Six months, I've been a zombie for six months, and in that time what have I done with my life? Broken off my engagement to the man of my dreams, quit my job a the hospital, made my family worry so much they think I have PTSD or have gone crazy. What's the point?
It's not like there is going to be a cure anytime soon, nobody but me knows that zombies even exist in the real world. Besides, even if I did tell someone what would happen? They would probably hunt me down to try and stop me from causing the apocalypse. So I ask again what is the point?
I could easily end this unnatural existence of mine right now, I work in a morgue and it wouldn't be hard to find something that could pierce my skull.
But what is the point in that also? What if I was turned into the living dead for a reason? What if I was ment for greater thing than eating murder victim brains with spicy chicken ramen?
I don't know, huh, there it is again. I don't know, it feels like that is the theme of my life right now… I don't know if I could infect my loved ones with this living hell I go through. I don't know if one day I'll just turn into one of those mindless shambling corpses that are shown in the movies and on tv.
Its theses I don't knows that keep me up at night, there also what keep me going. The hope that I have a role to play in the future, hope that one day I may be able to be with the man I love. But for now I just...go on, pondering my existence and eating brains in crappy instant noodles… life goes on.
It's probably wrong that every time I see a dead body I think, "what the hell am I doing with my life?" but right now I really don't care what is right or wrong. All I can think about is eating, you may think it's weird that I am hungry after seeing a dead body. The thing is though, I'm a zombie, for me this is a five star brain meal.
You're probably asking hey Liv what is it like to be a zombie? Well I'll tell you, it's horrible!
Before I became a member of the undead I had my life planned out, I had a topnotch residency at the local hospital, I was engaged to the man of my dreams, and would one day have a gaggle of little feet pattering around my house.
Now I just kind-of coast, I quit my job at the hospital and got a job at the morgue to have better access to fresh brains. I broke up with my fiancé, Major because I was afraid that I may infect him with zombieism, and I seriously doubt that I can have children at the moment, I'm not technically alive currently.
This is all not mentioning the smaller things, I can't taste anything unless it has at least six chilli pepers next to it, I have to eat brains to keep myself from turning into a mindless monster bent on the destruction of the human race, and for some unknown reason cannot sleep, like at all.
But this is my life from now on, lay in my bed pretending to sleep, get up, go to work, open up some poor dead person's skull eat their brains, go home, and repeat. Forever. Man who would have thought that this is how my life would have gone. Well better get to work.
"You have to see this anterior rectus sheath contusion. It looks exactly like the Virgin Mary holding a Les Paul." comments my boss, one Ravi Chakrabarti, who oddly enough is eating what looks like a bowl of froot loops over the corpse a young woman.
"Do you think it would be wrong of me to instagram this?"
"Yes, yes, it would."
"In the five months you've been here, what's the weirdest thing you have seen while working here?" he asks chugging down the last of the milk in his bowl and setting the piece of china down on the examination table, with the body on it…
"You drinking cereal milk over a corpse." I deadpan.
"Ya know, that what I like about you always keeping it under fifteen syllables. It gives us a good rhythm."
Putting on my gloves I turn to the dark skinned british man shooting him a tired glare.
"Working with my last resident was like prepping for the Newlywed Game. 'What's your favorite color?' 'How old were you when you first touched a boob?' It's nice to know I can dissect a Jane Doe's spleen without feeling obligated to list my top desert island albums." he continued unfazed by my glare.
"She's a Jane Doe?" I ask, examining the body with more interest. Jane Doe means unknown, maybe I could have alittle fun with this one, try and find out just who I am eating.
"Yep, she was found in the back of a garbage truck. Driver isn't sure where he picked her up. No ID. No matching prints so far. The garbage truck was using a crusher which complicates our cause of death." he states dryly as though it's just another day in the office, well it is but still.
There a ping of a text and suddenly Ravi is up, gloves off, and is putting on his coat, "well duty calls," he states
"Suicide, or is it murder?" he asks dramatically, a funny almost constipated look adorns his face.
"Well either way sew her back up, bag and box her." he says gesturing to the body of the Jane Doe.
Well here comes both my favorite and least favorite part. I pick up the tool I love most in the morgue, the blue bone saw I use to get my meals, without it we would be one hungry zombie closer to the end of the world.
Quickly opening up the girls skull I remove my prize, a half a pound of grade A greymatter! Moving over to the small kitchenette situated in the corner of the morgue I start on my lunch. One part spicy chicken ramen, one part Jane Doe brain, and for that final zombie touch, a splash of 666 hellfire hot sauce. Give it a shake and there you have it! Hellfire ramen and mystery brains! My favorite, not!
Taking my meal into the small break room I sit down and turn on the tv we have in the corner of the room. The first thing that come on, dawn of the dead. Sometimes I feel the universe is fucking with me.
"I have so many questions!" exclaimed Ravi excitedly "First, why the hot sauce? Is that a zombie thing?"
Oh shit I am so fucked! That's it I know the universe is fucking with me now!
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