Necro Terrorist PART 1

Necro-terrorist

(PART 1)

(Originally published in Trisickle Magazine, 2011)

I look at Deborah in her frock, standing awkwardly with both feet crushed into tight stilettos. Her hair cascading in ringlets, eyes gaping like looking fish, blood smeared all over her crooked little mouth like treacle…

You know the story....you’re walking into your local newsagents for some Winegums and a packet of Golden Wonder crisps, when BOOM – an unknown virus hits your town turning everyone around you into slobbering, brain hungry reanimated corpses…

I know, I know, we’ve all been there, but how did you cope?

If you -

A) headed towards your nearest rooftop/government army quarantine base and held out until the virus was properly contained

B) obtained an extra 40-round magazine for your Glock handgun

OR

C) killed yourself

…Then chances are you dealt with the zombie holocaust as effectively as possible and maintained some glimmer of your precious humanity in the process(for a while at least). If you do fall into this category of people then I must congratulate you *congratulations*. But if you’re one of those rare, mentally touched people like me and tried reasoning with your recently infected loved ones, then chances are you wound up in the same situation that I’ve found myself in… shuffling through the streets as a blooming zombie yourself!

 First thing’s first though - I don’t want you to think this is a Romero style epidemic here. By this I mean that I’m not using zombies as a metaphor for the repression of bourgeois American society or as nuanced symbolism pertaining to the Cold War or even as a flimsy social commentary regarding consumerism. No, no…

This is me writing about my life living amongst the brain-dead AS one of them.

 For someone as well-educated as I am you’d think I’d be no time in rising to the top of the un-dead hierarchy, but quite the opposite instance has transpired.

(-Insert formidable silence here-)

In fact, I’m considered somewhat of an outcast in today’s society. When you think about it, I guess this all does kind of sound like a metaphor, doesn’t it? Sorry…

 At present I’m standing in a queue of zombies outside a truck sat on its axles. Inside are a number of humanoid morsels crying and praying for mercy. There’s a kid who looks like he’s relishing it all and there’s a middle aged man dumb with fright. How has it come to this? My future seemed so bright you know? These days the sound of someone cracking their teeth over a rod of bone pleases me.

 So low is my stock these days that even my girlfriend Deborah has left me for a superior specimen curiously nicknamed “Skull Smasher Zombie” by his living dead compatriots. They’re inseparable.

It’s disgusting.

My mother continues to smear her reflection with windolyne.

My father continues to eat with his mouth open.

My girlfriend continues to be a bitch.

 To think, if I hadn’t caught them both eating each other I’d have been none the wiser. Yes, these are changed times. If you have a single functioning particle in your juicy, delicious brain then prepare for a life of isolation and constant ridicule. This damn metaphor seems to be surfacing at an uncanny rate.

Metaphor…bubbling up…foaming around me…a-a-n-n-d-d… there it is.