A/N: Okay so I've been trying like 5 million times to get the link to work, and nothing seems to be working. Basically, go to and type in "Zombie Love Song Your Favorite Martian" and it should be the first one. Sorry for the problems this has caused.
That girl. For days, weeks even, Ivan had been watching and borderline stalking her. His skin crawled, his tongue had a mind of its own and his stomach growled when the thought of her came up.
To get closer to her, he had taken to finding as many memories as he could of her. Many men had had their hearts broken by her, and he knew some of what to watch for. If they ever met up.
It was daylight, though the sun was begging to be released to the horizon; surely she would be up by now. Ivan sighed, thinking of all the things he wanted to do and say to her. Nothing bad; he would never hurt her intentionally. If only he could feel what she felt. All he could see and hear were voices; memories of people who had died emotionally by she and physically by himself.
He closed his dead, dry eyes that were half-rotted, the irises contrasting the dead grey with the brilliant purple of his lifetime. Once, his eyes had been the one beautiful thing he had possessed that had been beautiful. Now, he had nothing. He possessed nothing beautiful. Those magical digits that made up her phone number glowed in the darkness, and he smiled, his teeth cracked and grey with the odd rust of blood staining them.
Taking what had been a phone to him in life, he dialed those numbers slowly, each button taking a long time to be pressed, for his fingers were awkward and nerves unresponsive.
A click as she picked up. "Hello?" She asked into the phone, voice light and cheerful. "Who is this?"
"My name is…Ivan." His name was difficult to remember, and his voice struggled to retain its chime it had had in life. So many things he missed…so many things he had taken for granted. And now he needed them all, but could have none of them back. He wanted his voice and real brain back; not one that remembered only because of memories of himself. "How are you?"
"Do you have a wrong number?" Fear, the dreaded emotion clouded her words, and he knew it was more than just because he was calling her. Was it his voice? Did she know he was stalking her? Why did females always get so scared? "I don't know any Ivan."
"Da…you do." Maybe using his own language would cause her to remember? They had never really met, but he needed to try everything.
"Please…never call me again." Another click as she hung up, leaving Ivan with only a dial tone as company.
What was he supposed to do? His voice was a curse; it made everyone fear him. And he couldn't just approach her; his skin was too ghastly for that.
His teeth ached; he needed to feed again. Her memory was a curse; there was no way he would be able to control himself while she was in his head.
"Francesca…why do you do this to me?" He asked aloud as he grabbed the half-eaten brain of one of her old lovers. This was his new favorite diet; the taste of her many exes made his stomach feel ever so full.
The memories of her filled his own parasitic brain, him wishing these were a way to make Francesca smile.
This memory…it was a sweet one. She was staring at her old lover—a man named Charles. Like a doppelganger, I had become Charles. Iwas now her lover; one of the best feelings in the world.
"You think that because I am a woman you can defeat me in a fight?" She stared at me, blue eyes shining with a combination of anger and amusement. "That because I am a woman, I cannot handle a blade of my own country's creation?" Her milky brown hair gleamed, it pulled back in a sort of messy bun, trails of it fallen out and tickling the back of her neck.
It was then I looked down and saw that we both possessed a rapier, a blade I had never held before. It was heavy in my borrowed hands, the rough hilt chafing my bare hands.
"Of course not." His voice was blessedly smooth and masculine, as mine had once been. Before I died and was reborn by some foreign force. "Unless you think you'll fail, as you do at many other things."
Francesca, bless her heart, laughed it off as a joke. If I had been in control, I would never have said such a thing. It was risky; what if Francesca found it offensive? "Charles, you're such a horrible person!"
There, the memory ended. He had yet to see a sweet memory all the way through. They always ended with Francesca either angry or pleased with him, but never had he been kissed by those pale red lips. God, he wished he could feel them against his own, but he didn't know the consequences. Would the lovely Francesca be transformed into a creature as he had been? Or would a mere kiss have no consequences that would plague her existence.
"I need to see her through my own eyes." He said aloud, knowing there was no one to hear his desire. Life after death was so lonely when there was no one to share eternity with, but it never occurred to you that being a zombie forever would be so lonely until someone stole your heart.
He tore through his house, looking for something that would make him more presentable. He had to have something that wasn't defaced by body tissue and blood, didn't he? Even he, a once simple man, recognized that some clothes needed to be reserved for special occasions. He personally had spent months buying out clothes and food when he had first been turned, hoping that someone would find a way to change him back to normal.
As he searched for the perfect outfit to see Francesca, the love of his life and eternal existence, his mind drifted to the shaky memories of his sisters. He had two; one that was older and the other that was younger. In fact, he remembered them because he had eaten their brains as his first few meals. That was how he had learned his name and theirs; how he had learned who he was and who he had once been.
The two were so fresh in his mind, as though they hadn't been devoured by their beloved brother. Katy's face had been the most painful; her staring at Ivan in surprise that he had become one of those mindless, heartless creatures that thought only of feeding themselves. Natalya's face had been painful as well; she had always loved her brother. So to see him like that, devouring his sister's brain and flesh…it pained the pale girl with the light brown hair and icy blue eyes that Katy shared.
Ivan dug through his nearly empty closet, smiling as he grabbed Katy's old vanity kit. There was enough of—what was it called?—foundation to smooth over his rotted skin. And if he kept the remainder of his body covered, he would be fine. He first got dressed, donning his body with a dark blue sweatshirt, putting on the scarf he wore now only for warmth, for there was no reason to wear something to warm the heart that never ached and never viewed Katy as a really important memory. She had been a good meal; that's all everyone was. Everyone except Francesca.
"Francesca, please do not hate me because of what I am in person." He mumbled, clearing his throat to try and make his voice even and sounding somewhat normal.
He stared at the foundation, unsure of how to put it on. Dumping a good amount of it on his hands, he smeared it all over his gangrene face. He stared in a mirror while he did this, not wanting to make it too obvious that he was covered in something unnatural for a man to wear.
"I look better now." He smiled one of his creepy, awkward smiles that showed off his broken, dead teeth. Maybe if he kept his mouth relatively shut, Francesca wouldn't notice. There was no way he could possibly clean up teeth that were dead. "Now…for Francesca herself." His brain went off, dozens of pleasant memories flooding it.
Leaving his home, he stumbled through the streets, one address burning in his mind. It was painful; he thought of all the things that could possibly go wrong with this. His limbs were held together with what seemed to be string; fear was that they would fall off if he was not careful with his actions.
The streets were seemingly dark and lonely; people knew his face and avoided him at all costs. No matter what disguise he used, they could tell who he was by those purple irises and his height.
"Francesca…" He moaned like a true zombie, repeating her name over and over. She kept his brain alive and his body eager for more life. Before Francesca, he had hated both the sun and moon, loathing the presence of time itself.
Before long, her home was in view. In reality, hours had passed, but a dead mind couldn't comprehend the elapsed time periods. The air was cool and crisp; the moon high in the sky though it was day; a reminder that soon another day would pass with he still a slave of the night.
Peering in the window, he stared, he stared at her, sitting on one of her couches and reading. The way her hair framed her face; it complimented her European cheekbones and general facial structure.