A/N: Written on the winds of a whim. Clearly not the best thing I've ever done, but it made me giggle.
I got to work this morning and made myself a coffee. So perhaps I put some blood and gray matter into it; what's it to the rest of you? It's not as if it was soylent green, although from the reaction I warranted it may as well have been just that, which I find very offensive as that would have made me into Tab Fielding and my objectionable anti-brain-eating assailants Ty Thorn. Why couldn't I be the Charlton Heston for once? Humans are so full of themselves some times. I'm rather glad I died and ascended to this higher state of being, although it's not without its drawbacks. As you can see, I'm rather frightening to most people now, and my skin and tissues haven't stopped decaying… but on the plus side, I lack the capacity to care.
It actually didn't occur to me as to what I was until about six o'clock, when I left for the office and arrived at work. I was early and not many people noticed me in my cubicle until Jack, in the cubicle right across from me, decided to chat and invaded my space.
"Gary!" He yelled and slid over in his rolling chair and jumped over the desk, putting his full weight on the board. Jack was a rotund fellow, more loud-mouthed than was probably good for him. I'd always thought that his blond hair and blue eyes and pot belly made him seem like a jolly Swedish Santa Claus. He was also very red in the face all the time as part of some skin condition, but the second Jack saw me, he all the color drained from his face. I'm not sure what his expression was as I'm not very good at reading faces anymore, so it might have been horror or constipation that I saw in him, but like I said, I'm not sure.
I glanced up – very, very slowly, as most of my movements have to be slow now or parts of me start falling off and what not – and I may have even said this with some drool coming out of my mouth (one of the downsides to my condition, I'm afraid), "Jaaaaaaack…" I drew out the sound of his name because it sounded kind of funny coming from my abused vocal chords, and I laughed inwardly at the sound of it.
"Ho-holy shit, Gary! Oh my fucking—when did you become a zombie? Dude, I just saw you last night! What the--"
"Nooooo biiiiig, Jack," I said and slowly shook my head to avoid the decaying parts of me from flying off. "Got…attacked…on waaaaaay hoooooooooome…" I looked down at my mug of coffee with its mingled blood and brains and brought it pensively up to my lips. I moaned in delight.
"Carla! Carla, get over here! Take a look at this – Gary's a mothf—Tim, too! Come on you guys, look, Gary's a zombie!"
"What, hey, really?" Tim peeked over the side of my cubicle and grinned with delight. Tim was from London and was a rather skinny guy, even compared to me. He worked out, so he was fit, but was also rather clumsy; I'd never understood why, because he looked like a competent guy with his finely trimmed goatee and hair. He was also obnoxiously cheerful, but it was a good contrast to Jack's extremely vulgar negativity sometimes. "Wow, Gary, you're a zombie? That's the coolest thing that ever happened to you, Gary!"
I nodded in zombie agreement. Slowly, of course. Each movement, as I learned last night as I joined the shuffling horde, would require more and more effort and thus would speed up my process of decay. Since I couldn't find any formaldehyde, I was stuck in the shambling, dead state that I was now without the preservatives. But such are the travails of a zombie.
Carla and Tim and Jack both stared at me for a good couple of minutes. I knew what they were thinking. "Hey," Carla suddenly said, "Can you do that…you know…thing?"
I used to have a thing for Carla. As a zombie, I didn't care much for her assets anymore as I did her cranial cavity, but she used to be an interest of mine so I pardoned the implied insult and disregarded the delicious contents of her skull that I was surely going to crack later and obliged. I knew what they wanted – everyone who knew someone who became a zombie wanted to see it.
I pointed towards my arm and grabbed it – and slowly but surely, tore it off from where it had fallen last night when that surprise zombie attack had hit me. Now that I was one of them, I couldn't complain. I don't remember what pain feels like. Hell, I don't remember much of anything. Took me three hours last night to remember where my work was or who the people around me were. Turns out they were my relatives or some such – and all the screaming they were doing was because my jaw was falling off and there was goopy blood everywhere. Being a zombie is such a mess, I know.
Well, that and I'd just eaten the brains of my Aunt Judith. Never much liked her anyway, though.
Anyway. I twisted my arm off for the benefit of Carla and waved it around like a flag. The three brainilicious idiots howled in disgust and delight, and I gradually reassigned my arm to its proper position. If need be, I knew I could take it off again – for I did not feel pain – and beat them all to death with it. And then take off their heads and eat their brains.
