Day 169

It was on the table in the other room.

Packaged in one of those styrofoam boxes, probably getting soggy like takeout Mexican.
It wasn’t a whole one.  The Doc had cut a quarter of into a neat little chunk. Like a slice of dead pie.

Movies make it out like zombies can smell the brains of their victims.  It’s not like that.

I knew it was there, but it wasn’t so much a smell as a feeling.

Like how you might feel gravity.

I didn’t want to go in there, to that dim lit kitchen and open that box and eat those leftovers, because, honestly that’s what they were.  Somebody’s leftovers.

I didn’t want to, but in the same way you can’t jump off a ten story building and go anywhere but down, I found myself sitting at that table.

I’ve been told to just resist the urge.  You want to know how it feels?

You know when you’re about to vomit and you try to not vomit? Does that work?

Maybe you’ve had too much to drink or have the flu or you’ve seen something terrible or gross and there you are, fighting the urge to let your body do what it wants.

You can  try to take control, you can focus on something happy, you can open a window, stand in front of the fan, whatever trick you want, but they don’t work.  You can’t stop the room from spinning even if you do hang one leg off the bed.

Your body is going to win and you know it

You will only feel better when your mind gives up and stops focusing on the regrettable but necessary thing you have to do.
When you accept it, you say ok, fine, I’m going to puke, and you run to the bathroom and fling up the white lid and let go of everything.

It’s one of  the most raw, violent, sickening things you can do.  You know what I’m talking about?

Good, because it’s kinda like that.

Except, instead of the bathroom, you run to the table and you lift up that white lid and instead of expunging the worst of what you did a few hours ago, you ingest the worst you think you could ever do.  You hate yourself for a few minutes, just like you did when you were puking.  You say you’ll never do it again.  But you know you will.

After it’s over, you feel a little bit better.   Well, in my case, I feel a whole lot better. Because that fat, meaty, slightly congealed part of someone I just gorged on is the most perfect food I’ve ever eaten. It fixes the hangover.  I no longer have the flu.  I feel my body repairing itself.  The shakes ease up.

I will not sleep fitfully on the cold tile floor, an arms reach away from the smell and the stained nasty butt seat.

I will instead amble over to the recliner and kick back, maybe watch some tv or read a little,  my stomach full and warm just like yours was last Thanksgiving when you fell asleep after that grand feast, not even noticing the little bit of macaroni and cheese on your shirt.

Tomorrow it begins again, the hunger, the headache and the guilt, but right now I don’t care about tomorrow and for my sake (and probably yours) not caring is the best I can do.

Day 67

Bill left without paying his share of rent, utilities and ordinary household expenses.  Said I creeped him out, being dead and all.

I said you wanna know who’s creepy, Bill?  Your tentacle porn loving ass, that’s who.  What the hell is that all about, Bill? You ain’t Japanese.


So now I’m dealing with Alex.

Alex ain’t bad, but he’s the sneakiest mother fucker I ever seen.

Today, I couldn’t find my M&M’s and you know how I need my M&M’s.

“Alex, You seen my M&M’s?”

He keeps playing his xbox.

I’m looking all in the couches, digging in the nastiness between the cushions.  I’m walking right in front of him, back and forth, and he won’t answer.

I get in his face, figure I can use my zombie stare and make him look at me.
He keeps playing, shifting his position so he can see around me.

I grab him by the shoulders.

“Alex! Where are my M&M’s!”

He looks at me as if for the first time.

“Dude, I ain’t seen your M&M’s, but I bought some Reeces Pieces you can have.”

“I don’t want no Reeces Feces!  I want my goddamned M&M’s!”

He laughs.

“What’s so special about M&M’s?”

“I told you about this when you moved in and signed the lease.  It’s part of the rental agreement.  DO NOT TOUCH ANY M&M’s in the house.  They placate my hunger.  They crunch like, and I can’t explain it to someone who isn’t going through this, my desire to eat bone.  They’re crunchy with a chocolaty marrow center.  They keep me sane and straight and right now, I ain’t neither cause you ate my M&M’s!

He says he didn’t eat them. He goes back to his game.

As I’m holding his shoulders, I can smell his hair and his head and that human sweat, and I’m not sure exactly what happened, but afterward Alex claimed I tried to bite him on the neck like a retarded vampire.

He laughed and pushed me away easily.

That infuriated me and I tried to bite him in the head.

Didn’t work.  About broke my teeth.

