Jameson collected dead birds. Unfortunately for his neighbours, they weren't stuffed birds like some people keep on their mantel. No, Jameson collected the normal kind of dead birds. The rotting, decaying kind.
At first, he never really intended to collect them. One day a bird crashed into one of his windows and broke its neck. After hearing the deadly THUNK one morning while eating his daily breakfast of nutella and salami on sliced baguette, Jameson went outside to investigate. Not wanting the poor bird's untimely death to be in vain, he brought the fragile corpse inside, intending to use the feathers for pillows, or to adorn his many fedorae.
But he just never got around to it.
A few days later, Jameson began collecting dead birds from the roadside, intending to give these innocent victims of hit-and-run-drivers a proper burial.
But he just never got around to it.
Before long, Jameson's house was littered with dead birds. Hundreds of them.
And then, one fateful night, it happened. Nobody knows for sure why it happened. Some say it was the freak electrical storm, some say it was the fact that his house was right next to a nuclear power plant, some say it was the radioactive waste the power plant was paying Jameson to dispose of that he just never got around to burying, but whatever the cause, when that bolt of lightning hit Jameson's house, those birds came back to life.
Some people called it a miracle. But when the birds infected them with radioactive zombie bird flu, they changed their minds.
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