This came to me in my Story Dev class and I couldn't get it out of my head. So I'm writing it now because I need to get rid of the itch. I hope you enjoy this, probably overused, little story.

Enjoy!

I don't remember anything before all this shit went down. I have a name; well, as much as I remember of it anyway. It's Zack. I think my real name was longer; started with an "eye" or something like that. I don't remember much of my life either. But I got some nasty burns that I cover up with some bandages that I find laying around. It's a miracle when I can find clean ones, and I sure as shit ain't sharing.

I like my hoodie. I don't know how long I've had it, but it's some comfy shit. It's got a lot of dried blood of it, though. I like to think I was a pure-blooded killer before. Was? I still am. There's nothing I love more than seeing those fuckers' eyes filled with fear and despair before I take a good chunk outta them.

Oh yeah. And this is the important shit, so pay attention. I'm dead. That guy in the corner scratching his ear off; dead. That lady banging her messed up face against the wall; very dead. That dude just laying on the floor that I stepped on back there; dead as dirt. I get bored when there ain't a fresh kill around, so I look at all the people like me in this overcrowded place and come up with stories for them. That guy was probably mopping vomit off the floor and is still doing it now, but with chunks of rotted guts. That lady was probably one of those hooker cake-faces that hung out in those alleys. And that guy…eh, he's deader than dead now, so what does it matter?

I've heard the little wastes of flesh call us Walkers. Damn, they could've come up with something more original. If I could actually use my voice for ten goddamn seconds, I'd be telling them that along with as many colorful words as I can think of. Zombie apocalypse, my left ass cheek. This, not being able to use my damn voice, is hell enough.

But there's not just the Walkers. I call the little shits that hang around Biters. They aren't even people anymore. They just hop onto fresh meat whether it drags itself along like a welcome mat and chow down. They don't really attack Walkers. We're just sacks of rotten flesh to them; not edible. Losers. I do whatever it takes to survive. I have a feeling I had to eat trash or something before, just so I wouldn't be hungry. That's a lot better than becoming one of those fuckers. I saw it happen once. The guy went without food for a long time and slowly turned into a Biter because of it.

Now look at me. I don't know my age, my parents, my hometown, or even how I got these damn burns. Something likes to tell me it's better that I don't. Frankly, I don't give a shit anymore. I'm a fucking zombie that can't run for shit and can only grunt instead of cuss everyone in this crappy area out the way I really, really want to.

I'm a monster; plain and simple. Not like anyone's gonna see me as anything different.

Rachel double-checked everything to make sure she was prepared. She made sure she had enough bullets in her handgun and nodded when she got satisfactory results. Her ocean blue eyes scanned the camp to check which materials would be top priority for this week's scavenge. Once she finished securing the gun to its holster, she stood up from her seat on a crate, only to be pushed down into the dirt.

"Where do you think you're going, dolly?" a young man about two years older than her sneered. "You'll be the first one to get eaten! Ha! With those boring eyes, you'll like dying, won't you?"

The man beside him snickered, leaning down to get up in Rachel's face. "Heh. With that dull face, they'll probably think she's one of them! And they'd be right! Might as well be a zombie, with how emotionless you are!"

They continued to throw jabs at her, but the blonde ignored them. Instead, she put her long blond her up into a high ponytail, so it would slightly rise above her mid-back. She adjusted her bloodstained denim jacket, smoothed out her navy-blue tank top, and dusted the dirt off her black pants. She checked the straps on her black combat boots one more time, to make sure they were secure. Continuing to ignore the boys, Rachel wedged her way around and stepped into the truck that was taking passengers to the next scavenging location.

The engine roared to life and the vehicle set off after a few of the crew members shut the heavy doors. Rachel went over the destination's blueprints in her head, noting the next scavenging site was an abandoned one floor school building. With a few calculated moves, she could get the right supplies.

So, as you guessed, this is a Zombie AU. It'll have some scenes from Warm Bodies, but only ones I remember aka ones that got a lot of attention. I don't remember the whole movie, and I'm kinda glad I don't. I'll be using that freedom to divert from the Warm Bodies plot and make a more original story.

One more thing! The titles of the chapters are song lyrics from some of the songs I'm listening to while writing this story.

The title comes from the song "Zombie by Bad Wolves"