I guess I ain’t got the strength yet because I couldn’t penetrate his skull.

I think I hurt him though and when I saw the fear in his eyes a strength arose in me.
I grabbed that no dish washing, leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, uses my deodorant, poor excuse for a roommate by the throat and tried to choke the life he was wasting out of him.

Don’t judge me.
I’ll be the first to admit I lost it.
The poor fuck is gurgling for dear life.
I realize he’s doing that thing with his eyes – cause he can’t speak – he’s doing that thing with his eyes where he pointing to something.

He’s looking at me,  raising his eyebrows and pointing his tomatoes for eyes at something below my neck.

As the final flickers of hope dim in his eyes, I look down, and there, in my shirt pocket is my king size packet of M&M’s.

I’m sorry to say I didn’t apologize at first, I just sat back on the sofa like a junkie getting their fix.  I ate those M&M’s fast, crunching into those delicious candy shells.

As the hunger abated and I came to my senses, I realized with horror that I had almost killed a human.

I offered him some of my M&M’s.

He just shook his head, “Nah, man, I ain’t messing with your candy.”

He looked at me and nodded, went back to playing the xbox.

With that nod I knew he understood.

He wouldn’t judge me like I judged tentacle porn Bill.
And that made me feel worse than if he had punched me in the face.

I was becoming the worst of me.

I tried to sleep but burned with guilt and rage at the world.  After several hours of holding it in,  I got up and went to Alex’s room to apologize.  I thought he’d be asleep, so I quietly reached for the door handle.  Not sure why I was worried about being quiet when I was about to wake him up, but it didn’t matter.

Somehow I knew Alex was standing behind the door with a baseball bat raised high to strike me down if I entered his room.  I could smell his sweat and fear. And my guilt and shame turned to mischief.

I made a little zombie moan to let him know I was there.  His heart beat increased and I could smell his sweat getting sweeter.  He was afraid for his life.

I snuck back to my room and ate a few more M&M’s.

The poor fuck stood by his door all night, waiting for me to attack him.

He didn’t leave though, so I guess it’s good.

Maybe he’ll be a good roommate.


Day 122

Lost my job, my meds and what’s left of my self respect.

People are mean to me.

When they’re mean to me, I want to fight them, hurt them, kill them.

I want to do even worse than that.

But I still believe, even after all the crap I’ve been through,  that there is hope.  I believe there is still goodness in the world.

While I’m typing this, Alex walked up behind me and read over my shoulders.

He said all this touchy feely stuff I’m writing is boring.
He says I should  tell people what it’s like to eat people.
What brains taste like.
Nevermind that I’ve never eaten anyone.

(Well, I’ve never eaten brains and I’ve never actually eaten people on purpose.)

He then says he has a replacement for my M&M fetish.

That’s right.  Popcorn.

He’s been on the internet again.

Says that a lot of man-zeds  going through their dead life crisis use popcorn because the kernels are like bone and the white part is like flesh.

I tell him, in so many words, that he is a stupid cunt.

We argue.
He believes himself an expert on everything, including the human (and not so Human) condition.
I maintain his only expertise begins and ends with the girlfriend replacement he holds in his hands every night called a game controller.
He agrees he is a “fucking awesome gamer” but he also is well educated and a very bright person.
I point out he hasn’t noticed that all of our furniture is gone.

He freaks out because he doesn’t have a couch to sit on while playing his video games.  He wants to know why I sold my furniture.  I explain, as if to a child, that he hasn’t paid rent in 3 months and I just lost my job.

His reaction?
How the hell did I lose such an easy job?
An easy job!  I almost killed him right then, but the microwave dinged and he walked out of the room to get his popcorn.
He comes back in and offers me popcorn.
I tell him I don’t want any popcorn.

He starts to inform me against my will about how other zombies and man-zeds do this and that, so I grab a handful to shut him up.

I don’t get to find out if the popcorn will work because instead of savory butter covering the popcorn, it smells like he dosed the entire bucket with a jar of Polo cologne.
I almost puke.

 “You’ve got colgne all over it!”

He smells his hands.
“I don’t smell anything”
“It’s like you showered in it!”
“Fine, I tried to do something nice” he says and walks away.
“I’ve told you a million times that my nose is super sensitive these days, since the thing.”
He just yells over his shoulder. “Fine!”

I sit alone for a while.

