I punched this out because I've been disgruntled working on my other stories, and the Walking Dead provides something different, and very simple for me. While, yes, this is a scene-by-scene depiction, there are original scenes that the show never explored, and original characters, most of them Glenn's family and friends from his pre-walker life.

Spoilers abound, of course. Enjoy.

My last customer was a lady who didn't have a change for a hundred but said she could pay for the pizza in other ways. I was clueless for about a moment before she screamed at me and pushed me to the ground. I might have been turned on by it all, but some guy with a good chunk ripped out of his face chewed on her like he was at a buffet. Why was he eating her?! I had a perfectly good Pan Lovers pizza in my hands! Or on the ground covered in dirt and, now, blood and pieces of flesh. Yuck!

And I thought the time I delivered to a mafia meeting behind the bingo hall was the most weird. Those slick guys in their black suits intimidated me. I hoped the cashier back at the store had their twenty pizzas right, or I was fish food; then I remembered who the cashier on duty was: Emily Bodunker, and I obliterated her character on World of Warcraft and she's been out to get me ever since. It was a good idea to grab my money and jet, even forgetting the tip, but a robust midget guarded the entrance. Three of the pizzas didn't have extra cheese, and I was a dead man. My hero came in the form of a sting operation that hit the wrong place, and I hid in the kitchen cabinet texting back and forth to my mom because I forgot to take the dog out and one of my sisters tripped over a toy and plunged into the liquid-y feces of a sick pooch. I didn't want to go home and, instead, played a game on Facebook.

So, yeah. The guy eating the woman's face blew that one out of the water. I ran until I almost puked my insides out. I wanted to call my sisters and mother but I dropped my phone, and by the time I realized that, a little boy with yellow eyes gnarled at me and I tripped over his dog and smacked my elbow on the curb. I remembered that kid. His dad trimmed our yard occasionally, and he loved his PS2. I gave him a game for last year's Christmas. As he raced towards me, growling and clawing the air, I lost my voice and all sense of reasoning. Defending myself was number one. I didn't know what kind of funky dimension the Earth just moved in, but it was time to get serious.

Kicking that kid as hard and fast as I could and then seeing his poor body collide into an oncoming vehicle was the hardest thing I had to do at that point. I wish it was that easy now, as horrible as that sounds.

I kept a journal when I was eight because Miss Johnson deemed it important to read my inner thoughts. "Now, Glenn," her voice crawled with mild annoyance at my drawing of a porcupine wearing a sombrero, "use your time wisely and invest in something that you can go back and read in the future. It will help you make thoughtful decisions." I went back to drawing another porcupine, and when I was forced to write, I pretended I was Pierre the Porcupine going to the ancient ruins in Mexico.

Miss Johnson had a lazy eye and a new pimple on her face every week and I could tell she despised my lack of perception, but her words never rang more true than right now. I never made it back home to my mom and sisters and if only midgets in suits and Facebook drama were the least of my problems.

The old guy asked me what I'm scribbling in here, and I nodded and looked out the window of his RV. Interacting with strangers, I'm not good at that. I think his name is Dale, and he's nice, especially when I clogged up his toilet yesterday. My stomach has been all kinds of twisted chaos. Rings true about the state of things, too.

I feel dumb about writing all of this stuff down, but when things get better, and they will, I'll be able to look back and see how crappy it all got. Then, nothing else will seem as bad.