So the Zombie Apocaqlypse has begun.
I've gotta say, post-apocalyptic "Zombie World" is not all it was cracked up to be.
There are way less of the "provactive-yet-functional outfits" and "cool-zombies-decapitating moves" side of things and way more of the "this-guy-hasn't-showered-in-a-month" and "i'd-sleep-with-smelly-guy-for-a-goddamn-donut" stuff.
What is kind of cool is that all those weapons I have been collecting and illegally sharpening for the past two years really, really, paid off.
Now that the world has ended, I'm not going to get all petty and try to rewrite history.
Let's face it. I was weird in high school. I'm weird now. But who is here to judge me? Not the high school bimbo i just stabbed in the face!
I liked leather boots, and martial arts, weapons and stategy. I was built for this war.
But let's face it. Nobody wants this. Nobody is frolicking around thinking
"gee, I'm glad the meddling scientist trying to cure the superflu created an army of the undead and now I get to live of a highly suspicious diet of spam and horror, woohoo!"
... well maybe the criminally insane. Or really big "Rambo" fans?
Although I kind of figure most of them died in the initial onslaught.
The wackos and prisoners and stuff. Not the Stallone diehards.
I think anyone in a confined space, like the hospitals, schools, prisons and stuff all got taken out pretty soon. It's hard not to get infected in an elevator, if y'know what I mean?
That's what makes me hopeful Emma would have made it. My baby sister was never a great attendee of the high school institution. And she wasn't a social creature by nature.
Living in a small country town, with no life and a kickin' right hook might just have been what saved the little freak.
Or at least that's what I am hoping for.
My Miss Karen is kicking it with me. She just laughed when I said I'd found a place 2.1 kms from her house exactly. It was handy because we trek so far out to the gym and all. Or we used to trek.
Man, it's still taking some getting used to. All this "used to" life stuff.
Like part of me still expects to be kicking back at the Miranda Hotel for some cocktail happy hour on a Friday Night. I will kill for a mojito right now.
Hell I'd kill for a cup of sugar.
I'd kill because that's all I can do now.
I wonder how long I will survive....?