What am I gonna do.? I don’t know how I’m going to last like this.  I’m at the end of my rope but, I see understand things that I never understood in my past life.  I see how important life really is and I’m not gonna let any human destroy my humanit.
Again, alex walked up behind me.
Listen, I know you’re stuggling.
He hands me some cash, maybe 20 bucks.
says “I know it’s not much, but maybe it’ll help.  I was just gonna buy beer with it.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.  Is this compassion?  From a stupid human?
He goes on to say “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said about being sensitive to smells, so I’m going to try to do better”
I think I smiled for the first time in weeks.
He says “What do you think about this fragrence?”
I turn to my right and am face to butt with his arse.  I’m momentarily confused until he farts in my face as I open my mouth to say thank you.
He runs away before I can kill him.

UPDATE – Stupid Alan convinced me to try and make a little video blog out of my life so we tried filming this entry. Alan is a sucky director and entirely unprepared.  He rented cheap equipment and the sound was horrible.  He thought it would be authentic if we cast Alex as Alex, but the problem is, Alex is a sucky actor.  On top of all this, Alan’s stupid brother, David let us use his house to film in, but got disgusted at the sight of me and only let us film for a couple of hours.  I’ll never do that again.   I’m more embarrased about the production of that stupid little episode than I am to be infected. I’m not even going to link to it.

Day 3

I’d been feeling very weak, flu like almost.  Hungry, but nauseas at the thought of food, so I went to the doctor.  Of course, I don’t have insurance at the moment, so I had to go to a free clinic.  I should have known something was up or wrong with this place because they advertised on tv like some bad lawyer.  They described my symptoms exactly and said I could qualify for government assistance because of flouride in the water or some lame shit like that.
So I go and they take some blood and the ordinary vitals and after waiting for a couple of hours I’m shown into this back room to the doctors office.  I walk in and I shit you not, the old white haired motherfucker is smoking a cigarette.  Not an e cig, but a goddammed camel unfiltered.  He’s got a pile of them in an ashtray that should have been emptied during the vietnam era.  When I walk in, he looks a little too excited to see me and puts out his cigarette, waving the smoke away.
Sit, Sit he says a nurse guides me to an old pleather chair.
He picks up a folder, opens it and reads something that must have been pretty interesting.
Yes, Yes, he says to himself.
SO, he says to me.  You were bitten by a Tod or a Vixen?
Well, it was a Vixen? I said, but I wasn’t truly bit.   I had a condom on.
Of course, he said. But the test results, they don’t lie.  You’ve got the deadabetes.
He then slaps himself and laughs as if he just made up this joke.  Has anyone, ever, in the history of doctor patient relations, ever thought it was funny when a medical professional made a joke about your terminal illness?
Fuck no.
That’s why I said, I should have known something.  But I felt like shit, so I stayed.  And I listened.  And I took the phone number he gave me.  Said, I could get some special, experimental medicine and they would actually pay me to take it.  I should have known, I should have had a little more what do they call it “french word for foresight” that you never get a fee lunch.  Escpecially when the most important question to him wasn’t my sypmtoms, but the fact I had very little family alive.  My mom was alive, but she was looney, so that seemed to make it all the better.
I took the prescription and left.  As I was leaving, some other sucker, looking far worse than I did bumped into me on his way in.  He asked me if this was the place from the commercials?  It still haunts me that I didn’t lie and tell him the place was closed down.

