He was a runner, I could see that... Tough prey. But runners were good meat - all that muscle. Good eats, as George would so delicately put it. Slowly, I began approaching, sticking to the shadows, tummy sucked in, trying not to make noise as I came up behind him. He was young, maybe a few years older than myself, with fair hair, and tanned skin. I bet he had blue eyes. They always had blue eyes, these type of guys, the heart-throb type of guys, ones that had the plastic Barbie bitch as a girlfriend and was a quarterback, prom king and had the mental capability of a seven year old.
I snickered at my thoughts, causing him to straighten, to look around, but not behind him. Idiot. I didn't have much time, he'd run in a second, and if didn't have the bloody energy to chase him. Who has time for exercise these days? A second passed, before I made my move, pouncing on him, holding his arms to his side as my teeth bit through his flesh with ease, tearing at it, and spitting it aside, knowing his yelps would attract the others. Blood began pouring – no, gushing – from the hole in his neck, and I lapped at it, before taking another bite of his flesh, savouring in it, in the bitter, yet somehow sweet taste, like uncooked beef. It really was good eats.
He stumbled, causing us both to fall to the ground, him hitting his head and making himself pass out, which was a blessing really, because I couldn't be bothered with another wriggler, it took too much out of me to hold them down. Quickly, I ripped a few more mouthfuls from his neck; that was where the best meat was, warmest too. Behind me, I heard the dragging footsteps of the others, and got up, wiping my bloody mouth with the back of my hand, licking over my teeth to make sure no stray bits were left in between my teeth. I didn't want George taking the mick again.
Letting the others do what they needed to do, I walked out into the street, digging through my pockets for my iPod, shoving the earphones into my ears, flicking through the songs absently, settling on a new album by a band nobody had heard of, then began walking toward the block of flats that we all called home, bobbing my head.
My name's Kim. I'm 15, I hate exercise, love bands, Oreos and my cat Fizzy. I wear oversized jumpers, leggings and converse. I'm pretty much the same as every other girl my age.
Except, I'm a zombie.
Wow, that sounded like a crap tumblr description of a blog.