My Lesbian Zombie Romance

"I'm sorry," Sergeant Miller told me, right before he shot me. Of course, since this was the dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse and the fucker failed to hit my brain, I was doomed to come back. Nowadays, we all get a second chance at life, and this really sucks. For this and many other reasons, I hate the fucker. Life as a Zombie sucks, man. It's even worse if you're one of the few bright ones like me...

Who's this, you may be wondering? Sheliza Ali, formerly of Toronto, Ontario. Five-foot-eleven, somewhat chubby, with dark brown skin, and kinky dark hair that I used to stylize as an Afro. The Afro-centric hipster gal, that's me. Or it used to be. I'm one of the Undead. If you saw me walking around, an imitation of life, you'd want to put a bullet in my brain or run like hell. Otherwise, I might grab you and feast on your bones. I don't want to. I have to. And I hate it...

Three years ago, I had the world on a string. My parents, Mustafa Ali and Jennifer Kensington had gotten back together. I was in my second year at Ryerson University, taking up Computer Science. My girlfriend Soraya Osman finally told her parents about us, and we were talking about moving in together. I was on cloud nine, folks. And then the Zombie Apocalypse happened...

At first, there were rumors on Facebook, YouTube and elsewhere about cannibals attacking people in places like Nigeria, Cambodia and strangely enough, Indonesia. I was angry, mainly because I thought it was another attempt by the racist media to demonize people of color around the world. They always portray folks of non-European descent in a negative light...

I was an openly lesbian, socially conscious, proudly liberal, and civic-minded social justice warrior. I walked around the Eaton Center with my beloved Soraya, hand in hand, in defiance of the cis-gender, hetero-normative society in which we lived. I am a woman of color. I am a lesbian. I am a Muslim. I am Canadian. Don't like it? Fucking deal with it.

I absolutely hate bigotry, and I wasn't one to hide my views. My father moved to Canada from Somalia as a young man and he met my mother, who is white, while at the University of Toronto in the early 1990s. They fell in love, got hitched and had little old me. I grew up hearing about what they endured as an interracial couple in those days. What does all that have to do with how I became a Zombie? I'll get to it soon.

When news broke out about slow-moving, animalistic cannibals attacking people in Ottawa, the Prime Minister of Canada, a handsome liberal gentleman whom I voted for, declared Martial Law. The military began to take over large sections of Toronto, supposedly to keep us safe. They were actually killing the infected without being too covert about it, but who knew?

I'd gone to protest this state of the affairs at Toronto City Hall with Soraya and a lot of our friends from campus, plus people from all walks of life. Our world was changing. The City of Toronto was under Martial Law, and the same thing was happening in cities around the world. Melbourne, Vienna, Lagos, Tokyo, and so many major cities were under attack from flesh-eating infected people...

"We have rights, Martial Law doesn't belong in Canada," Soraya screamed while proudly holding up her sign. I looked at her, this tall, lovely young black woman whom I loved so much. We were two unicorns. Two young Muslim women of color who'd fallen in love while attending the same boring freshman seminar class. Soraya winked at me, and I smiled at her. In those days, I would have done anything for her. The two of us against the world...

"Folks, back off," said a tall, burly, middle-aged white male in a military uniform. This was Sergeant George Miller of the Canadian Armed Forces. One of those goons patrolling the City of Toronto, killing the so-called infected at will and overriding the rights of law-abiding Canadian citizens without due process. He seemed to be enjoying the powers given to him under this state of emergency...

"This is our town, dammit," I snapped, and Sergeant Miller and his soldiers, dozens of armed men and women, stared at me. Even in this crowd of protesters, I was evidently leading the witchhunt and they targeted me. I didn't think they would open fire on Canadian civilians. At the very worst, they'd arrest us or something. That's what I thought. And then the Zombies came out of the sewers and attacked us, and the shit hit the fan...

All around me, people were screaming, and the crowd began to disperse. I reached for Soraya's hand, but she looked at someone or something behind me and screamed. Someone grabbed me and scratched me. I heard gunshots, and found myself on the ground. I looked up to find Sergeant Miller standing over me, a mixture of pity and horror on his face.

"I'm sorry," Sergeant Miller said, and then he shot me. He should have shot me in the head. He didn't. I felt pain in my chest. I closed my eyes. I was dead to the world. Only I didn't stay that way. This was the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse. All of Canada was under attack, along with the rest of the world. Nobody knew where the Zombies came from, or why the recently dead were rising, craving the flesh of the living...