Day 212

So I’m driving down the road in my piece of shit grey Fiat, aka the silver bullet, aka labaladeplata.  I only know that one spanish word because I saw it on a coors light can.  Anyway, I’m feeling pretty good.  The windows down, I got the targa top out, what’s left of my hair is blowing in the wind, I got my repair kit, I got an oldie but a goodie on the radio.
These wind shield wipers
Slapping out of tempo
Keeping perfect rhythm
With the song on the radio
I gotta keep Roollllling.
And then, BAM, this redneck in a big redneck truck is right on my bumper.  I’m doing 55 in a 45 on a little country road.  Sun is shining, Breeze is blowing, I’m still alive, but I got this neck beard that wants to drive his truck up my ass.
Did I mention I’m in a piece of shit Fiat?  Yes I did.  This thing is so low to the ground you gotta sit down to get up.
So I slow down to let him pass, but he just gets closer to me.  He’s weaving in his lane as if he’s pissed off that I have the common courtesy to slow down and get over as far as I can to let him pass.  But he’s not getting it.  He lays on the horn.  I stick my arm out the window and wave him on.  He mus have misunderstood because now he’s yelling something out the window and shooting me birds.
I wave harder out the window, my hands and fingers spread open so he understands I am not, in any way, flipping him off, I’m just trying to get him to go around me so I can get back to my song and he can get to wherever the hell he’s going in such a hurry.
But he don’t get it.  Now he’s laying on the horn continuously.  I check the speedometer.  I’m doing 44 in a 45.  It’s a straight road, plenty of dotted yellow lines between me, him and the hill a mile away.  He can easily pass me, but he’s too concetrated on blowing that goddamn horn and yelling obcenities at me.
I wave one more time, hard and over exagerateted to get his attention and when I swing real hard motioning him forward my forearm hits the top of the car and my hand and about six inches of my forearm break off and go flying into the road.
I hit the brakes hard, I don’t wanna run over the only left hand I got.
Of course, this pisses him off to no end.  I slam to a hard stop and jump out of the car.  As I’m running over I am vaguly aware of his car screeching to a stop behind me.  I hear him yelling but it’s drowned out by the sound of the tires on road.
I pick up my arm, thankful he didn’t run over it.
He keeps yelling at me, and now that he’s realized I’m half dead, it gets worse.  He’s calling me everything you can imagine.
He threatens to run over me and I warn him that it is illegal to run over a pre-z and I have a camera in my car recording everything.  This may have stopped him from running over me, but it doesn’t stop him from yelling.  I walk over to him, maybe if he can see me, look in my eyes, maybe he can understand that we’re both humans.
As I get closer to the car, I realize it’s not one of those giant monster trucks like I thought.  It’s just one of those toyotas like the terrorists drive.  It only looked big because I was sitting so low in my piece of shit fiat.
I walk up to him and am about to apologize.  I got my broken left fore arm in my right hand and as I walk up, the motherfucker spits on me.  He leans out of his window, so he towers over me a little and spits right in my mouth as I’m apologizing.
I was holding my broken arm in my right hand, I mentioned that.  I was holding it so that the jagged bone of my forearm is facing up, and my left hand is facing down.  When he spit, and I tasted it in my mouth, I just reacted.  I didn’t mean to shove my broken bone straight up into his jaw.  I just reacted, but I really truely overacted.  I hit him so hard, my broken bone shattered his jaw and kept going up through the front of his skull, ripping his entire face off.   His face exploded right in front of me.  It was like I popped a zit.
I didn’t mean to do it, but I really, really loved the feeling of doing it.  His body fell limp over the door of his stupid toyota truck and the amount of blood was just godawful.
I walked back to my car and got in.  It was a little difficult to drive off because the pos fiat is a manual and I only had one arm.  I figured out I could wedge the split bones in my left arm around the steering wheel though, so it’s all good.  It felt good.  I felt good.
As I drove off there was a different song on the radio.

