This story begins decades from the end of a story, from after the zombie apocalypse. Humans are a rare species in today’s world. Some even say they’re completely extinct. It’s because the human race was too nice, too in love with themselves. That’s why they are all gone…
I don’t remember being human. There’s vague blurs that flashes into my subconscious, moments of memories of a much warmer time, however as soon as it enters my mind, it runs away, afraid of what I have become today. Well, I guess I can’t miss what I never had:
A pulse.
“Mitchell!” The store manager snaps, “I know you don’t have a brain, but could you please pretend while you’re working!”
Without noticing I was spacing out while ringing out a customer, an old woman, skin decayed and falling apart, as both of her eye balls are gone. Only gaping black holes remain.
“Sorry,” I tell her, awkwardly, feeling my manager, Harry, starring from behind my shoulder.
“Its fine,” She smiles back, letting me get a great view of her bloody gums.
I start bagging her groceries, hoping that was the end of it. However, life (after life) could never be so sweet. The manager just has to get his last word in, “There Mitchell. Is this so hard?”
Sometimes I want to make a come back like, “Wow. You should be proud. I thought zombies only ate people with brains.” But I stay silent because I know better.
He just doesn’t like me because I hid his appendages around the store last April fool’s day. Though I don’t see why he’s still so sour about it, I paid for them to be sewn back on.
“Have a good day,” the old woman tells me, taking her bags into her cart.
Feeling satisfaction of her thanks, I smile back “You too.”
That of course is soon ruined by Barney, another worker, walking up to my counter. This zombie is an early one. He ate three times anyone else was able to, making him fat with a barrel like stomach. However, there is a down side to being killed so early on in the game. He has bullet holes all over his body. Small and large holes spread everywhere and occasionally stain his work shirts as bodily fluids seep out.
One is even going straight through the middle of his forehead. You don’t really notice it, until you do, and then that’s all you can stare at.
“What Barney?” I ask his bullet hole.
In that hardy tone, he sniffles up a big wad of blood back up his nose and then he tells me, “I need you to stack the new shipment.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I’m on break.”
“But you still had enough workmen ship in you so you could tell me this?”
A big grin spreads across his face, rows of yellow and brown flashing my way, showing off his pompous fulfillment “Yep.”
Sarcastic, I pat his shoulder, before going past him, “You’re a great zombie Barney.”
“I know,” He snorts from behind me.
I just roll my eyes and try to shake off the annoyance from my cold shoulder.
The store, since the change, became much more zombie oriented. There are no processed foods or things that have to be made in a factory. No, those factories became slaughter houses to kill animals and the remaining humans.
Cannibalism is now franchised, no more potato chips, but straight toe chips, get them in your favorite flavors Asian, Mexican, or maybe, if you’re into it, monkey. And cereal hasn’t seen the light of day since you could get your milk with a helping of pieces of skin. Though, I have a personal favorite of spaghetti and noses.
But the crème da la crème goes to “Canned Brains.”
Every brain you could think of, we can supply, at the right price. They’re packed into a cylinder metal can in the freezer section. All labeled with a giant yellow smiley face, saying “A brain every day keeps the buzzards away.”