I, Sheliza, am a Zombie. I shuffle along in what used to be the City of Toronto, Ontario. I don't breathe. I don't sleep. I don't piss. I don't shit. I don't get my period anymore. I still fart occasionally for some reason. I am a Zombie, and I patrol what used to be my hometown. A massive evacuation took place. Those unfortunate breathers who didn't leave are hiding in high-rise buildings, and basements, and they're being hunted down by yours truly...

There are millions of Zombies all over Toronto and beyond. Black, white, brown, yellow, male, female, transgender, straight, bisexual, lesbian or gay, anyone can join the ranks of the flesh-eating Undead. We don't discriminate. I'm different from the others, though. They are slow and stupid. They see a human or a group of humans, and go after them, no matter how heavily armed they might be. Me? I'm somewhat smarter.

I can't speak, for my vocal cords have rotted away. I can't run. When I grasp something, it takes effort, because I've lost a lot of dexterity. My brain seems to work the same way it did when I was mortal, though. I'm talking about problem-solving. All of the emotional stuff that made me human is gone, replaced by the everlasting hunger of the Living Dead.

When it rains, or snows, I stay indoors, and cover my Undead body with a parka, to shield myself from the elements. When I'm hunting the increasingly dwindling humans, I am more clever than the rest of my kind. I carry an axe with me to break down doors, and find my prey. I don't just rush my prey, I am patient and calculating. Yes, I am a nightmare, if you are a human.

When I kill, I make sure my victims don't come back. I smash their brains in. The others don't do that. They will eat and eat, but almost always leave the brain intact, so the man or woman they feasted on can reanimate as a new Zombie. I know that the human population is dwindling and don't need new Undead mouths to feed. I won't create more competitors for an already scarce resource. I am smarter than that.

The other Zombies move as a horde, but I don't care for that. I am always on my own. Sometimes I ride around on a bicycle, my features and nearly skeletal hands hidden by a hooded sweatshirt and gloves. Other Zombies stare at me, dumbfounded. I don't smell human, and I am just as Undead as they are, but I can think and formulate plans and operate machinery. I am one of them, yes, but I am also different. I am unique...

Sometimes, I lie awake, for I can never truly sleep, and think about my former existence. It's life thinking about a memory of a memory. It's almost like my former life happened to someone else. I remember growing up in Mississauga, and spending time with my family and friends. I remember my father teaching me how to ride a bike. I remember my family vacations, and my parents constant bickering.

I remember the magical moment when I realized that I was, well, me. A woman who loves women. I remember the first time I laid eyes on Soraya, the pretty young black woman with the enchanting eyes, the curvy body, and that big round butt. Looking into Soraya's eyes, I knew that we were the same kind. I approached her, and introduced myself. Soraya felt our connection but ran from it. I pursued her...

"Hello beautiful, I am yours," Soraya told me, the first night we made love. We were in her off-campus residence, coming home after an evening at the movies. Soraya looked gorgeous in her traditional dress and Hijab. I looked alright in my tomboyish gear which consisted of a Raptors sweatshirt and jeans. Soraya looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen...

"Come to me, mamas," I said smugly as I drew Soraya into my arms, and we began making love. I kissed her lips and caressed her throat. Soraya's hands grasped my breasts and fondled them. I felt her hands on my ass. I threw my head back and moaned as Soraya sucked on my left breast and slid her hand between my muscular thighs. I groaned as Soraya began fingering my pussy. I welcomed her inside of me...

"Cum for me," Soraya said, and she held my throat with one hand and fingered my pussy with the other. I'm supposed to be this tomboy goddess, this butch gal who's all swagger and dominance in the bedroom. Soraya turned that whole stereotype on its head, and she owned my ass in her bed. I spread my legs for her, and let her finger me. My nipples hardened, and my legs clenched around her hand as she coaxed an orgasm out of me. I shrieked as I came, crying out Soraya's name...

Later, I lay in Soraya's arms, feeling wonderful. I kissed my boo and she kissed me back. None of this butch and femme nonsense for us. We are two young black Muslim women who love each other. That's what we were. I miss that. I miss Soraya. I really, really hope that I don't run into her. I am a Zombie. Last time I saw Soraya, she was human. If I see her again, in spite of my love for her, I'll have to kill her. And I don't want to do that...

The City of Toronto, Ontario, is Canada's largest metropolitan area. It's not like the City of Ottawa, which is small but pretentious. You can go for months without seeing the same people unless you really want to. Toronto is like New York City that way. I preyed on a lot of people, but never ran into anyone I knew when I was alive. I thank whatever unimaginable power made the Universe for that...

