For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/the-weekend-freewrite-3-23-2019-part-3-the-dramatic-twist
Its mother merely establishes contact by scratching the infant's basket with a fingernail.
Under her fingernail, the wicker fragmented. It frayed. It It It.

pierced the skin that attached her fingernail to her finger. Deep deep it went, like the cry of the babe.

And the wails of her own pain came from inside the deepest part of her heart. That tip of the heart that pints down to the gut.

That's the part that knows true pain .

The wicker spear festered. Before the end of the month, its mother rode in a casket to her earthen bed.

It has been raging for years in the rural community, weighing heavy on the hearts of people.
All the zombie mother have risen, and they have not been polite. They each seem ready to ask for forgiveness for the lives they've taken, but their mouths are so full of the brains of the farmers and shopkeepers and teachers and little kids, that they can't quite get it out.

And so, year after year, the zombies ravage the land. And the people, seeing how stricken these mothers are that they cannot hold their child any longer, what with their rotting arms, open their doors to them. And those kind souls become tomorrow's zombies. Eaten and eating.

The iron was heavy as it fell on her skull, crushing what was left of her. Finally bringing her to her release. The undeath of her hunger could not exist without that intact bit of hippocampus she had left.

And now, now she was really, truly dead. And she could hold her- oh no.

This was infinitely worse. Her infant was a grown man. He had become an adult while she was a zombie. And, while ghosts can hold babies, because babies are that much closer to the other realm, they cannot hold adult, who have forgotten what it was to not be.

The woman who was a zombie who was a woman who was now a ghost saw nothing for it but to let go.

Wait, no. Just kidding. Yeah, that guy is haunted by his dead mother.

Oof.