Tyler Vendetti
June 22, 2013 9:00 am

Dear journal,

I feel so empty inside. No, literally. I haven’t found a human to eat in months. What if we already ate them all? We zombies always say we just want to eat all the humans but in reality, we need them to survive. I finally understand how people used to feel about bees. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, right? Or is it, can’t dead with ‘em, can’t dead without ‘em? Because, well…you know.

These humans make a sport out of killing us, though, so sometimes I don’t feel so bad about wanting to munch on their brain matter. I may be a zombie but that doesn’t mean I enjoy being shot multiple times. I have enough holes in me (both physically and emotionally). I don’t need any more. Also, stakes. I understand vampires and zombies can easily be confused when you’re scared out of your wits but is there really any need to jab me in the stomach with a wooden dagger? Just put me out of my misery and knock me in the head already. I’d rather have that than walk around looking like an overused, human corkboard.

Oh, sorry, I meant zombie corkboard. In the back of my mind (what’s left of it), I still yearn to be human, I think, so I mix up my words a lot. I miss being able to feel the wind on my back or hold a girl’s hand without wanting to bite off all the fingers. I wish more than anything I could control these cravings because the look on a human’s face right before you devour them gives you the worst feeling in the world. You see the fear quivering on the corners of their eyes as they replay every moment of their life in that one moment. You are responsible for ending their life. You. You are a killer. And why? Because you were hungry. Man, I would kill to be a human again, just so my hunger would make me irritable instead of cannibalistic.

The only redeeming factor in all of this is that I get to eat the entire human before they have the chance to turn into one of us. I don’t even remember how I died, to be completely honest, and I wouldn’t want to subject anyone else to that feeling. I’d rather eat them and hope that they will go to Heaven than make them live in a state of eternal death. Not only that but I don’t even remember what gender I was before this whole debacle. I’ve walked into both the boys and girls bathroom without sensing even a hint of fear or excitement, so I can’t really figure it out.

I mean, it’s not all bad. As zombies, we can go anywhere we want, no questions asked. I walked into one of the most expensive restaurants in Boston last week, you know, the kind where you typically have to wear gold suits and top hats, and no one said anything. There were a lot of “ARRHHGGGGHGGGG RRRRUUUUUHHHHH”s, but other than that, none of the other zombies objected to my being there. I felt like Jack Dawson when he ate with all those stuck-up rich people in Titanic. Everyone knew I didn’t belong there but they couldn’t do anything about it. It would have given me a rush if I still had blood and all.

Then again, it would be nice if someone said something. Human interaction is a distant memory in my mind. Everyone around me is just so…so…brainless! Which is ironic considering that’s all we ever eat. Every time I try to start an intellectual conversation, my words just come out in grunts and I end up sounding like a constipated Italian guy, mumbling and waving my hands around and all.

Ugh, I have to go now journal. There seems to be a human approaching and I haven’t eaten anything in a couple of weeks so…well…duty calls, right? Sigh…

RAAHHHHHHHHHRRGGG,

– Zombie

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