After screwing my arm on again, I used it to pick up my brainy blood-coffee and down the rest.
The three didn't have much to say to me after that, but they couldn't exactly leave me where I was, in my zombie condition. Oh, humans and their paranoia.
"That arm thing was great, Gary," Carla clapped in delight and brushed aside her copper hair. She refused to make eye contact with me. That could've been due to one of my eyes choosing to pop out of its socket at the time. I shoved it back in with the slowness and ease that comes from zombification.
"Yeah, man, that was great. I bet you could do so much cool stuff right now. Like, seriously, we should take you out to a bar and see how many people you scare!"
"Yeah, it's probably too late for you and the cure," Tim added.
"No cuuurrre…like zombie…"
"What's that, Gary? You like being a zombie?"
The three looked at each other and I think they were confused. I was too busy to tell, I was fantasizing about eating their brains. Tim guffawed and looked back at me. "Why? Your eye just fell out of its socket."
"Awesome though that might be," Jack corrected, glaring at Tim for his tactless comment, "it was rather gross. Why would anyone want to be a zombie?"
"Especially you," Carla added unhelpfully.
"Easy…" I drawled, licking my lips at the thought of eating their brains.
I stared at them in succession for a few seconds before realizing that they were asking me a question. I'd forgotten completely. I was so busy staring at their delicious foreheads, fantasizing about their cerebral cortexes when the question had completely slipped my mind. "Uhhhh…."
"Gary? You alright?" Carla cocked her head and then apparently thought better of herself for the comment and said, "no, wait, nevermind. Forgot for a second."
"How could you forget for a second?" Tim laughed, leaning over the cubicle wall some more and scratched at his goatee. "I mean, really, the man's jaw is missing." Tim pointed at me and laughed even harder at the half of my missing jaw. I supposed it had dropped off at some point during the conversation. I looked around briefly to make sure this wasn't the case.
"It's just…you know…it's Gary."
"Repeeeeaaaat…queeesstioooon," I implored the threesome.
Jack waved his hand in the air as if there were a bad smell. "Nevermind. It wasn't important."
The three stared at each other again, apparently conferring silently about something. That was fine by me, it left me uninterrupted time to gaze longingly at the back of their skulls. Such delicious innards…I wanted them!
Tim turned away and went back to looking at me, this time with renewed enthusiasm. "So," he began, "what are we going to do about you, Gary?"
"Yeah," Jack said. "We'll have to tell the boss, you know."
"Nooo….noooooot Sulllllleeeeee…" I moaned, staring at Carla's skull. She inched away from me, unnerved. It didn't matter. I could still chase her down and eat her head before she could escape. I calculated the odds of her reaching the elevator in time before I could launch myself at her. We zombies were slow by nature but we could be really fast when we wanted to be. It's just that being slow was more fun and a lot easier. Oh, Carla, you and your delicious brain.
"No, not Sully, he says," Jack repeated, looking to Tim. "Best not tell the boss, eh?"
Time shrugged and leaned away from the cubicle. "Alright then. I'll be back in a sec."
"You sure, man? I mean, we could take him home…or to the bar…think of all the fun we could have with a zombie!"
"Yeah, but it's Gary, Jack. It's what he would've wanted, I think."
"Alright, Civilian Justice it is."
Carla's eyes widened at some implication in their speech. I changed my slow gaze from her to Jack and stared at his appetizing forehead instead. Brains, brains, brains, brains! Ohh, I was so hungry! "Wait," Carla objected, "you mean you're going to…?" She made some motion with her hands that I couldn't see, and Tim bobbed is head like a parrot in response.
"You betcha. Got the tools right here."
"Yeah, Tim's been prepared all week," Jack nodded. "We knew one of us was going to get it eventually. Too bad it was you, Gary."
Tim left the wall of the cubicle and began rummaging behind his own desk. I heard an anonymous, familiar clicking sound and tensed up. Zombies had speed and slowness both at their disposal. I was prepared to use both. What was Tim doing?
"I wouldn't say that, Jack," Tim said conversationally, whistling some Irish tune to himself. "I think being a zombie was the best thing that happened to Gary! Right, Gary?"
"Aggreeeeeed…" And because I couldn't resist it, I had to add a, "Braaaaaaains," mutter right after that. Apparently Jack and Carla heard the mutter and backed away from me.
