This is for a entry in my school's newspaper because next month will be highlighting writers and artist. One type of entry you could create was a short story of 3,000 words of less. It's due on or before April 22, so if there is anything wrong with it I would appreciate some feedback. :]
You know that saying “you never know what it’s like until you try it”? It definitely speaks for its self, let me tell you that. But I might have to tweak it and say instead that “you never know what it’s like until you become it”. That sounds right when “it” is a zombie. Yeah, a zombie. The walking dead. The reanimated. The sluggish, classic movie monster that always want brains. Which I might boldly put in is very delicious. Though it does depend on the person you’re eating. Actors are the worst in my opinion because half of them have thicker skulls then brains. But that’s off topic.
Don’t get me wrong now; being a zombie isn’t all bad. In fact it’s quite nice. You have tons of friends that all share the same interest and never call down a bite to eat. Even if you’re the nonsocial type, you’ll learn to love your fellow kind. We’ll never pick on you because if we did we would be calling everyone, including ourselves, out. And if you like to travel, you’re in luck! We all love it. No one gets tired though sometimes we have to wait up for the ones that have to drag their torsos around. See? Being zombified isn’t terrible. Though, the process isn’t something you’ll want to die for. But hey, eternal life until someone decides to smash your head in with a shovel is quite grand when you only eat when you can and you never have to sleep. Parties every day, all day right?
And being the one of the most recent addition to the zombie group, and still having memory of my human life, I can tell you what it’s like to be turned into a zombie. Maybe you’ll be less skeptical on what it’s like. I would have if someone told me. So let me start at the beginning of my end which was…well, I believe was the battle I had with a group of zombies the day of being bitten. Yeah. I think that’s it. Let me start there.
I was running. My legs were working full throttle, probably making me look like I was leaping down the street while my heart felt as if it were going to burst from my chest. My lungs and sides were burning, pleading with me to stop. But after that zombie got the bright idea to snatch my spiked baseball bat, there wasn’t much of an option on what to do next. I just took action and booked it.
Most of the zombies were out of luck. Not enough speed to catch fast food. But some others, like the type of mutated zombies that gain special abilities when zombified, were able to tail me with their gimpy run and outstretched arms. As I was running, I was able to take a glance behind me to see that I had gained some distance between me and the enemies, but not enough to slow down. That wouldn’t happen until I got my bat back.
When I looked back ahead, a little luck happened to come my way. Sure there are a lot of better places to find a weapon, but a sports bar is just as great when your life could be moments from your demise. I didn’t get the chance to read its name, not that it mattered, but I was glad the place had left in a rush and didn’t remember to lock the doors. Which, for some unknown reason, some people have done. I mean, are you really going to return to your home with a zombie infestation? Because there’s no critter cleaners to help you with that.
The inside of the bar was like a tornado ran through it. Upturned tables and chairs, broken glass, and nearly out of stock shelves of alcohol. But what I was looking wasn’t on the tabletops or shelves, though a drink did sound nice. Instead it was on the wall. Many pictures of athletes and sport team jerseys hung there, but over one booth in the middle of the bar was the holiest weapon of a zombie apocalypse. Your average baseball bat.
“Aww yeah.” I said smiling and running over to grab it from the hooks that kept it there. But a zombie underneath the booth’s table had other plans that involved my brain in its stomach. Decaying, ratty clothed arms shot out from underneath the booth and reached for my ankles, only to be an inch or two short.
“Aww no!” I exclaimed, nearly tripping over my own feet trying to back up. The zombie groaned and started crawling out from beneath the table, its dull, white eyes locked on me.
“Uhh…” I looked around for yet another weapon that could help me fend off the guard of my prize. And the first thing I could find was a nearly empty bottle of vodka sitting on the bar tabletop. I grabbed it from its spot and then broke the end, only to have half of it shatter in pieces. A little more then I hoped, but it would do. I pointed it at the zombie, jabbing my arm in its direction.
