I ate my mother’s face off a few days ago. No joke, at least I guess it was a few days ago, but you know it isn’t too easy to tell time when you can’t sleep anymore. She had just gotten home from the pharmacy and was carrying a bottle of antibiotics for me when I caught her. At first she wasn’t sure what to think, but soon she started screaming, “Calvin! No!” when I sank my teeth into her cheek. You know, I didn’t necessarily want to eat her, but I couldn’t help myself. That’s just the way it is, you know, when you get the zombie virus. She didn’t stay dead very long, of course, and now you can see her lurching down the street with torn clothes and half of her face somewhat intact, looking for some bit of human flesh to prey on. I sometimes try to visit with her like we used to, but it’s not the same anymore.
I still remember the day I got the virus. I was walking down the street and saw my friend Gary up ahead, so I yelled to him. He didn’t seem to be himself, standing sort of hunched over and not acknowledging my call to him. “Gary! How are you doing?” I yelled out, but still he didn’t answer, so I walked up to him. Just as I reached out to tap his shoulder, he turned, his gruesome, expressionless face launching at me with teeth bared. Despite his missing eye and the flesh gouged from his face and neck, he was surprisingly fast, chomping down with a vengeance on my outstretched arm. I yelled out, since I could still feel pain at that time, and tried in vain to pull him off, beating him on the head and face and back, searing pain running up my arm. I ripped out his other eye and badly broke his nose, yet he did not even budge. Instead he ripped the flesh from my arm and lunged for my neck! Luckily, I was able to roll out of the way and ran down the street to escape the bloodthirsty monster.
Soon the inevitable began to happen. My forehead broke out in a sweat and my body was wracked with chills and spasms as the virus worked its way into me. Mother called in some medicine and went to pick it up, but when she got back it was too late. The virus had taken me and there was no turning back.
It’s lonely being a zombie. You may not realize that, considering that we usually travel in packs, but it can be downright depressing. There is certainly no stimulating conversation to be had when the only vocal noise one can make is “Blaaahh!” Even if I wanted to befriend an unturned, intelligent human it would be useless since my lust for human flesh would eventually take hold and they would be turned to the mindless life of the undead.
I tried to turn to vegetarianism, eating handfuls of carrots and broccoli, but regardless of how much I devour, the first scent of nearby human flesh sets off an alarm in my decaying brain, causing me to become a killing machine whose appetite cannot be vanquished.
Again, it’s a depressing life. The world of an undead apocalypse is so drab and gray, especially for a sensitive zombie.
