
“It’s filthy…I didn’t want to touch it.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back as she passed him, then followed her inside.
The fluorescent lights by the door flickered as they entered, buzzed a bit and she turned in an attempt to leave, but he stopped her. “Trust me,” he said to her as an old woman with an obvious mustache in a vintage waitress outfit which was too small for her age approached them, her short skirt revealing antique, wrinkly legs with more varicose veins than either had ever seen.
“Hi! Two, please,” he told her in a cheery voice as his girlfriend shuddered. She clutched her purse tight against her chest as they were led to a booth right next to a bright Arizona Lottery sign in the window.
“Ugh, these windows are filthy! Don’t they ever wash them?”
“How could they with all that stuff on them?” he asked.
She shrugged as the waitress brought them menus. “I’m Flo,” she said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes, really,” she said with a bitter tone. “Do you want to hear the specials? Because I’m not wasting my breath if you already know what you want.” She took a cigarette out and lit it.
“Um…you know that’s illegal these days, right?” she asked the waitress.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“We already know what we want,” he said, picking up both menus and handing them back to Flo. “We’ll each have a burger and fries with a chocolate milkshake.”
Flo took both menus from his hand and practically stomped off as if this weren’t part of her job.
“There are things hanging from the ceiling back there covered in flies. This table looks as if it hasn’t been washed in ages. And did you see the cook back there?” She nodded toward the kitchen, which they could see through an order counter. Flo brought a burly balding man their order. He wore a filthy wifebeater covered in what could be years of spills, his hairy chest sticking out of it. “He is disgusting.”
“Just you wait. This burger is the best thing you’ve ever eaten. I guarantee it.”
A loud sizzling noise emitted from the kitchen as he said that as if to support his point.
She started rooting through her purse for something and started pulling out objects as she searched. Hair brush. Makeup. Birth control pills. Wallet. Finally she found what she was looking for, a wet-nap.
“There’s a bathroom.”
“I am not finding out what the bathrooms look like here. I’d rather use a port-a-potty.”
“You won’t use those when we go to football games.”
“Exactly.”
He started to look around at the many items hanging in the old diner. Random papers hung next to the register on the window; a few were bad checks while others seemed to be orders from companies they were awaiting. The open sign flickered a bit as Flo was suddenly next to them with their meals, which she slammed down in front of them a little too hard, throwing a few fries off each plate.
“Anything else?”
“No, I think we’re good,” he said with a huge smile.
He waited.
“What?”
“I want to see you try this.”
She sighed and picked up the burger. A quick turn showed the cheese sliding down the edges, a thick burger and a roll that had seen better days. As she sunk her teeth into it a pickle started to escape from the other side, but that didn’t matter. Her eyes widened as she savored the bite. She chewed with precision and finally swallowed the bite.
“Well?”
She smiled. “I hate when you’re right.” She sunk her teeth into another chunk of the burger as he picked his up.
“See? Told you.”
“Oh my God, it is SO good.”
He took a bite and did the same, except he frowned at the burger and looked at it as he chewed.
“What is it, hun?”
He put it down.
“Hmm. It’s not as good as I remembered.”
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged art, beauty, best burger ever, cheeseburgers, Coach, collaboration, comedy, dating, dennis finocchiaro, Denwrites, diner, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found photograph, friends, friendship, funny, Gina Esguerra, humor, life, love, opposites attract, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, Quick Clicks, romance, snob, writing
Flash Fiction Published!
I’m proud to announce a collection of my stories was published in a lovely publication called The Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton Anthology:
Click the image to order the book on Amazon. It was an honor to be selected with such beautiful stories and talented writers.
My collection are a bunch of short flash fiction pieces that take place in a coffee shop. There are two sections, Despair and Hope, some of the stories continuing from the Despair section to the Hope section. I’m really excited! Here are a few example flashes:
She removes her hood, as directed. He wants to see her eyes as she ends it. She sighs and takes a sip of tea. He spins his mug of coffee on the saucer, noticing the tiny cracks in the glaze.
