|How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse
Author: Lolitroy PM
Reviews returned! Duff was on her sweet-sixteen when the undead attacked earth. Was she sad...? Nah! In a zombie apocalypse, you can make graffiti on libraries, throw apples at people... in other words, heaven. The only bad thing is the fact that you can't pee in peace...Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Horror - Chapters: 13 - Words: 18,676 - Reviews: 188 - Favs: 21 - Follows: 22 - Updated: 05-01-13 - Published: 02-29-12 - id: 3001423
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse
Sweet Sixteen of the Dead
When they aren't eating brains, the can actually be awesome. They're excellent stylists and do the moonwalk like professionals and make the best cotton candy. Free. In exchange, you just have to give your brain away.
Okay...maybe you didn't like the last part, but see, those people on Hollywood mess everything up. First of all, who was the genius who said zombies eat brains? Yeah, yeah, they were true, but, living in the middle of a zombie apocalypse isn't bad.
No rules, no police, no one telling you to stop making graffiti on libraries or to stop peeing on elevators. Zombies are quite stupid, maybe that's the reason why they're around asking for brains. Everything is awesome, except maybe the part about the fact that you can't do your biological needs in peace, thinking about all those undead that could catch you at any second.
If you wondered who I am, let me tell you. You don't care? I don't care that you don't care either. I'm Duff. YES, I KNOW IT'S A DOG NAME...anyway, AS I was saying, I'm Duff, I'm a female being, I'm In the middle of the Armageddon , alone, naked (you wish), hair turned into an afro.
The zombie invasion started as most of them do, see. Luckily papa is (or was) at Thailand doing some kinda merchant stuff and momma...well, she was helping me with my party. My sweet sixteen was coming soon and I had to keep myself from shouting randomly at the street, for I was kinda thrilled. Well, very thrilled. And, when the day came, I DID randomly shout and jump at the mall. Not that I'm crazy.
People stared at me like I was weird and backed away. I cared a sausage. That day, February 25 was my day and nobody could ruin it.
Except for zombies.
I was going home, singing and hopping and waving my arms like I was flying all the way to my house. I hit a lady and she threw me a deodorant she had on her pocket. Don't ask me why. And, out of the blue, I heard screams. I looked back. People were running away and screaming for their lives. I wondered why, but when I saw why, I got pale, my eyes widened and I felt cold at my back.
"JUSTIN BIEBER!" I cried in terror and ran away like crazy.
In the midst of my outrage I didn't notice the door was in front of me and I smashed my face against it. It hurt. I opened it, slowly, waiting for a surprise.
As you can guess, my party was ready, balloons on the roof, a six-layer cake and music. But my mom was on the floor as dead as the tuna I had eaten at breakfast. As well as the guests. They were all wounded on the head as though somebody had ripped their heads in two. I frowned. I knew what I felt in my throat, that feeling you have when you see a sad movie, or when you move away from the school where your boyfriend is. I fought with it the most I could. Not on my birthday. Not on my party. Not my mom. Not my dad, or sister, or family and friends. I frowned harder and squeezed my eyes. Hard. No crying on my sweet sixteen.
I heard a noise at my back. I turned around, eyes still closed. I just heard the gurgling of a person that has a piece of meatball in his throat. You damn psycho retarded, I thought. I opened my eyes.
Mama. Standing up. Alive. I smiled, but just for a moment. She was the color of a tomb and purple around her eyes, which were gazing at the nothingness. She was the one making that sound. Then, everyone began standing up, but they were all the same.
"W-Whatheheckswrongwiththis!" I mumbled, gulping. You bet I was freaked out. Still, when your family is dead and walking towards you with an open mouth which is craving for your brain, there only three things you can do:
1. Scream like retarded. Many wimpy teens and girls and boys that like their same gender do this.
2. Grabbing whatever is at one's reach to try to do whatever to escape alive.
3. Eat a sandwich. But no one would do this.
I looked at them, each time quicker. Option three looked good, but, the truth, I wanted to survive. I thought for a second, doing an escape from the dead must have some planning. But what? WHAT? Oh, whatever.
"MAMAAAAAAHELPMAAAAAAH!" I shrieked and began running in circles like idiot. A zombie grasped my hair, which was tied into a red braid. I cursed Michael Jackson for not giving me the idea of using a bun. I was blank.
"!" I tried my best to pull my hair away and the undead's arm popped off. If it hadn't been because they were after me I would have cracked up, but this wasn't the time. I began running around as fast as I could, looking for something. Found four things:
1. Gun. My dad's always watching for security.
2. Pocket Knife. Not very suitable...
3. Playboy magazine. What the hell?
4. Giant pencil. Mama had seen a giant pencil on a candy store and had fallen in love with it and had brought it home.
I sensed the zombies just behind me and grabbed option 2 and 4. I slipped beneath one of the thing's arms and dodged one that was just about to bite my head off. Wow, how funny it is you get those reflexes when your life is being threatened by guts eaters and not in gym class when your life is threatened by balls (the ones used in sports) and fat boys. One was right in front of me and I did the first thing that occurred to me: I crossed its head with the pencil.
I kept running away, making a face. That last image had been quite gross. I could hear screams from everywhere. I took a peek around. Everything, the city, my hair, my thoughts, my life, was a wreck. And then I realized.
The day I became sixteen, I lost all those whom I appreciated. Zombies invaded my neighborhood, the city, and, probably, the world. I had seen a playboy magazine opened, and worse, Justin Beiber. (What on earth was he doing here?)
My world is a chaos.
That's why, to keep myself from becoming insane is that I have sneaked into a neighbor's open house and stolen two chocolate bars, a notepad, a pencil and a dog. (I left the dog behind because he bit me. It hurt. That's why I hate Chihuahuas) And with that notepad and that pencil is that I'm now writing this. I called it: "How-to-Survive-a-Zombie-Apocalypse-Guide" and so I'll post in my first tip:
TIP 1: In a zombie apocalypse, never, EVER, kill a zombie with a giant pencil.