Human Apocalypse

Ugh, not again. I hate it when this happens.

I could feel the knife penetrate deep in my back. It was sharp, most likely well maintained and cared for. It easily sliced through my flesh, stopping as it rammed into my spine, causing several fractures. And on the day I was wearing one of my nicest shirts too. How annoying.

“Die, you horrible, ugly monster! Die die die!” yelled the man behind me.

I turned around and faced him. “You don’t have to yell, I’m standing right here.” I reached around my back, removing the blade slowly, trying not to damage my shirt any more than he already had. “Besides, I’m already dead, you idiot. Well, undead at least. Either way, you’re not going to kill me with a knife in the back. Did you really think that was going to work?”

He just stared at me dumbfounded. The idiot probably did think it was going to work. These “hero” types are all the same: stupid and trying to look cool. I would bet my right arm there was a girl nearby he was trying to impress.

“Look buddy,” I said to him, trying to place my arm on his shoulder. He quickly backed up in disgust, and he was clearly still in shock that I was talking to him after his courageous attack. “Everyone knows,” I continued, “that you can’t kill a zombie by stabbing them in the back. You have to go for the head. So next time, do us both a favor and just slice my head clean off. That way I’ll be dead for you, and I’ll still have a nice, intact shirt for me. Got it?”

He nodded slowly, his surprise turning to embarrassment. At least something was getting through that thick skull of his. I went to hand him back his knife, but before he grabbed it, I had one more thought. “Oh, and don’t cut off my head right now. I have some errands to run. It would be horribly inconvenient. Thanks, pal.” With that I gave him his knife, turned back around, and continued walking down the sidewalk towards the nearby grocery store.

It’s not easy being a zombie in a world full of humans. You always hear humans talk about how horrible a zombie apocalypse would be, but I think a human apocalypse is much, much worse. Us zombies, we’re basically like sheep. We’re slow, we like to stick together, and we spend most of our time looking around for something good to eat. Humans, on the other hand, they’re like, well, humans. There’s no good comparison. They run around all day long in a mad rush for nothing just so they can go home and rot their brains out watching tv or drinking alcohol (what a waste of perfectly good brains). And that’s at their best. The rest of the time they’re trying to kill each other, or anything else that’s close to them. How ironic that they call me the monster.

Anyway, I reached the store with no further incidents, and I braced myself for the reactions I’d get when I walked in. I grabbed a grocery cart to look a little more civilized, but it didn’t do me much good.

I smiled at the first woman I saw and her young daughter. The little girl cried, and the mom threw a can of beans at my head. Honestly, I’m impressed she hit me; most people miss by a mile. As I walked to the chilled meats in the back of the store I had several more similar encounters. Yelling, throwing, running, etc. Just an average Tuesday for me.

When I got to the back I grabbed several packages of bloody ground beef. People looked at me in disgust. How could I live with myself after eating such a revolting diet? The diet consisting of human food that they sold to humans in their human store. And I don’t live with myself, I undead with myself. But I digress.

I then moseyed on over to the clothing section and grabbed a new shirt. I hesitated for a moment, and then grabbed a couple extras too, as well as some pants. My clothing never lasts long in this town full of “heroes,” so I might as well be prepared.

When I got to the checkout stand the clerk scrunched up her face and took a step back. I just started putting my items on the conveyer belt. “How are you doing today?” I asked.

“You eat ground beef?” She replied, completely ignoring my question. “I thought you ate brains.”

“Well, your store doesn’t have very many brains, so I have to take what I can get” I explained patiently. All my food and clothing was on the conveyor belt at this point, but she still hadn’t touched any of it.

“Of course we don’t sell brains, that’s disgusting!” She replied, as if I was the moron there. “I mean, I thought you ate people’s brains. Like, you’d corner them and kill them, like in all the movies.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Look lady, you are what you eat, and I’d rather be a cow than an idiot.” She looked confused, which just proved my point further. “Anyway, could you ring up my items please? I don’t want to hold up the line.”

There was no line of course, who would line up behind a zombie? But I had to say something to get her moving, and luckily she nodded and starting ringing up my stuff.

Once it was all rung up, I reached for my wallet to pay, and I suddenly noticed a knife handle sticking out of the front of my chest. I didn’t want to get distracted from my task, so I pulled out my credit card, inserted the chip (I know there’s tap to pay, but it’s hard to ignore my slow nature), and finished my payment. I then looked up at the cashier. “Ma’am, you really don’t have to stab me. I’m not going to eat your brains.” She looked a bit surprised, but I didn’t want to waste any more time explaining how this worked again, so I just removed her knife, put it down on the counter, took my receipt, and walked out.

Luckily there were no more attacks on my way back home, but I did get some dirty looks and the occasional yells. I breathed a sigh of relief when I got back to the cemetery. There were less people here, especially in the back corner with all the old graves where I’m from. I sat down on my headstone, folded up my clothes, and gently placed them down in my coffin. I then pulled out the ground beef and started munching on it.

As I was eating, I couldn’t help but stare at the grass all around me. Most of it was long and green and wild, alive and thriving. But there was one spot that had been hit with the weed killer. That small patch was yellow and brown, a stark contrast from the rest. And yet, there was a striking beauty in it. Something intriguing and mystical existed in the death of that grass, something that made both life and death more interesting and wonderful.

For all the beauty there is in death, it’s a shame the humans just don’t see it. Ironically, they are the ultimate artists of death, recklessly creating it by the millions every day. Yet they run from it. They hide from it. They yell at it and scream at it and fight against it. If only they would slow down and stop for a moment to just look at it. They might see the beauty in the pain, the wonder in the confusion, the mercy in the loss. If only.

Finishing up my last bite of food, I glanced at my headstone on the way down to my coffin. ‘Rest In Peace’ it read. “I will,” I whispered back to it. “And I hope one day they can too.”