I
Ate a Zombie
[You need a strong stomach to enjoy reading this.]
I
had had enough. First the damn things ate little Mary Sue. They
caught her down by the creek, where she'd gone to fetch water for
Grandma. All we ever found was one of her shoes. Grandma was next to
go. She was out in the garden in a wheelchair, picking raspberries,
armed only with her cane. She never had a chance. One by one they
were picked off and assimilated. Even great uncle George, who can't
have been very nutritious. Skin and bones already and dead these last
40 years, propped up in his rocking chair and wired in place. Even
ate the wire.
I
knew I had to catch one alone, that I couldn't handle more than one
at a time. At least not yet. I will spare you the gory details.
Suffice it to say that a couple of days later I had a zombie, sans
hands, strapped to a gurney in my late family's kitchen. It was
conscious, if a zombie can ever be said to be conscious.
Now,
I know what you're thinking. One bite from a zombie and you're
infected. But stomach acids are really powerful. I figured they would
destroy the bacteria or whatever. And here I am! Anyway, I started
cautiously, and performed an experiment like any scientist would. I
fed a bit to my dog. He was pretty hungry and dogs aren't that picky
anyway. He wolfed it right down. I waited till the next morning and
he seemed to have suffered no ill effects, so I cut a small piece for
myself. All this time that zombie was screaming and wailing and
carrying on like he was being killed and eaten alive. When everyone
knows they have no feelings.
That
piece of zombie flesh I cut stank somethin' fierce. And stuff was
movin' in it. At first I thought I wouldn't be able to force it down,
it was so nasty, but a little whiskey did the trick.
Well
I can't show it to you. Ate the whole thing. Ran out of any other
food. Got to like the stuff after a while. Hard to believe, looking
back, that I even had a problem with it. Had to eat the zombie;
didn't want to eat my dog! Course, later I did have to eat my dog.
No,
not me. Fit as a fiddle, 'cept I have a skin condition.
I
simply must insist that you stay for dinner. I have been missing
human companionship, trapped up here all alone. I stayed here because
I really didn't think there were any people left; thought everyplace
else was infested with zombies.
Yes,
I did say I ate my dog because I had nothing else left to eat. But I
have food now, so you are more than welcome to stay. Much more than
welcome. So. Please. Have. A. Seat. Now.
Now
that's just ridiculous. Bullets won't stop me.
