Feel Again

Inspire by Isaac Marion novel and Summit film "Warm Bodies"

Summary: She doesn't remember her name, but she thinks its starts with K. During a Hunt with her surrogated mother B, she encounters a human name Dylan who made her feel a pulse and become attractive. Although she ate Dylan's fiancé, the two started forming a relationship that would change everything.

Chapter 1: I'm dead.

What the hell am I doing with my life? I'm so pale and thin. I should get out more, maybe go to a gym. I should eat better too. My posture is terrible as well. I should stand up straighter or get that back condition…what is it called again, scoliosis? Yeah, I think that is the word for it, scoliosis. Come on, back straight, shoulder's back, head up people would notice. Nah, I don't think people would notice me. What's wrong with me anyway? Why am I so weird? I'm just like everybody else here at the mall yet I can't seem to connect. I want to connect with others. So why can't I connect?

Oh, yeah. It's because I'm dead.

I shouldn't beat around the bush. I mean, we're all dead. This guy is dead. That chick is dead. Hey even those twins in the photo booth are dead. And that other woman in the elevator is totally dead. Oh god, these people look like crap.

I wish I could introduce myself more properly, but I can't remember my name. I mean, I think it started with a "K," but that's all I have left…including the necklace with the cursive K engrave on it. I can't remember my name, or my family, nor …did I have a job? I don't think so, since the clothes I'm wearing doesn't say employment but teenager. I mean from all the walking dead in small business own shops wearing uniforms or suits say otherwise at this mall while the red converse I wore blared out.

Sometimes I analyzed the others and try to imagine what they were. For example, the guy standing by the escalators wearing a police uniform, he was a mall cop. Another one is the girl in the water fountain being nibble on by koi fishes, missing a stiletto while her pink sequin gown is covered in mold. She was the prom queen. And finally the guy hanging upside down on the second landing…he was a…hmmm I could only imagine a stupidly high junkie skater boy. Instantly he roared falling off the second story and smashed onto the tile floor. Splat. Ow. I would say that would hurt, but pain doesn't bother us. Not when you are a corpse.

It's difficult to piece together how this whole chaos of an apocalypse started. Could it have been chemical warfare or an airborne virus, the evolution of the swine flu, or a radioactive mosquito that accidently ate toxic waste? Anyway, it doesn't really matter. This is what we are. The walking dead or as the movies I watched calls it….what is the word again? Oh right, Zombies.

This is a usual day for me. I stagger around, occasionally colliding into people, unable to say sorry or anything else. I wonder if it was much better in the past before this. How everybody could express themselves through body language and emotion, being able to communicate, or even enjoy another person's company. A lot of us have made our home here at this mall. I don't know why. People search at malls, I guess, but I'm not sure what we're searching for.

I continue to shuffle around down the hall till hearing hisses and growls. Turning my head towards the directions to find two skeletons munching on a dog. As they eat the animal, a corpse sat beside them tearing off his face. I inertly shuddered. Crap. Boneys: a skeletal representation of us corpses, all skin and bone. All decompose with decaying blue, browns, and greenish hues that if I could smell properly I might have barfed. What makes them different from the corpses other than looks is that their lighter on their feet and more flexible if not agile. I like to call them anorexic hall monitors for their cannibalistic animal behavior. True they don't bother us Corpses much. However they'll eat anything with a pulse. Boneys are like our version of death. Someday we all become them. When you just give up on all hope and toss away whatever humanity you have left, letting the monster take control. I'm not conflicted about it, though I prefer being deadly pale instead of a stick figure. After all, there is no turning back.

A boney saw me watch and growled at me. I averted my eyes quickly as possible and walked away.

I don't want to be like this. I'm lonely. I'm lost. I'm confused. I wonder if everybody here is lost, too. Okay, minus those who previously worked here? But what about the others who wander around in circles not getting anywhere. Does everybody here feel trapped? Wanting more in this suppose life? Or am I the only one thinking?

.o0o.

