I really don't remember how I got in my parents' Jeep, or shall I say the Jeep my parents used to own. It just seemed like a short while ago that I woke up, got ready for school, found my parents looking at me like I was something to ruminate, and made my great escape.

And now I'm rushing down Route 20, trying to get away from civilization. Or what was left of civilization.

Scientists or public announcement announcers were kind enough to not inform us that in two days, we will all turning into slow-moving, moaning, flesh-eating maniacs.

So much for the "scientific break-through" that we were in.

My parents and I went over what to do when there was a fire in the house when I was home alone, what to do if there was a tornado warning in our county (despite that tornadoes rarely touch ground in Oregon), and also when the power goes out, but definitely not zombie invasions.

You really couldn't say I was home alone, I was just the only person who really didn't mind eating their veggies at the moment.

If I actually ran away for no apparent reason, my parents would wig out and do whatever they could to find me. If they found me, they would hug me to death, or at least drown me in their own tears of joy and guilt, puts bars on my window, and take me to a psychologist.

Even though they sound overprotective, they were pretty laid-back.

But now, they'll just be moaning and trying to find more human flesh to chow down on. I have many joyful memories with them that if I thought a little bit more, I would've willingly become their lunch. I know, it sounds so Edgar Allan Poe-ish.

The way I escaped was pretty easy. I used to live in a three story house, but my room was on the second level. I just hopped off my window sill onto a tree.

And yes, I do have excellent tree climbing skills for a complete nerd.

On the road now, there were a lot of wrecked cars. In the distance, there was a zombie wandering around aimlessly.

If you don't know what a zombie looks like, then I'll describe it to you. But if you have a weak stomach, then feel free to skip the next paragraph.

Let me start off on their skin. It really depends on how long they've been dead. A yellowish color means the zombie has been dead or "reanimated" for a few weeks. A greenish color means they've been dead for a bit longer. The rotting and stench take some time too. When they move, you can see each muscle moving. I have to admit, it's kinda cool seeing each muscle moving to do its job.

And now back to the present situation.

As the distance grew smaller between my car and the zombie, it turned around. It just stood there, oblivious of its terrible fate.

I felt a big bump. I didn't dare to look back. I shivered at the thought of the mangled, squished body.

I sighed. This is what life is going to be like for a while… Or until I die.

I never gave much thought to death. I was always living in the present. I never dwelled on my past or planned on my future. I let whatever happen just happen. I found it ridiculous when the girls at my school were talking about how they were going to marry the "so-called-hot-football-player-of-our-school" and the number of kids they're going to have.

But I'll never forget what has happened to me.

Ever.