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Rotted Flesh

A man gathers his thoughts as a hoard of zombies approaches him to eat him alive.

Picture this: A world filled with dead and dying things. People, plants, everything. But I am not dead nor will I ever be. I often wonder what it would be like to be one of them — to taste human flesh, to sink my teeth into someone's trembling body. If I were to become one of these... What are we calling them, zombies? If I were to become one of these "zombies" I'd be forced to walk within the law that nothing really matters and nothing ever did. I'd be reduced to eating my own friends and family. I don't want to live like that, you know? Well, because that's not really living, I'd be dead. The fact of the matter is I'm not going to die. People count on me everyday to provide and protect. They watch my every move to ensure that their lives aren't in danger. With a whole group of people watching out for me like that, it is impossible for someone like me to die.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm better than any other unlucky soul whose very heart was ripped away, I'm merely stating that my odds of survival are higher than the average person going about on their business. I can't say it enough; there is strength in numbers and with that strength I will survive. All alone... that's when I would prepare to surrender my soul. I wouldn't waste time panicking or saying I'd be alright; I would accept my fate and just lie gently in the grass, sinking my fingers into the ground embracing the soil. In a matter of moments, I would never feel anything again so I would use this time wisely by soaking up as many things as I could; the things I took for granted.

As time shortly passed I'd fade away in a blissful state, all traces of thoughts evaporating into darkness. As nighttime fell, I would begin to lift myself from the ground and walk. My only impulse, not even a thought or desire, would be to feast upon living, human flesh. Across the old abandoned farm, there would be my group... just sitting there around a camp fire laughing and remembering the good times. Making my way over, I would feel no reason to hesitate. I wouldn't even feel a twinge of guilt. They'd see me, barely making out my face in the dim flickering light, and they'd offer me a warm smile. As they gestured for me to sit next to them, their look of overwhelming peace would turn instantly into looks of horror. Many of them would be confused and some may even feel betrayed, though we all know people aren't human at this point. But how would my friends recover? Would they recover, or would their remaining existence be for nothing but to fill my stomach? Even if they did manage to walk away alive, who would lead them? You know what? No, forget I said that. So many of them are strong and rational; any one of them could make great leaders.

If it were possible, I'd spare everyone the heartache and just walk away. My moaning would never be silenced by a kiss. My hunger would go unsatisfied. Should I stay, I'd risk losing any control I'd still hope to have. Without blinking I'd rip into every piece of skin I could gather, I'd hear their cries and desperate pleas for mercy but it wouldn't faze me in the slightest. There would be nothing for me to do but continue on. No. I will not die. Sure, I can't avoid it forever but I will not give up fighting. Instead, I will wake each morning with a sense that we're better off than the day before. No challenge will seem too daunting and no creature living or dead will stand stronger than us. I will not lose awareness of the world around me. I love my people. I refuse to let them down.