“Back!” I yelled. “Back fiend!” The zombie looked unimpressed and just continued towards me, its hands twitching to have my head. I took a few steps backwards before deciding to take to bottle a jam it into the zombie’s face. It moaned and put its hand to its face, feeling for a way to pull the bottle from its skull. And in its confusion I was able to jump around it and on to the booth’s seat, taking the bat and grinning at the hefty weight it created in my hands. I looked back at the zombie, jumped down, and strolled over to it just as it pulled the bottle off by the neck.
“Hey buddy,” I said as it looked over at me. “Eat this!” And I swung the bat, popping the zombie’s head off like a Barbie doll’s. It flew across the room, out the broken window, and into the street while the body crumbled to the ground with a heavy thump-thump¬.
“Ha!” I laughed. “Homerun!” I rested the bat against my shoulder, satisfied with my kill. But it only lasted mere moments. After the zombie’s head flew out the window, I must have given my position away to the group that was previously following me. I watched as their bodies streaked across the window and then came streaming into the bar. The grin I had dropped fast and got my bat out in a defensive manner, ready for the first attack from one out of the six zombies. Instead, all of them came up, screaming and howling like wild animals. I swung the baseball bat quickly, hearing and feeling the familiar crunch and crack as it hit the first target. Its head raced to the opposite end of the bar and smacked against the selves behind the bar tabletop, causing a few bottle of hard liquor to burst into a shower of alcohol.
Another zombie screamed and jumped to the ceiling, crawling above my head in jerky motions before landing behind me. Ignoring the zombies in front of me, I spun around and faced the one trying to flank me. It rushed towards me, grabbing my shoulders and ready to sink its rotten teeth into my neck. I raised my hands up and push against its chest, avoiding its drooling, spitting mouth by moving my head back and forth while keeping it low as it struggled to tear out my arteries. With one hard shove from me, the zombie stumbled backwards and looked right back at me just as my bat took contact with its skull.
A roar from behind me made me turn around in time to see an object coming for my face. I put my bat up and staggered back as another baseball bat with nails sticking every other direction hits against mine. I looked at the bat surprised then at the zombie. It looked bigger than the rest, but not in the chubby kind a way. Instead it was in the muscularly kind of way. This zombie had some luck when it came to the virus messing with its genetic code. Speed and strength. Of course, not so good for me.
“So you’re the one that took my bat,” I said calmly, staring into the zombie’s eyes. “Well, I would enjoy having it back!” At that, I yanked my bat backwards, surprising the zombie and causing it to momentarily loose hold of its weapon. But because the zombie let go, my balance was thrown off and I fell to the ground, knocking the air from my lungs and nearly having the spiked bat puncture my neck. It took me only a moment to regain my sense and in that moment the remaining four zombies ran to me. I was able in time to jump up as one zombie swiped at my legs and then bring the spiked bat down on the top of its head while pulling the other bat off and bashing it against the zombie’s temple. The head stuck to the spiked bat as the body fell and I used this to my advantage by throwing it over to the three zombies and confusing one of them as the head hit it in its gut.
The biggest of the three zombies, and the one that stole my bat, rushed over to me alongside a smaller, skinner zombie that pounced towards me like a cat. The smaller zombie reached me first, but in midair of its jump I swung the normal bat downwards and the zombie went down with it, the scream coming from its throat cut short. My attention quickly returned to the brute as its arms reached for my neck. I smacked them away with the normal bat and then took the spiked one and hit my target, the head staying connected to its body, but the damage to its brain killing it.
Thinking that was the last of them, I failed to realize I had forgotten the zombie that I confused earlier. While taking my time to remove my custom weapon from the brute’s skull, the other zombie ran up to me with its mouth open screaming. I gasped and my neck snapped up just as the zombie leaped at me, taking me to the ground and successfully biting down on my shoulder. I yelped in pain and gripped the zombie’s shoulders, pulling him away from my flesh. It hurt worse than the bite as muscle came away in its mouth. The zombie fell next to me and I rolled over, grabbed the normal baseball bat, and then continuously bashed the zombie’s skull until nothing was left of it but a bloody pulp.