I occupy the far end of the mall where the isolated movie theater resigns. Hardly anybody comes here, not since the escalator broken down a few years ago and renovated. Since seventh/eighths of us are unable to function their knee joints to bend and take the stairs. The theater is large, practically empty with mold, spiders, and what is that….whatever it is in the popcorn machine and mildew in the soda fountain. An accessional rodent scurrying around munching on artificial candy box. Not that it bothers me. Dust filtering the air, cobwebs on draperies, plasters chipping off walls, a skeleton or two on the floor, and broken or cracked glass.

What made this theater special is the entire wall of a mirror. Every day I looked at it to see myself. I stand there wondering if there are any changes in my appearance or imagine what I used to look like. Already I stood in front of the stain reflective glass seeing the usual corpse. All deadly white pale skin cover in gore, blood, dirt and scars from the hunt. Empty grey eyes filled with no empathy other than apathy. Veins visibly noticeable in a vibrant blue hue, pink rims around eyes while some bruising underneath. But what makes me different is the long oiling dark hair all frail, damage, and rattle up in a rats nest with some dry blood of course. My clothes age and ragged wearing a demine vest, white top tattered if not smeared in blood, brown skinny jeans, red converse, studded belt, and funny accessories. Probably a tomboy in my human life?

With a shrug I headed to the projector room. I like movies apparently. Give me a moment as I put in the projector. Now what should I choice…never mind, never been in this booth before so let's see what's on. I flipped the switch and watched a stroll of light exited the lenses of the camera hitting the large ripped screen. Afterwards walked out to the main theater and sat in the rotten leather chair watching the film.

This was my life.

Walking around with the occasional groans and moans then come here to escape. Something about the silver screen lets me forget what I am. Also a substitute to dream since zombies can't sleep. So yeah, life sucks as a zombie.

.o0o.

The next day I shuffled around the mall heading toward the food court where another corpse sat in one of the tables with a glass staring at it. B is one of the beautiful corpses in the mall. She is near her middle age, dark skin or in this case grey skin. Hair spiky with her newly bloody hair gel she made from the last hunt. She wore a frail black long-sleeved turtleneck and leather skirt, tights already ruin underneath the battered leather boots. A Boney tried to set her up with a husband and adoptive children, though she somewhat laughed at them and walking away standing next to me. B prefers being a single lady. I remember a boney tried to arrange a marriage with me, before the other corpse and I could reach the alter B shuffled over yanking with must force of dislocating me arm.

I sat down across from her.

B is my friend or better yet surrogated mother. By surrogated mother/friend, I mean we normally stare, grunt, and groan at each other since her objection at the wedding. Sometimes she would take me on the hunts she goes on without option like what mothers usually do towards their children. As she prefers to be a single woman and parent with me. Also by fuzzy memories she was the one who bit me. But no hard feelings, heck we're close to having a conversation.

Speaking of which, I'm started to feel hungry I can't recall the last hunting trip, maybe two weeks ago, but I could feel the urge. I feel the change in my system almost like fire in my frozen veins. Blood flooding my mind, in that that vivid, tempted crimson red, pumping through a channel under delicate tissue in internal and external jugular down to the subclavian veins and-oops sorry, salivating a bit there.

We groaned and hum to each other till giving up with slumped shoulder. Days usually passed this way. Although, we somehow are capable to speak actual words. It takes a lot of effort and strange tingle feeling in the vocal cords, but it makes us unique from the others.

So staring at B, I mustered the word, "St…Starv…ing."

She looked up panting a little as she replied hoarsely, "Ci-ty."

Sure communication is rare; all of us zombies share similar diet. As we travel in packs to make a wider search and teamwork, including where relatives are trying to shoot you twenty-four seven. Eight other corps joins us in our march towards the city in search for the only source food. Humans.

Damn, we are slow.

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So yeah, I saw "Warm Bodies" and couldn't resist on writing a story. Thanks for reading and please leave a review for I like to hear your opinion.