I sort of suck at serious, romantic stories, so I wrote a spoof of a zombie apocalypse. If you hate it, please comment and tell me why.

The end of the world occurred in math class.

I guess some intoxicated fairy godmother heard some idiots wish for something, anything- possibly even the zombie apocalypse- to get him out of answering a simple problem.

I was mindlessly chewing on bubblegum and doodling in the margins of my notebook as our pre-prehistoric Algebra teacher explained something with as much enthusiasm as a five-year-old on their way to the dentist.

The jocks were flexing their biceps at the ever-giggling cheerleaders; the stoners were totally entranced by something in Mr. Peplum's toupee; the smart, average students were dutifully scribbling notes; the outcasts seemed to be offering a sacrifice to Satan in the corner, the sacrifice being a puny nerd.

In other words, it was a totally normal Wednesday.

"Ohmigod! There are, like, you know, zombies!" One of the cheerleaders, who was quite obviously accessing Facebook via her new iPhone 5, screeched. "Ohmigod! That's insane, Bethany! Who posted that?" The head cheerleader, who I was still shocked was able to weasel her way into Honors Algebra II, shouted. Mr. Peplum continued to scribble numbers on the board; obviously hoping the girls would finish their insane tantrums.

"THERE ARE ZOMBIES!" some random kid who'd just run into the room yelled.

Then came mass hysteria.

You know, I still have no idea why everyone was so spooked by a Facebook post and a guy I don't think even went to our school proclaiming the zombie apocalypse, but they all trampled each other on the way out the door.

"Bow before the Lord, our God, for He will bring down His ever-merciful fist onto the unfaithful!" a Holy Roller shrieked before beginning to pray very vehemently about not dying and how sorry she was for all of her sins she committed from the age of five and up.

As much as I'd have liked to have stayed and watched her little religious epiphany, I decided to just go with the flow, because I'm pretty sure the apocalypse provides a day off school.

But, obviously, the hallways were full of the hardcore Day of the Dead fans in their all out zombie costumes. Oh, wait. Zombies. Didn't some weirdo just say we were having the apocalypse at the hands of those undead brain-eating fiends?

Nope. Drawing a blank.

I whipped out my gigantic phone (it's a whole ¼ of an inch thick and 3 inches long!) and pulled up Facebook as any teenager facing hordes of cannibals would.

We all goin' die!

Bow before Jesus, sinners, for thou hast brought about mass anarchy!

Zombies smell bad.

Everyone is utterly idiotic in how they believe every nutcase that runs into—oh my Devil, it's a Zombie! George Romero did not accurately depict their stench, btw!

Hmm… Zombies… hadn't someone just said something about that…?

Nah; doesn't ring any bells.

I noticed some disturbingly bite-like symbols of affection being exchanged between people in the hallway; blood and gore littered the floors.

I stepped over the "corpses" of overly dramatic classmates.

Gosh; it was getting a bit annoying to dodge the perverts with blood dripping down their chins who were looking for one of the bite-kisses from me.

Luckily, I was wearing my super-sharp stiletto heels that day, so I stabbed the heel into their skulls like any sane person would.

"Is this, like, a spirit week theme or something?" I asked the girl who was holding in her intestines with one arm and trying to run away from some zombie-lookalike.

"Maybe they've gone from Twi-fans to Die-fans?" I continued through the hallway, stepping on a nerd dragging himself across the floor with half of his body was missing.

I finally reached the front doors, pondering the whole zombie fad with halfhearted interest.

Oh, wait, that creep from math class had said something about zombies…

Then, the scene before me made sense.

"IT'S A ROMERO FESTIVAL EXTRAVAGANZA!" I realized aloud. I mean, who wouldn't pay homage to one of the most talented horror movie directors of our age?

I sashayed to my pink bicycle, slung my Gucci bag into the hand basket, and cheerfully rung my bell as I rode home, whistling and waving at the weirdoes drenched with blood and munching on organs.

I hope you love how utterly stupid the main character is already. I'd like to have one or two OCs, so please comment and just say what name you want and how old you want to be. You can describe yourself, too, but I usually take, um, "creative freedom" with my characters, so... yeah.