Disclaimer: I have never written nor read in my life. I will not attempt to make anything decent or coherent.

Enjoy.

Usually I'd leave pale corpses at the side of frozen lakes alone; the undead apocalypse tends to give you an aversion to corpses.

But this guy, this particular guy... he was special.

He laid on his stomach, so frozen he was hard as an erect dick. And he wore a nice, stained, dirt-tawny sweater. Not just your regular nice tawny-colored sweater, though. No, he had the type of sweater that made him look like a dad on Christmas. He looked unassuming, almost approachable.

And that's probably what got me to think: 'Yeah, I'll drag this corpse with me to this unfinished house.' And that's what I did. This dead guy was that intriguing that I decided to bring him with me. I didn't give a damn whether or not he'd come back to life as a walker. I mean, with a sweater like that you wouldn't blame me now, would you?

The house was a mess. It looked like someone raided it clean not so long ago. There was a damp spot—a small butt-print, I can tell—near the fireplace. It was nearly dried up, but it was still there. Couldn't have been more than a day old; just like the vaguely warm ashes still smoking.

I propped up Corpse-Bro near it, facing me, and threw in some plywood, scraps, and some leftover flammable junk I had in my backpack—old cigarette boxes, an Playboy magazine I was tired of, the dried-out tissues I used when "reading" my magazines, that kind of junk.

I cozied up next to Corpse-Bro and warmed myself with the newborn embers of the fireplace. Oddly enough, despite probably floating in a lake for a couple of hours—I could tell that it's only been there a few hours as opposed to days—he was lukewarm, room temperature. I would have stuck a knife in his eye in case he was just reanimating into a walker, but I was too lazy and tired at the time.

I sat there a few hours, till the moonlight shined through the nonexistent roof. I haven't been in proper shelter ever since I left Georgia—an unfinished house in the snow wasn't exactly "proper shelter", but it was better than sleeping in a dumpster, that's for sure. And that blizzard that just passed made me desperate for any cover I can find.

During that time I inspected Corpse-Bro.

He had no damage on his face or head—nothing apparent that would show that he wouldn't come back and eat me, at least; he had a bullet wound on his leg. He had no pulse, so I knew for certain he was dead. He had stubble on his chin, a puberty mustache, unkempt hair and gaunt cheeks, nothing special about his appearance. He was handsome, though, in a non-gay way. He had a machete strapped to his chest, so I know he must've been a badass. He also had an AK-47—or something, it's an automatic rifle, that's all I know—near him when I found him, I forgot to add. I took it with me.

Like I said, I honestly don't know why I was so interested in a corpse. I'm no necrophiliac, to my knowledge. Nor am I gay, I think.

I think it's because he reminded me of Wyatt, my long-lost friend. Now, mind you, Corpse-Bro looked nothing like Wyatt; he didn't have a beard, nor was he sarcastic or reeked of weed like me. But I haven't seen an intact, non-undead human for so long that, honestly, anyone that looked like a bro at first glance would remind me of Wyatt. It didn't matter that he was a corpse.

At that point in time I realized how weird admiring a dead body was, and decided to to scavenge the house for something to open my canned foods with. I had lost my can opener a while a ago, and I was getting sick of having to smash the cans open.

It took me a while, but I eventually found one in the deep end of a drawer.

But as I returned to my bag and my food, near Corpse-Bro, I nearly crapped myself and fell on my ass.

I swear to Jesus, Mary and Joseph, something was wrong about Corpse-Bro; he grew a full beard while I was gone and slicked back his hair.

Now I thought I was high or dreaming or something, so I slapped myself in the face a couple of time. Nothing happened, he still had a beard like Jesus. I tried looking around the place to see if anyone was in the whereabouts. Not a soul to be seen, he still had a beard like Jesus. I tried touching and pulling at the beard, see if it's a mirage or a fake. Nope, nothing happened; yep, it was an actual, real beard like Jesus.

I was so scared. Chills ran like Usain Bolt up and down my spine, I shook like a leaf—there isn't any other way I could describe how I felt, truthfully. Corpse-Bro was like a weeping angel or something, because I have never seen anything like that.

I won't lie, I was hyperventilating at that point. I paced around, stressed out of my mind and trying to process what was going on. I probably should've just shoved a screwdriver up his eye, but I was too blown away by what just happened. I wasn't thinking straight at that point.

This was something straight out of a horror film. Or the Bible. Because as I was pacing around, back turned from Corpse-Bro, he rose up.

Author's note: With A New Frontier around the corner I decided to make this fic purely to kill time. Purely to kill time.