Zombie Waltz

The dark room smelled musty, carpet damp with what I can only assuming is red Kool-Aid. I walked in and looked around, there were people lying unconscious on the carpet. One of them stirred, and got up. I backed away from him. I was almost sure I was insane, but I’m pretty sure his face… his face… his face was falling off! I grabbed the chair closest to me, and threw it at the guy. He tumbled, and began getting up, and came toward me again. I kicked his side, hard, and ran. I skirted the corner, and saw three more people like the last one trudging over toward me. I turned and saw two more. I sighed, this wasn’t going to end well.

I sighed, put down the Algebra book and the pencil, and looked at all the corpses on the floor. I stepped over a few of them, tossed down the book and pencil, picked up the college dude come zombie’s backpack and trudged toward the exit. Without warning, a ninja zombie came out and drew his blade on me, which surprised me; I’ve never seen a zombie shade so well. He threw the sketch pad at me, and I got a nasty paper cut over my nose. He dashed after me and we met in combat. After 15 minutes of exchanging blows, we tired out and I sat down. Without warning, a man dove forward out of a window, but he was already bitten. Under the bag on his head, the bite mark glowed, and he stood up and trudged toward me. Exhausted, I wearily got up, took the bag off his head, punched him in the nose (which came off), and he fell. I saw sixteen more trudging toward me, so I threw the bag over me head so I didn’t have to see my own impending doom. There were eyeholes already cut out, so it didn’t help. I felt the shortest one bite me in the ankle, and I blacked out.

--

I got up and looked around. The dank building wasn’t so dank anymore, but actually more fragrant and humid, pleasantly so. I looked at my colleagues, whom all had excellent taste in clothing, well, what was left of it, anyway. I opened my mouth and talked to him, “Blllurrrrrrnggg…” He looked at me, and I could tell he understood, and “Grruoged” at me. We both left the build and roamed the street. All of the sudden, a man burst from behind a counter. “Who in Mt. Rushmore are you!?” I reached out, ripped off his arm, and had a nibble. “Grunnn.” Too salty, so I backhanded him with his own arm. I looked at my zombie friend and we grunted in conversation about zombie rules and manners. He told me the more mayhem and absurd deaths / injuries I could manage, the more whole, mobile, and active I can be. I found that rather interesting, and made it my personal goal to become a great zombie, and my name will be known and feared throughout the world. I am, the Paper Bag Zombie.