People always say that there is nothing worse than becoming a zombie, but its the best thing that can ever happen to you.
When you become a zombie, your first thought (after you realize what has happened) is, What do I do? You recall something about brains (or was it flesh in general?) but youre not hungry, not that the emptiness is going anywhereyour stomach is no longer connected to anything. The paper cut you ignored the day before last becomes a black gooey hole. Your slumping walk comes from not feeling anything below your waist. The worms have eaten the part of your brain that feels pain.
After a few days, you try and make more zombies by recalling some B-movie. So, not knowing any better, you chase people. You try and explain, Hey, this is not as bad as it looks, but you can only manage some sickly sweet groans. Your relationships all really boil down to a weird game of tag and the delight in catching something. You try to scream at someone, Ha ha! Tag, youre it! but all you can manage is more sickly sweat groans.
When you start noticing your sight getting fuzzy, you realize that your eyes are turning to gelatin, so you slouch towards the beach. Everyone is dead, pulling themselves around on bony stumps. Your last cognitive need, before worms eat the part of your brain that feels sorrow, is to know where your parents are and if your kids are ok.
You lay supine under an improvised tarp, feeling the sun rising against your femur and jawbone. The contents of your ear trickles down your back and it feels like a lover blowing on your neck. The waves of the Pacific Ocean crash against the beach, and in the surf, others give small, low groans of delight as they tumble in the waves. Heads, torsos, full bodies missing a leg or an arm, hundreds of others sink to bottom, floating and tumbling and colliding with other bloated corpses.
Someone, you a believe a woman but purification has removed all signs of sex, pulls themselves to the shade and attempts to smile, but they cant seem to make their jaw work.
For the first time since you became the walking dead, you feel the slightest pang of fear, but that disappears as worms and maggots dig deeper in your brain-matter. Soon all that is left is the warm feeling of the sun, the happiness from the small and distant squeals of delight, and the rumble of the ocean crashing over you as the tide comes in.
When you become a zombie, your first thought (after you realize what has happened) is, What do I do? You recall something about brains (or was it flesh in general?) but youre not hungry, not that the emptiness is going anywhereyour stomach is no longer connected to anything. The paper cut you ignored the day before last becomes a black gooey hole. Your slumping walk comes from not feeling anything below your waist. The worms have eaten the part of your brain that feels pain.
After a few days, you try and make more zombies by recalling some B-movie. So, not knowing any better, you chase people. You try and explain, Hey, this is not as bad as it looks, but you can only manage some sickly sweet groans. Your relationships all really boil down to a weird game of tag and the delight in catching something. You try to scream at someone, Ha ha! Tag, youre it! but all you can manage is more sickly sweat groans.
When you start noticing your sight getting fuzzy, you realize that your eyes are turning to gelatin, so you slouch towards the beach. Everyone is dead, pulling themselves around on bony stumps. Your last cognitive need, before worms eat the part of your brain that feels sorrow, is to know where your parents are and if your kids are ok.
You lay supine under an improvised tarp, feeling the sun rising against your femur and jawbone. The contents of your ear trickles down your back and it feels like a lover blowing on your neck. The waves of the Pacific Ocean crash against the beach, and in the surf, others give small, low groans of delight as they tumble in the waves. Heads, torsos, full bodies missing a leg or an arm, hundreds of others sink to bottom, floating and tumbling and colliding with other bloated corpses.
Someone, you a believe a woman but purification has removed all signs of sex, pulls themselves to the shade and attempts to smile, but they cant seem to make their jaw work.
For the first time since you became the walking dead, you feel the slightest pang of fear, but that disappears as worms and maggots dig deeper in your brain-matter. Soon all that is left is the warm feeling of the sun, the happiness from the small and distant squeals of delight, and the rumble of the ocean crashing over you as the tide comes in.
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[Edited on Feb 18, 2006 3:28AM]