Day 89

So I was asleep, but kind of dreaming.  In this dream, I could see myself sleeping in my room.  It was late.  The streetlight outside my window the only light in the room.
Then, a shadow walks past my window outside.  Then another.  Then a whole mob of shadows.
My sleeping body awakens, stiff, robotlike.  I get up and walk outside.  There is a horde of zombies shamabling along. I instinctivly follow them, but as I get one of the zombies in back turns on me and tried to eat me.  I slap him upside the head and yell “I’m one of you, bitch!”
He pauses and smells me.  Grunts and turns back to the group.
I keep following as they wander down back streets and alleys toward downtown.  They seem to be avoiding the road.  It’s a big group, probably 30 or 40 zombies.
And then I hear screams and the zombies in the back pick up their shuffle.
More screams.   I try to run up ahead and see if I can help, but I can’t run.  I just amble along, doing the zombie shuffle.  The screams die down.  I hear some begging and shouting.  Screeching tires. I finally catch up and the horde is all over  a parking lot. A parking lot full of teenagers, or what’s left of them.   A minivan screeches out of the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of a girl with blood on her face who’s out of her mind with terror.  Her boyfriend is in the back seat, the sliding door is still open.  I can’t tell what race he is because his face is covered in blood.
The zombies are all over the teenagers who didn’t make it, but over behind a small truck I see legs sticking out.  I amble over to see if I can help and it’s a beautiful girl, she’s just laying there propted up against the tire of the truck.  She doesn’t appear harmed but for some reason I know she’s dead.
Not sure what she was doing but she’s got this cornicopia of fruits and vegatables in her lap.
When I say cornicopia, I don’t mean that figuratively.  She’s got a real cornicopia like motherfucking pilgrims had.  I’m trying to figure out what she’s doing with it, maybe shw was in a play, or something.  SHe’s not dressed in a costume, I don’t know it’s just weird.  I get closer to her, I’m not gonna let any of the zombies defile her body and the smell of those plums and grapes is just overwhelming.  I haven’t eaten for a couple of days because of the naseua and fuck it, she’s not going to be eating them, so I dig in and let me tell you.  That was some of the finest food I had ever tasted.  Corn on the cobb that still had melted butter.  How?  I don’t know.  But it tasted perfect.  Link sausgaes still warm and greasy.  Where was she going, this beauty?  I pull out the biggest, juiciest plum I’ve ever seen.  It’s almost overripe and when I bite into it, the juice just explodes, I have to do that thing where you have to stand up and hold your mouth out away from your body so the juice doesn’t get on your clothes.  It was that juicy and Jesus, it was delicious.
I’m standing there feeling really good for the first time in a long while, I got plum juice on my fingers, on my chin – it’s in my beard, but I don’t care, the motherfucker is good.  Then I hear a scream, and for the first time all night, I’m not outside my body.  I’m still in the parking lot, standing over the dead girl, but there’s another girl in the truck and she is staring at me with the biggest eyes you ever seen and her scream is one of those spine peircing yells that has gotten the attention of all the other zombies in the parking lot.
I stick my hand out to tell her to shhhh and I realize it’s not a plum in my hand.  It’s some type of organ.  A human organ, I think it’s a heart.  Blood is running down my arm and dripping from my elbow.  I look at the dead girl.  She wasn’t carrying a cornicopia – that was her exposed ribcage.  Organs, intestines and blood are all over the place.
The girl stumbles out and falls to the ground as the horde converges on her.  I know I should try to help her, but I’m about to throw up, the nausea is overwhelming.  I bend over to hurl.  I hear the girl, still screaming and crying get up and try to run away.
I can’t puke.  I try real hard.  Not working.  I’m like “Fuck you stomach, you are not keeping that down there” and I jam my finger down my throat.  I can’t do it.  I fall to my knees is despair and disgust.
I hear the girl and look over as she’s surrounded and goes down.  I try to scream but all I can do is moan heavily
I wake up, in my bed.  For a moment I am relieved that it was a dream, but there is blood all over my clothes, all over my bed.  It’s on my shoes.

Day 6

I felt horrible this morning, the worst I’ve ever felt.
Like you drank all the tequila in Mexico bad, but without having the pleasure of drinking anything.
I tried every pain killer in the medicine cabinet and finally, late in the afternoon, I can’t take it anymore.
I dig out the card the doctor gave me and I google the address.  I got nothing to lose at this point so I head out.
I drive over to the address and am surprised it’s a Mortuary.
It doesn’t say it’s a Mortuary on the card, it’s just an address.  I’m like “WTF” and I look at the card for some insight? Did I grab the wrong card?  Is this a joke.  A fucking cruel joke?
I flip the card over and there is a handwritten note that reads:
“After 5 Use Rear Entrance.  Only come between 5 – 6.  Only Use Rear Entrance”
I walk around to the rear entrance and I this place is huge.  It looks like it was an old house, some rich fuckers house at some point in time.  It seems to take up an entire block.  Around back there’s this little alley way, street thing.  The back is enclosed by a big stone wall and a giant iron gate.  I try to open the gate but it’s locked.  There’s an intercom and I press the button but I think it’s broken because it doesn’t make a sound and no one answers.
I check the time – it’s 5:44  Dammit.  I look through the gate.  I yell out like a moron “Anybody back there?”
There’s all kinds of nice landscaping and trees, but it looks spooky as heck.  More like a graveyard than a back yard.  The sun is going down.
5:47.  Today’s the last day to get treatment so fuck it.  I climb over the gate, almost impaling my ball sack on those pointy iron bars at the top.  This causes me to fall parallel to the ground with I’m sure a loud thud.  I don’t know if it made a thud because it knocks me the fuck out.  When I come to, I’m confused.  Look around and then oh shit, check the time.  5:57.
I get up and stagger to the door.  I almost don’t knock.  The door doesn’t look right.  Fuck.  One minute left to get my meds, however fucked up they are.
I knock and the door jerks open immediately.
A tall black man wearing a dashiki and dreads down to his ass exclaims “White boy, I’ve been watching yo ass fiddle around out her like a little pussy for the past 15 minutes.  What you want, mon?”  He takes a hit off a large marijuana cigarette
I must have stammered because, he says in the biggest reggae voice “HE LISTS DIFFERENT TYPES OF POT HERE”
He blows the smoke in my face.
I’m like no, I’m here for the pre-z meds.  I was told…
And he’s like “Ah mon, I got what you need” He waves the smoke away from my face apologetically.
“So you’re not a little white boy, you’re a little dead boy”
I’m not dead.
“You will be if I can’t help you”  he laughs.
 have to find the notebook with the rest of this post in it… stand by

