Today, I caught it. I think it started as an itch. Like a song stuck in your head. But it was just moaning, moaning outside my window. Then I noticed that others were getting it around me. My mom. My dad. My brother. They were shuffling. It’s the shuffle that gives it away. You think, “That person is not sick. That person wants to eat my brains.”
It’s Thanksgiving here in Canada. And I’m thankful that I’ve still got my capacities, at least for today. I don’t want to be turned into one of them. Please, I’m small and stringy and more of a snack than a meal.
Let it stop. Let the leaves in the park be the only things that change anymore. I can’t take it.
In my old life, before yesterday, I wrote a story about a different kind of zombie apocalypse. A hopeful one. As if that could be possible. Here it is. It’s called Always the Same. Till it is Not – Apex Magazine October 2012 I hope you’ll read it. If you’re still out there and that you’ll find some hope in it.
Meanwhile. Since the invasion has begun and the horde is coming for you, why not start yours sweetly, with a song. I can’t get the Cranberries out of my head.