Just Another Day.

Zombies are clumsy. I'm gawking at them through the crack of the boarded-up window, in my living room. This is my entertainment for the day. I sip on bottled water and watch as three zombies lurch down the street and trip over old furniture and garbage. I don't know what happened to them but, they're covered in blood and guts, dragging their entrails behind them. Finally, they make it to the end of the block. I flop onto my favorite part of the couch and continue with my crossword puzzle. When tales of zombie attacks started whispering across media outlets and network news, I calmly stocked up on canned goods, nonperishables, and other necessary items. Most dismissed the stories as an odd joke. I've watched enough horror movies to know better. I fortified my entire house and proceeded as usual. A month later, the apocalypse exploded throughout the world. I boarded everything up and hunkered down in my home. I refused to join a group of human survivors that would inevitably turn the apocalypse into a melodrama. I'm an introvert. I need my alone time.

Radio broadcasts stopped after a few weeks. Months raced by yet, I remained entertained with enough books and word puzzles to last at least two years. Sometimes I wonder; am I a bad person for enjoying the apocalypse this much? Then I think: What's not to like? I don't have to engage in pointless small talk, dodge phone calls, or deal with bothersome neighbors. However, I miss the internet, Netflix, and Haagen-Daz. 

 I'm not a voracious eater. I ration my food yet, it was dwindling. Canned goods are so blah and I want some chocolate. Grabbing an old backpack, I prepare for a food run. I routinely canvass the area. The once vital neighborhood full of annoying neighbors and screaming children is now mostly abandoned. Many sped away in a panic leaving pieces of their lives trailing like breadcrumbs behind them. Clothing, schoolbooks, and tiny mementos lay discarded all over the sidewalk. I walk around various items and skulk on foot to the closest mom and pop store down the street. Sadly, Mr. Donahue is shambling up Merchant Street looking for people to eat. I run inside and the store is oddly still crammed full of groceries.

"Hi, Mrs. Donahue. How are you today?" I ask. I walk past her quickly and head to the canned food section. She moans in response and stretches her arms towards me but, someone pinned her to the wall with a metal rod. She's not going anywhere. I load up with canned goods and left-over junk food and race back home. I evade the horde of sluggish zombies lurching by and round the corner to my street. Suddenly I hear shrill screams coming from somewhere up the street.

I drop my groceries and run towards the screaming. On arrival, I discover I'm too late. Mrs. Christensen lay on the ground with a bloody bite on her neck. Mr. Miller is still nibbling at her ripped skin. I yank my knife from its sheath and stab him in the head. I'm not sorry. He was a terrible neighbor. He never picked up after his dog and I used to catch him peeking in my windows all the time. The pervert.

I pulled out the knife and wiped his brains off using the scraps of his shirt. He lay in true death next to Mrs. Christensen. Her cornflower-blue eyes look at me shiny with tears and anger. We both know what her future holds. She had two days at the most. I grip the knife tightly and glance at her in askance. She shakes her head minutely.

"You should have run faster," she says angrily. She stands gracefully in red designer heels, dusts off her expensive suit, and brushes her silver-blond hair back.  

"I ran as fast as I could. I haven't been getting a lot of cardio lately. I'm really out of shape," I said. I've known her since I was a child but this is the first time we've ever spoken. 

 Why anyone would walk around in bright colors, heels, and putz around oblivious in this day and age is beyond me. I don't understand why she's surprised that she got mauled by a zombie. 

She takes a slow deep breath and seems to collect herself. Fresh blood is slowly oozing out of the wound on her neck, ruining her suit. She swipes a finger through the blood and balls her hand into a fist.

"Would you like some tea, Eva?" She asks.

 "Um, I guess?" 

 I should have known she'd have tea at the end of the world. I sheathed the knife, retrieved my scattered groceries, and dropped the bag by the door. I follow her through the living room and into the kitchen. I've always wondered what the inside of her home looked like. It's perfect, just like the outside. It's a sterile, museum display. Everything is beige and delicate. I'm afraid to touch anything. My soul hurts looking at it. I want to run home and curl up on my comfortable couch with the coffee stain that won't come out and shelves crammed with used books. 

 I sit at the kitchen table and wait for her to join me. She returns a few minutes later with a clean bandage covering her wound. She hands me a delicate teacup filled with tea and sits primly down onto the kitchen chair. The warm tea smells heavenly and tastes delicious.

"I didn't think you knew my name," I said.

"Of course, I know your name. You used to visit your grandmother all the time. She used to ambush me every time I went to the mailbox. She was always showing me pictures of you. It was annoying, "She said. She fiddles with the teacup handle absentmindedly and keeps glancing towards the kitchen window.

I snort into my tea. Grandma was a chatterbox, always showing everyone embarrassing pictures of me. She left the house to me in her will. I miss her.

"I was sorry about her passing." She said. She turns back to me and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Christensen."

"You can call me Vivian. I'm sorry I never really introduced myself. I guess I just thought I was too busy with my career and trying to be perfect. The perfect widow, with the perfect career, house, lawn, and car. Everything had to be just right. Now, look at the state of things. In a few hours or days, I probably won't care," She said.

 I'm having tea with a future zombie.

"Do you want me to kill you?"

 Her eyes widen in surprise and she looks off to the side for a moment. 

"No," she says firmly.

"Ok." I nod and finish my tea.

"I'm sorry. I don't feel very well. I think I'll take a nap." She gets up slowly and dumps her tea into the sink.

"Thank you for the tea Vivian, "I said. I set the empty cup down and turn to leave.

She glances at me quickly over her shoulder. "Your welcome." 

"It was nice to finally meet you, "I said.

"Good luck Eva."

I grab my things and go.

I barricade myself back into the house and put the groceries away. In a few hours or days, Vivian will spawn into the undead. I wonder if we could have been friends. I'll never know.

A few hours later, I gaze out towards the beautiful green landscape of my yard. It's the middle of May. The sun is shining, green trees shift with the wind, and my flowers are blooming. If you ignore the horde of zombies meandering nearby with no destination and the smoke rising from a fire miles away, it would feel like a normal spring day. I gaze at the beautiful sky above me. It's cloudless and empty of planes. There's no one to fly them. 

I've had enough fresh air for the day. I creep up the porch stairs, skipping the creaky third step, and quietly swipe my half-full bottle of water along the way. Zombies are attracted to loud noises and shiny things. I bolt the door behind me and make the short walk to the living room. I peek out of the boarded-up window for something to do and there stands Vivian. The transformation is astonishing. Hours ago, she was a stylish woman with impeccable taste and a severe personality. Now her wrinkled, blood-stained suit hangs sloppily from her body. The gnarly bite on her neck is covered in clotted blood that's attracting flies. One of her gold earrings is missing. The other shines brightly in the late afternoon sun. Her mouth repeatedly opens and closes like she's chewing on air. I wonder where she'll be in a few days.

"Goodbye Vivian," I whisper to myself and then hunker down in my basement alone.