Afterwards I just stood there, panting. I looked around the bar, staring at the carnage I caused. Then I focused on my wound. I dropped the bat on the ground and sat on the edge of a booth’s bench, looking over on my right shoulder where I was bitten. It was a gruesome sight. It was basically a hole, a missing chunk, in my flesh. No bone was showing, but that might have been because of the blood pooling in the wound and running down my shirt. That wouldn’t last very long. I knew I had just about two hours before the virus set in and changed my genetics. I would become a zombie and there was nothing I could do about it. I sighed and then tore a piece of cloth from a zombie’s shirt, pressing it against the wound to stop the bleeding for now.
You might ask why I didn’t seem so upset over the fact that I was going to change into zombie. Mostly it was because I expected it. I knew that I couldn’t last forever in a world mostly populated by the walking dead. So I told myself I would fight until the end or until I became one of them. And not a few months after I told myself that, it happened.
And in those two hours before “dying”, I experienced the worst symptoms. Take the worst case of the flu and times it by two. Yeah, it was bad. I was throwing up every ten minutes, changing from my last meal, to stomach acid, to blood. I felt weak and I couldn’t stop shaking. My vision became blurry and soon I couldn’t move very well. My muscles felt stiff and sluggish. I was feeling quite dead, I must say. And after the two hours were up, I “died”. I crumbled to the ground and everything went black. But it was more or less like passing out.
I guess about a day later I woke up. I didn’t panic or feel angry. I didn’t feel the need to breathe and I didn’t feel my heart beat in my chest. In fact, I felt nothing. No pain, no emotion. Nothing except hunger. Extreme hunger. And I could smell food that was sitting but a few feet away. A man sitting on one of the bar stools, a shot glass and bottle of rum in his hands. A meal that was paying no attention to me, probably thinking I was really dead like the others. In my mind I was thinking if I should attack and I remember clearly what I was saying: “If I stood up would he even notice? What if I make too much noise? Man, he looks tasty. Smells like it too. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I took a little bite. A little ‘nom nom nom’ to his neck. Should I do it though? Guess I should think Nike’s motto and just do it.”
So I took the advantage given to me. Slowly but surely, I stood up. And with no sound, staggered over to the man, my arms ready to grab him and pull him towards me. Which they did. I took his shoulders and yanked his neck to my mouth. He screamed and hollered, tried to struggle, but after a few more bites and ripping of the flesh he fell to the ground dead as a doornail. I moaned as my stomach begged for his brain. So I bent down and tore the flesh from his skull, cracked it open, and began eating on the contents. Drool was dripping from my mouth it was so delicious. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to because the need to finish was so strong. And after I hollowed out his head, I decided dessert would top off my first human meal. So I ate his innards as well. Not as great as the brain but, hey, they still were nice.
When all was left of the man was a few organs and a fleshy shell, I stood up and walked out of the bar. I kept walking on down the street and through the city for a couple of days, searching for food and a group of zombies I could join with. And after the fourth day, I was able to find eight other zombies feasting on a group of four humans in an alley near a supermarket. I stood and watched until one turned around and moved over a bit to allow me to join in the meal. In my mind I smiled, but on the outside my facial muscles didn’t work as well due to the fact that emotion isn’t a zombie thing. I then stumbled over and ate to my heart’s content, enjoying the fact that I was no longer alone but in a true zombie group.
So see? Zombification is something to embrace instead of being disgusted by. To this day I’m still with my zombie group, though we have grown to a number of eleven instead of the original nine. And besides the fact that some of us have a little sharing issue, we all get along fine. Did I change your mind about being a zombie then? Will I see you soon in our group or possibly see you as you pass by while eating your neighbor? I really don’t want to make you into my next meal, so at least consider. But if comes to me eating your brains, I’ll make sure to savor your flavor whether it be good or bad. Because that’s what zombie friends are for right?
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