"Tiiiiiim," Carla sing-songed, holding up her hands, backing away from me. I slowly started to stand up, my removable arm twitching a bit with anticipation. So this was it. This was my feast of the day. I couldn't wait!
"Tim, hurry that twelve gauge up," Jack demanded.
Ah. A shotgun. So that was it. That was how they were going to be.
Tim shot up from his cubicle, shotgun at the ready, and pumped it. "Ready!" he cried out cheerily, aiming it right at my head. "So, Gary, where do you want it? Mouth, or the eyes?"
I tried to figure out which one would sound more exciting. "Neeeeiiiiiitthhhheeeeerrr," I drooled and faced Tim.
Tim chortled quite merrily, enjoying my little jest. "Ah, Gary. Always the joker. Mouth it is!"
I never liked Tim.
He shot but he had bad aim and hit me right in the belly. I didn't attempt to dodge, because dodging a shotgun is futile, as any zombie will tell you. It left a great, gaping hole in my chest and brought the attention of the entire office. Tim just stared, open-mouthed at his bad aim and I stared down at the gaping, decaying hole in my chest.
"Hoooooole," I muttered, fingering my charred entrails and the smoking ruin that was once my chest. A sudden rage started to well inside me. I wasn't familiar with this feeling, so I couldn't identify it. "Hoooolllleee," I repeated, trying to grab the intestines that were supposed to be in my body cavity but didn't cause me any pain. I was dead – I couldn't feel pain. "Hoooolee!"
"God damn it, Tim! You have horrible aim!" Jack cried out and ran over to his co worker. Carla backed up against the wall, staring at the hole in me just as I was. I looked slowly at Tim, shuffled a bit forward. Jack was trying to wrest the shotgun from reluctant Tim who was shouting rapidly in his ridiculous British accent – I watched the two struggle, and after determining in the next few seconds that angry brains weren't as delicious as frightened brains, I lunged for defenseless Carla.
"BRAAAAIIIINSS!" I cried out and used my full un-dead speed to launch myself at Carla. She screamed and tried to run, but I got her first. "BRAINS, BRAINS, BRAINS, BRAINS!" I cried out savagely and started pulling at her hair. She screamed and screamed and screamed. A commotion was going out behind me and I heard the pump of the shotgun again but the shot didn't come until I lodged my teeth firmly through Carla's skull and stopped her annoying screaming.
I always liked Carla. She was a good friend, and even better eye candy. And her brain was delicious, delicious, delicious just like I'd thought it would be. I shoved aside her long, coppery locks and ended her struggling once and for all, snapping Carla's neck in two and started to eat her delicious brain right out of her bloody skull.
"Holy shit!" Jack cried out, jumping over cubicles away from me. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck! He just ate Carla! Shoot him! Ohmigod, SHOOT HIM!" I gnawed on Carla's brain and I heard the click of the shotgun.
I turned away from my feast and came face-to-face with Tim again. This time, he had perfect aim. "Goodbye, Gary. It was nice knowing you."
"For fuck's sake, Tim, shoot him!" Jack screamed, his face as red as a beet. "He's going rabid, can't you see the foam in his mouth? Shoot him! He just ate Carla's bra--oh my god," Jack added eloquently as he stared at the remains of beautiful Carla. He vomited all over the floor and my gory mess.
"Shut up, Jack," Tim growled. "This guy used to be our buddy. We'll treat him with dignity."
"And then you'll fucking shoot him?"
"Yes, Jack. Now shut up. Now, any last words, Gary?"
I chewed on the remains of Carla's bloody occipital lobe in my mouth and swallowed, delighting in the sensation and deliciousness. This is what I was for. This is what I existed for. This was all I needed. An epiphany hit me right then that I all I needed in my un-life was brains. That's all that anyone needed! It was such a delightful epiphany, and I thought it would make for great last words. Tim would probably appreciate it. I nodded at Tim and said, "Brains, brains, brains, brains, BRAINS! RAAAARRRRWWWLLLRGGGHH!!"
For the record, the last part there was accidental - I didn't really mean to scream out and make all that noise about brains, but you know how us zombies sometimes get. Whenever the subject of brains comes up, we always have something to say. Needless to say, Tim reacted much to anyone's expectations and the shotgun went off with a deafening bang.
You know, it's tragic. I'm very disappointed that Tim shot me in the head; he was a smart guy and would have made a delicious meal.