A Zombie Story

Discussion in 'The Artist's Corner' started by Misc, Jan 17, 2012.

  1. A friend bribed me to write this for him for his English class. I had fun with it and thought it might be worth sharing. It's basically the beginning of Walking Dead with a twist. (the series)

    I'm alive. I can breathe. How long have I been here? I remember the night it happened--the night I was shot. But nothing else. An eery silence emanates from the cracked hospital door. There's a vase of wilted flowers at my bedside. Who were they from? It doesn't matter now. I need to get up.

    My knees tremble; my heart quakes. I slide out of the bed and onto flat ground, only to topple over and hug the floor. I've never felt this weak in my life. But I want to see them again--my wife and son. I know they've been waiting for me this long. I must find them.

    I make it onto my feet. The window's open; a cold breeze caresses my face. I look onto the street below, only to see abandoned cars. Silence. This isn't the world I remember. Is this another dream?

    I turn to the door and push it open. The hallway is desolate; there's no familiar sound of babies crying, patients screaming, nurses bustling. Nothing. I head towards the elevator at the end of the hall, glancing in the passing rooms for some sign of life. The beds are torn and scattered; papers line the ground in disarray. There's no one here.

    The phone at the nurse's station is dead. The lights flicker. I continue towards the elevator, noticing broken glass and blood dripping from the walls. As I turn towards an adjacent hallway, I see someone lying on the ground, motionless.


    There's no response. I move closer to the body, only to notice severe lacerations and rotting skin. She's dead. My heart beats wildly. I sense loss without having ever known her. I head back towards the elevators.

    The buttons don't respond to my frantic presses; I have to take the stairs. My feet tingle with every step; I need to hurry, but my motions are barely controllable. I slip and fall on the second-to-last step, banging my head against concrete. My vision blurs; my blood trickles across the floor.

    I'm so close to death, but hope drives me to stand again. This is the bottom floor; beams of sunlight pierce the mesh window. I've made it. The door creaks open grudgingly, as if I was never meant to leave her alive.

    The sunlight blinds; as soon as my vision returns, I see body bags littering the pavement. Hundreds of them. Military vehicles are parked nearby; doors are flung open as if they left in a hurry. I call out, “Hello, is there anyone here?” Nobody.

    I know where I am. I'm not far from home. Maybe my family survived whatever happened here--I need to find out. I head down the familiar street, away from this gloomy massacre.

    It's desolate and utterly quiet. The grass and trees appear impartial. In the distance I can see a bicycle along the road and something amidst the thick grass. It's moving. I hasten.

    As I get closer, I realize it's a person. “Hello!” I scream gleefully. But he doesn't respond; he simply continues crawling away from me. “What's the matter with you? What's happened here?” No response.

    I come to his side; he's missing a leg and chunks of flesh have been torn from his back. I turn him over to see his face. A fervor I've never witnessed seethes from his lifeless eyes. His arm grabs at my face; he pulls me closer, as if to tell me something. Instead he bites my neck.

    I reel in horror. A burning sensation pulses throughout my body. I can't.... feel... my hands... my head...... what... have... you.... done?


    Brains. I need them. Fresh, delicious brains.

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