When I Became a Zombie: A Short Tail of Violent Death

When I Became a Zombie:

  A Short Tale of Violent Death

  BY: J. Collin

  Copyright © 2011 Happy Acres Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9878888-2-2

  Happy Acres Publishing reserves all rights to the ebook version of When I Became a Zombie. No part of this ebook can be reproduced, posted, copied, redistributed or distributed without express permission from Happy Acres Publishing.

  Cover Design by L. Iverson

  When I Became a Zombie:

  A Short Tail of Death

  By all accounts it was a typical Monday morning. I woke up, brushed my teeth, and got some breakfast. Putting my make-up on I realized there was something wrong with my face. A grey color had started to appear around my mouth and eyes. Even my long brown hair looked off color.

  It wasn’t just the grey color everything seemed strange. I walked around the house for at least a half hour looking for my keys. My brain wasn’t working right. Additionally, there was something wrong with my joints making it hard to move. It felt as though I had completed a marathon the day before.

  “You look a little off this morning Ker.” My partner Lynn said.

  “Yeah,” I said in agreement squinting my eyes in the mirror.

  It was clear seeing the doctor was going to have to be added to the schedule for the morning.

  I sat on the long padded table in the room smelling of chemicals meant to make things sterile. A grey haired man looked down at me. He studied me for a moment, and then looked back at his piece paper.

  “Any idea what's wrong?” I asked the doctor as he continued to study his paper.

  He looked at me and said, “Yes, I know exactly what the problem is.”

  “And the problem is?” I probed further.

  The doctor looked at me seriously. “The problem is that you’re dead.”

  “Really?” I asked in obvious disbelief.

  “Indeed, you’re a goner.” The doctor said without looking up.

  “I can't be dead.” I responded.

  “You can question it all you want, it won’t mean you’re not dead.” The doctor said.

  “Well, I guess you’re the doctor. I just don’t understand how I’m up walking, and eating, and doing other activities.”

  “I’m not sure either.” He responded. “But, you don’t have a heart beat, and your blood is not circulating through your body. If you would like I can send you down to the lab for tests? It would be very interesting to find out what’s happening.”

  I thought about it for a moment “I would rather not go for tests.”

  “Suit yourself.” The doctor looked at me critically. He then put both hands on my shoulders. “You may not die tonight and you may not even die tomorrow night but you will die soon. Please be careful. Get done what you need to get done.”

  “So, there is no hope?” I asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “Your joints are going to start stiffening up and you’re going to get sore. Soon it's going to be very difficult for you to move. Also, it will be very difficult for you to talk and to think.”

  I took the long way home. It was a beautiful sunny day, the kind of day that’s perfect for shorts and a t-shirts. I wanted to enjoy the few moments I had left. Passing a storefront I caught my reflection in the window. I was starting to turn a strange greenish gray. I sighed and rolled my eyes. I then actually looked at what was in the store.

  It was a bakery. I walked into the store and bought a dozen doughnuts and walked back out to the street. One by one I consumed the fried dough as I made my way further down the road. The doughnuts were good, but not quite filling me up.

  I thought about my predicament and realized there may be one more option. Years ago a friend of mine became a witch doctor. She had found an article in the back of a magazine. It allowed her to send in $50 and an application. A month later, she was a witch doctor. I needed to know if there was any way she could help me with my situation. If there was ever a time to consult a witch doctor it was when there is no hope. I decided to stop and visit the witch doctor.

  Sandra invited me in and seated me in the small living room in the front of her house. She didn’t want me in any further than the entry. She was afraid she could catch it or I would try and eat her brains. Both reasons were pretty good.

  The room contained all sorts of trinkets and signs of magic. I hoped that one of those signs would be something that would be able to work against what was happening to me.

  Sandra explained my condition to me. She then went on to explain that what I was going through was relatively common. However, she said that even though it was common there was no support group. People died to quickly to form a support group.

  “So what you're saying is that I'm a zombie?”

  “If that is what you would like to call yourself we’ll go with that.” Sandra said looking at the floor.

  “It seems like a simple question either I am or I’m not.” I could feel a sigh escape my lips.

  “Why do you feel the need to define yourself? Why do you feel that you have to label this condition you have?”

  “Because, Sandra, chances are very good I’m going to be gone soon. It seems unpreventable at this point. However, at the very least, I would like to know what it is that will kill me.”

  Sandra finally looked at me then gave me a half smile. “Fair enough.”

  Sandra explained to me there is no cure for being a zombie. She then explained to me that because I was zombie I would have to have my head cut off. I felt a rush of anxiety mixed with pure frustration.

  “Isn't there any other way?” I asked.

  Sandra looked down and said “No.”

  It seemed the short rest of my life would be less than pleasant.

  “Oh, one more question. I ate a dozen doughnuts on the way over and I’m still hungry. Is that normal?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Sandra stated.

  “But, if I’m hungry doesn’t that mean there is a chance things will get better? Could I possibly heal?” I asked almost optimistically.

  “Have you ever seen a zombie movie?” asked Sandra.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “What do zombies start to get hungry for?” Sandra asked.

  “Oh shit.”

  I started to walk home again.

  It was shortly after nightfall when I realized I had become increasingly attracted to light. If I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing I would just start wandering towards lights or really shiny things.

  I came across a novelty shop that was filled with all sorts of different toys and shiny things. There was a vest filled with Christmas lights for sale, large shiny metal rings, and glow sticks.

  When I left the store I had charged $400 for the odd trinkets that I just simply had to have. Then, in a moment of buyer’s remorse, I realized I had to get myself under control. It really served no purpose if I was using the last part of my life to chase after shiny things. However, I did spend my time walking home admiring my purchases.

  Walking into my house I set my bags of trinkets in the entryway and looked for signs of my partner. I walked through the living room, touching everything as I went. Taking note of my material accumulations for the last time.

  Lynn was in the bedroom taking a nap. I watched her on the bed. I then crawled on the bed and snuggled up next to her from behind, kissing the back of her head and smelling her short blonde hair. My sense of touch was already about fifty percent of what it had been only a few hours previously.

  Lynn moved for a moment and whispered, “I love you.”


  “I love you babe.”

  This was the hard part of dying, leaving Lynn. I kissed her forehead, one last memory before leaving. It didn’t feel fair.

  Getting up off the bed I realized I was missing my right index finger. I started quietly look for it, trying my best not to disturb Lynn. There was a small bit of ooze coming out of my hand where the finger had been.

  Finally I found the finger. It was under Lynn’s elbow. I had to find a way to move her arm without waking her up. It seemed like it took 20 minutes to get the finger out. It was worth it though. Who wants to wake up to their dead girlfriends finger under their arm.

  Holding my right detached finger in my left hand I felt both sad and grossed out. It started to feel very real. It was at that point I understood those were my last moments with my partner, my better half. I had to make a choice between waking her up to say a last goodbye or letting her sleep. Waking her up to tell her I was going to die was for me not her.

  Walking into our closet I found my old green taffeta dress, the same dress I wore to prom around a decade prior to becoming part of the living dead. I tried it on to find it still fit me, hugging my curves so nicely. I thought about how it would be the dress I would die in.

  I took my finger and left.

  I realized I had to do something to be more proactive about the situation. I called my best friend, Gene, and said I would be over there in a few minutes to meet him. He would help me think through the situation.

  On my way over to Gene’s I stopped at