~
From above, all that could be seen was two people calmly reading.
From below, all that could be seen was a serious, ongoing foot war.
~
It was their first date, blind at that, and conversation was fairly smooth. But he knew it would all work out because as she ate her giant marshmallow square, she broke a piece off, rolled it into a bite-sized, mouth-appropriate ball in the palms of her hands, and carefully regarded it between her finger and thumb before popping it into her mouth.
~
She loved sipping the hot rooibos tea but regretted her decision to sit inside on such a nice, clear night. She looked out the window with an air of regret, but lacked the initiative to move.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged Amazon, art, authors, beauty, Candace Leigh Coulombe, Carla Brownlee, childhood, children, coffee, coffee shop, couples, dating, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, Fifteenth Dame Lisbet Throckmorton, flash fiction, friends, friendship, hipster, humor, kitsch, life, love, marriage, music, people, people watching, poetry, published, Rachel Scandarion, reading, relationships, retro, romance, sad, Sally Whitknee, Sheila Romano, Sherri Cook, tea, writers, writing
All Dressed Up
This piece, along with many others, is available on my Etsy HERE.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1960s, all dressed up, art, beauty, couples, date night, dating, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, kitsch, life, love, marriage, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, romance, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Lunch in the Park
Photographs (besides the typewriter and note) by the amazing and talented Sandra Markovic, whose work can be seen here.
Lunch in the park was Trevor’s daily ritual. He needed the break from his job at the library, even though it was fairly peaceful. He was a lover of the outdoors and it called to him, so every day he stopped at the café, ordered the same meal (mozzarella and tomato Panini, chips and an unsweetened iced tea) and ventured to the park.
It wasn’t until about a week ago that he first saw her. As he watched her pass, he couldn’t believe that the world failed to stop and take notice of her beauty. Nobody seemed to notice this perfect being as she passed; children continued to play, an old man kept feeding the pigeons, cars passed by as if nothing were happening, and only he seemed to notice this absolutely remarkable girl, a miracle, really, making her way past him through the park. She was wearing a flowing vintage yellow dress, and she carried a heavy looking suitcase that she carefully placed on the grass. The lid came off to expose a typewriter, of all 
things. Trevor hadn’t seen one since, well he hadn’t ever seen one in real life. He was drawn to her immediately. She sat and looked at it, marveling at its structure, but didn’t type a word. She played with her long brown hair, feigned pushing a key or two, but no actual typing commenced.
It was another day or two before she showed up again, this time in jeans and a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, again with the typewriter. She placed it in the grass, opened it, and this time loaded it with paper and began to type. She was slow at first, as if she were just learning how to use it. Her long blonde hair glimmered in the bright sun, and he spent his whole lunch break looking at her and eating his meal.
Today was the third time she showed up, and Trevor’s heart sped up a bit, his pulse quickened as he saw her approaching yet again. Today, a plaid dress was her outfit of choice, and simple black flip flops. Her figure was perfectly visible in the tight dress, and he gasped a bit at the sight of her beauty. Again, she sat in the grass, same spot, and began her slow, methodic typing. She put in a piece of green paper, browning at the edges from age, and punched key after key as she worked hard on something. Trevor, on a nearby bench, was close enough to hear her make a tiny growl as she grasped the top of the paper and yanked it out of the typewriter, making the fast clicking sound as she pulled. She crumpled it up and started at it again.
After a few tries, all ending in a balled up piece of old green paper, she looked at her watch, closed the typewriter and gathered the balls of paper. As she walked by the trashcan right next to Trevor, so close that he could smell the flowery perfume she wore, she threw the failures into the trashcan, continuing on without so much as a glance towards the receptacle, the bench, or Trevor. If she had, she would have noticed one of the wads hit the rim of the trashcan and bounced onto Trevor’s lap. He waited until she was out of sight, picked it up, and opened it with great care. It said:
Trevor gasped a bit. He knew what he had to do.
