The first thought that entered Derek’s mind as he regained consciousness was that the annoying putz who’d first dreamed him up as his “go-to character” had gotten another contract to write something “gripping”.
It wasn’t easy going through his tenuous existence as the brain child of a less-than-stellar creative talent. In his last incarnation, he’d been some sort of half-assed rendition of a buccaneer in a thoroughly insipid bodice-ripper designed for soccer moms with a need to escape their humdrum lives.
All he could do, at this point, was keep driving the Jeep he’d materialized into through the quaint urban landscape until he could ascertain what sort of literary albatross had been hung around his neck this time.
Cresting a low hill, he saw the flashing highway department sign and used every swear word in his creator’s, admittedly, limited vocabulary to express his discontent at being the fodder for, yet another, hackneyed cliché tale.
This story was written for the Five Sentence Fiction prompt: Zombie