Zombina, a short story

Go, Save yourself

Brains, that was my first thought. Well no not really. My first real thought was something different. It went along the lines of “I thought I’d died…wasn’t I bitten? Didn’t I lay on the ground and watch my blood and my life seep through my veins into that puddle on the pavement? “ I was pretty sure that was what had happened. If that wasn’t what happened, then what did? I was aware, and if this was Heaven, Valhalla, or what ever afterlife you might believe in, it sure resembled Colorado. It didn’t look any different from where I died, in fact I was in the same fucking place.

Well, this is disappointing.

The thought for brains came pretty much next. I was starving, brutally so and for a vegetarian in my former life, or my life now congruent with the one I am in now where Valhalla is Colorado, I was craving flesh. I wanted rotten flesh that stank and tasted of old dirt. This was the food I was wanting. Propelling myself forward was not the easiest thing, it felt like my legs just would not move. In fact my left one just drug. Great, I’m dead, there is no heaven and now I move like I was paralyzed only on my left side.

Wait. Did I have a stroke and hallucinate that I was watching my blood drain out? Fuck maybe. Well that was  jacked up of people to just watch me have a stroke and not come help me. Further more why are people pointing at me and screaming now? Mother fuckers. Hmmm the one on the right, looks tasty.

Now things are starting to not make even more sense. I had a stroke. I cannot walk properly. I want rotten flesh. Now I am starting to want living flesh too? Oh hell who cares, brains. That is what I’m going after. Right now. With very little analyzing I turned the corner away from the screaming mob with pitchforks. By the way, really? Pitchforks? Who carries pitchforks in Pueblo? Down town fucking Pueblo?

Holy-shit. Wanting brains and living flesh has made me totally be unable to think in a linear way, having what I’ve always called squirrel moments seem to happen much more often now. It was about this time that I realized I was most likely a zombie, and if I was a zombie who was controlling me? Was any one? If so it might be the new folks from New Orléans who just moved into town. After all weren’t they all voodoo and shit down there?

Where was I? Oh yeah. Brains. For someone with little use of my legs, motherfucker kept dragging, I was making decent time. It wasn’t long before I came across one of the unfortunates under one of the bridges. Damn I totally just took him out with my hands. Nice. Super human strength, and no control over my left leg. Fan-fucking-tastic.

On a related note, did you know brains on drugs taste just like fried eggs? Turns out the after-school specials? Totally right on.

So now that I had food in my belly, I began to wander aimlessly. If I was controlled by some voodoo touting shaman-witchdoctor-messed up kid with a ouija board, why weren’t they sending me signals   what to do? Further more, could I be like the vampires from the Twilight movies? Did I have to eat human brains? Wait if I was a zombie why was I thinking? Huh.

There was a lot of this I didn’t understand. Now I was hungry again so found myself searching for another brain to eat. Time I really don’t know how long it had been since I had woken up but I found myself hungry again. This time for some reason I found myself compelled to go down town. Joined by others walking just as jacked up as I was, I had to wonder if I was controlled. Walking just the same as the others, each time muttering under our breaths as if we didn’t have a way of thinking outside. -holymotherfucker- We were  controlled. Only I didn’t have a clue where we headed what we were doing none of this. It was only when I realized we were in the middle of a packed square and eating everyone in sight that made me realize I didn’t need a zombie apocalypse plan. I was the problem, not the solution.

Maybe the others weren’t coherent, but I was. Still I could not stop myself from eating the flesh that was laid out in front of me. Not just the brains, that often caused knock down drag out fights. Flesh of any kind. The heart, the lungs, the kidneys. Any internal body part had me salivating. I ate the flesh in front of me like someone possessed. I was sure I was. Strange realization that you have no real control over yourself that makes you want to fight against it.

The thoughts that went through my mind suddenly stopped when I stood up and saw people shooting at us. Aiming weapons at us. It made me wonder if the bullets that just tore into my flesh would kill me. Again? Or just tear into my body. No blood oozed out just the skin tearing from my bones. I wanted to shout at them that I wasn’t wanting to eat those people, that someone was controlling me. All that came out was “Brains,” over and over again. A deranged mental patient was all I was.

That is when the bullet hit my brain. My own brain.

I woke up with my heart pounding. Laughing a bit as it was all just a dream. Safe in my bed. In my apartment. Rolling over snuggling into my pillow I had to laugh at myself. That is until I saw the blood stains on my hands.


3 comments on “Zombina, a short story

  1. Added to my RSS reader 🙂

  2. pretty good for a Zombie story 🙂

  3. … [Trackback]…

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