Author's note: this is my entry for the 2012 Lit Halloween contest. Please vote and leave comments if you have the time. All characters are fictional, and all fictional characters are over eighteen years of age. No Zombies were harmed in writing this story.
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Some people see Zombies as half dead, but I like to think of them as half alive. I guess you could say I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of girl. But why am I even telling you this, you're probably already dead.
It was Halloween night when it all began, at first everyone thought it was just a bunch of people dressed up in costumes. "Oh look, Flashmob Zombies," they said. "How cute, it's just like
Thriller
."
But when the Zombies started eating people, everyone started singing a different tune. "Oh my God! Zombies! Oh my God!" they ran around screaming.
Six months later and things have pretty much returned to normal. As normal as they can be, I guess. I could never understand what the big fuss was all about. It's not like in the movies, not at all. Zombies are, for the most, part pretty harmless.
What does it say about us, as a society, that we idolize Vampires and Werewolves, and then turn around and demonize Zombies like they're some kind of monsters. That's racist! How come there isn't an NAAZP or something? Poor Zombies, they didn't ask to be this way.
When you think about it, Zombies really aren't that much different from homeless people―they both wear dirty clothes, wander around in public, and are a bit smelly. Take away the cardboard signs and the rotting flesh, and you'd be hard pressed to tell them apart.
And let's be honest, there's really not that much to be afraid of when it comes to Zombies: they're incredibly slow―both of foot and of mind. You'd almost have to
want
to get caught to get bitten, but people still do.
Mom and dad are now Zombies, which I'm totally cool with 'cause I now have the house all to myself (Score it!). Sometimes I run into my mom when she's out wandering around trying to mack on human flesh. It can be a bit awkward, but also a bit funny because she went militant vegan on us about a year ago. (Have you ever eaten a soy dog? If you haven't, don't. It sucks ass).
But enough about then, let's talk about now. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, we were at the park, me and my dog Bieber, who was off somewhere chasing squirrels. I was sitting on a park bench, consumed by boredom when I saw him. "Mr. Martin! Frank!" I yelled out and waved at him.
He looked over at me and grunted. Zombies do that a lot―grunting that is. I was hoping that he might chase me around a bit (I could use a little cardio and certainly some drama), but no such luck. Zombie Frank ignored me and continued his slow march across the damp grass.
When he was alive, Frank used to live down the street from us. I had a huge crush on him ever since before I can remember. In middle school, I even befriended Britney, his stepdaughter (who is a total bitch by the way), just so I could be around him. Sadly, schoolgirl fantasies were never fulfilled―except in my mind and in my finger-stuffed panties.
Tall and handsome, Frank Martin always carried himself with a certain confidence that never failed to rev my motor. Even as a Zombie, he was still quite striking. Sure, his dreamy eyes were now a bit sunken, but in my mind that only made him look more distinguished. And yes, maybe his skin was now a purple-gray color, but it kinda reminded me of the MAC eyeshadow I used to wear back in highschool when I was Goth.
Out of instinct, boredom and frustration, I checked my iPhone. Still nothing.
Why do I even still have this thing?
I wondered. The last call I got on it was two months ago―it was from Joel, my on-again-mostly-off-again boyfriend.