The next day, as the mysterious typewriter girl walked towards her usual spot, 
Trevor was already there, a blanket covering the area where she always sat. She stopped and he sensed her behind him looking at him, so he turned to face her, noticing a fitted striped tee shirt dress with black leggings and a black cardigan.
“Hi. I’m Trevor,” his voice shaking a bit.
“Hello. I’m Victoria. But my friends call me Tor.”
He stood up and put out his hand. She took it and he held it a bit too long as he shook it. She smiled.
“Would you care to join me? I have a picnic lunch.” He smiled his biggest, warmest smile, and she felt a little tingle run up the back of her neck.
“Sure,” as she fumbled with the typewriter and her bag, trying to put both on the ground without making a scene. She sat and he did as well, facing her from across the basket.
“I have paninis,” he said.
“I love those, especially tomato and mozzarella.” His eyes widened, but he tried to play it cool.
“Oh, good. That’s what I brought,” a simple, nervous smile. He passed her a wrapped parcel, which she opened with great care. He did the same, then held out a diet cola and a tea, and she pointed to the cola.
“Thanks, this is so nice of you Trevor. But why?”
He froze for a second or two, then responded. “I come here every day, see you here a lot lately, and thought I would say hi. I love your typewriter,” he said, nodding towards her suitcase.
“Thanks,” she said, blushing a bit. “It was my grandmother’s, and I found it and thought it might inspire me. She always said she’d met my grandfather because of it, but I never really heard the full story. All I know is how it ended.”
He smiled. “Wow, that’s pretty neat. What are you trying to do with it?”
“I’m a writer. Or I want to be. I thought, maybe, that it would inspire a great novel. So far, it’s only created junk that I’ve thrown out.”
“Maybe you should keep trying,” he replied. She smiled.
“With the typewriter?”
“Well, however you can. You’re a great writer. You can do it, I’ll bet.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he realized he slipped up. “Er, I mean, I’m sure you’re a great writer. I mean, I can tell, you know? You seem pretty amazing, from where I’m sitting.”
Her smile returned. “You’re sweet, Trevor.” Hearing her say his name kept made his heart jump, and he reacted a bit. “What?”
He blushed. “Nothing. How’s the sandwich?” She smiled and nodded, her mouth full when he asked.
They continued eating a bit, chatting until the sandwiches were done and his lunch break was almost over. He looked at his watch, and in doing so caused her eyes to widen and grow sad.
“Do you have to go?”
“I’m on my lunch break, so yes, in a few. Why?”
She shifted her weight and smiled, looking down at the blanket.
“Will I see you again?”
“Of course, if you want to,” he said with a huge smile.
She looked up and whispered, “I like you, Trevor.”
He turned and saw that she was looking down at the blanket, so he leaned towards her and rested his weight on one hand. “Hey Tor?”
She looked up, and her eyes looked at him as if he were far, far away and she couldn’t wait to see him again, except that he wasn’t, he was right there, and he was leaning in towards her, bringing his lips towards hers, and as her eyes grew even wider, excited, her upper lip quivered just the tiniest bit in anticipation as he came closer and closer until-
Posted in flash fiction, Zoey and Xander
Tagged art, author, beauty, books, collaboration, couples, dating, dennis finocchiaro, fiction, flash fiction, friends, friendship, hipster, kitsch, library, life, love, lunch, marriage, people, photo, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, romance, Sandra Markovic, typewriter, vintage, writer, writing
Years Later On the Beach
I am now selling digital prints and ORIGINAL one-of-a-kind prints of my typography stories on ETSY. Please stop by the shop and check them out!
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged beach, childhood, dennis finocchiaro, fiction, flash fiction, friendship, jersey shore, kitsch, life, love, marriage, memories, ocean, old age, photography, photos, relationships, romance, shore, typography, vintage
A Flash of Inspiration 