Day 172

I wasn’t really trying to kill the dog, but that’s all that people are going to remember.  Brian the dog killer.  I was minding my own business as usual when the neighbors little yappy bitch starts barking again.  She’s not barking at anything that I can tell.  She’s just barking and it’s driving me crazy.
See, the thing is, I can sleep standing up now.  I can sleep with a wooden stake rammed through my leg.  I could sleep through the dog barking if she would just keep fucking barking.  But she doesn’t.  What she does is bark enough for me to wake up.  She barks a couple more times to get me really awake, to make me wonder what the hell is out there that she’s barking at.  Then she stops.  I stay awake listening to nothing.  I slowly fall asleep again just in time for her to start back barking.  Goddammit, I want to kill that mutt.  It’s been like this all night for the past several nights.
Another thing is, it’s not like I wake up immediately when she starts barking.  It’s a gradual thing.  Being a zombie is weird.  Of course it’s weird, duh, but the best way I can explain it is like this.  I was reading one of Alan’s many unfinished novels and this one is about werewolfs.
Mind you I don’t like to read any of Alan’s work because Alan sucks as a writer but I was on the toilet in his house and there was nothing else to read.  So out of the trash I pick up some stuff he has thrown away and there is this one part where the werewolf is trying to explain what it’s like to be a werewolf.  The werewolf explains that when he has transformed to full on werewolf and is attacking someone, it’s like he’s a small person trapped inside the head of this monster.  He can see out through the werewolfs eyes but it’s red and blurry.  He tries to control his body but it’s like he’s stuck in a big cube of red jello and all his movements feel like they’re pushing through this thick gelatonous goo.  He’s powerless.
And I’m like wow, Alan, you don’t understand how close you got it to what it feels like to be a zombie.  See, to me, it’s exactly like I’m stuck right in the middle of a big 10ft by 10ft cube of red jello.  I’m supended in it.  Sound, light, everything is muffled and muted.  My movments are slow, but on top of that, if I were to be sound asleep and someone walked by and touched the edge of the jello, that movment would slowly ripple through the jello and reach me.  It’s like a sixth sense.  It works through walls and doors.  That’s how I could tell Alex was behind the bedroom door that night with a baseball bat.  The red jello told me.
So when this dog barks, those barks hit the jello first and start rippling.  The more she barks the more it ripples down to me so that I cannot ignore it.  It keeps rippling long after she stops barking.
That bitches bark rocks me all night long.  So finally I can’t take it.  I’ve spoken to the owners about her and they did nothing so now I have to.   I wait till everyone is asleep and sneak over there.  I try to catch the dog and I’m not gonna kill it or hurt it, I’m just gonna take it far, far away and let it go.
But as I’m sneaking into their yard, I get this crazy idea.  What if I bite it?  Will it become zombified like me?  Not that I want it to die, but it would be pretty dang cool to have a zombie dog that wouldn’t be afraid of me.  So I’m thinking I might bite it, but it doesn’t matter if I wanted to because the goddamned mongrel is way to fast for me. And she’s not scared.  She thinks we’re playing.  She keeps running away from me, but not really running.. More like barely trotting and we just keep going around in circles in this little suburban backyard.
And the owners had a security system back there and now they’ve uploaded that stupid video of me being run to death by a little heelbiter and everyone is having a good laugh.  The stupid zombie man trying to eat a dog. I’m not chinese.  Wtf.  I asked them to take it down but they laughed some more.  Laugh, laugh, laugh.
When it gets close,  when it gets almost time for me to change into my final form, whatever it is, you know the zombie I’ll never come back from, I’m going to visit their bedroom and shove that camera up their asses.  And I will laugh.  I will laugh their asses off.