Of course, Fate is a cruel mistress, and one day, by the water's edge, I saw her. They were a small community of survivors. Twenty in number. Eleven women and nine men. They all carried guns, and scavenged whatever they could find from raiding abandoned stores. They moved about in two reinforced trucks. They were a battle-hardened group and had killed many of my fellow Zombies. They hadn't run into me until that point, and their luck was about to run out...

Humans are such mysterious creatures. Even during the Zombie Apocalypse, they haven't let go of certain bad habits. Couples, whether male/female, female/female or male/male, like to slip away for intimate moments. I saw Soraya with her new lover, a tall young white woman with spiky blonde hair and lots of tattoos. They were the leaders of this multi-ethnic group which included Africans, Caucasians and Aboriginals.

Soraya and her lover, whom I heard her call Bridget, slipped away from the group. They were on the island, and there were very few Zombies about. Most of my kind don't care to go into the water, even though we don't breathe. I am not most Zombies. I went into the water. I'd been following the group for hours, always keeping out of sight and out of gun range. I knew all their tricks...

"You're so beautiful, my sweet Soraya," Bridget said, as she and Soraya embraced under a tree. I watched in the darkness as Soraya kissed Bridget and grabbed her ass. For some reason, that triggered me. Soraya used to do that move with me. Seething with rage and jealousy, feelings I hadn't experienced in ages, I let out a guttural growl, and thusly announced my presence...

"Shit, Bridget, there's something out there," Soraya said, grabbing her gun. Humans have terrible night vision. As a Zombie, I might be slower than a human but for some reason, becoming Undead has sharpened my senses of smell, hearing and sight. I was in the dark, a mere twenty meters from them, and they couldn't see me. Knowing that I could take them both, I summoned a burst out of energy that I didn't know I had, I rushed them...

"Watch out," Bridget screamed as I came for them. I was a heartbeat away from Soraya, and soon I would close my fists around her throat and sink my teeth into her flesh. One bite is all it takes. Once you are bitten, you either become a Zombie or you die, should your brain be destroyed to prevent reanimation. I would infect Soraya without killing her, and we'd be together for all eternity...

"Sheliza," Soraya said, her voice barely above a whisper, and that's when I suddenly froze. I stood there, a meter and a half from my target. And I couldn't make myself move any further. The Zombie in me wanted to slaughter both Soraya and Bridget, and turn them into mince meat. Something in me stopped, and this thing, whatever it was, managed to temporarily override the eternal hunger...

"Soraya," I managed to say, through my rotted vocal cords, and Soraya blinked in astonishment. Soraya's lover Bridget had her rifle raised, ready to put a bullet into my brain and end my seemingly eternal life. Or, you know, Undead state. Soraya held her hand up, and Bridget muttered something. They both looked at me. What happened next surprised all of us, including me...

I looked at Soraya and Bridget, and something in me quite simply broke. All manner of imagery suddenly flashed through my mind. Soraya and I walking around the Eaton Center, hand in hand. Soraya and I dining with my parents in our old house in Mississauga, Ontario. I remembered...and my memories kept me rooted to the spot, unable or perhaps unwilling to attack. For the moment. Frozen Zombie, anyone?

"Soraya, that thing is a Zombie," Bridget said, and I looked at Soraya, and felt...it. The hunger. It was returning. Soon it would override me, semi-sentience or not, and I would rush Soraya and Bridget. I would either infect or kill them, or die ( for good ) in the attempt. I am a Zombie. That's what I do. Unless...

I tried to speak but couldn't. Even for a semi-sentient Zombie, I had limits. As Soraya and Bridget looked on in astonishment, I dropped to my knees. I looked up into Soraya's beautiful face. My eyes met hers. I saw tears in Soraya's eyes. I wanted to cry but couldn't. Zombies have no tear ducts left. Side effect of the transformation from living human to flesh-eating, non-breathing, Undead monster.

"I love you Sheliza, and I'm sorry," Soraya said, and she took out her pistol. Nodding understandingly, I closed my eyes. I thought of my family and friends, my loved ones. I thought of my parents, Mustafa Ali and Jennifer Kensington. I thought of my darling Soraya. I even thought of Sergeant Miller, the fool who failed to end me and doomed to this...nightmarish existence. Soraya mercifully pulled the trigger, I heard a sound like thunder, and I knew no more. Blissful oblivion welcomed me.