I've Got a Name

This is a work in progress. I'm working on short stories, poetry, photographry and artwork that's all zombie-related for a book.

     Hi. I’m a zombie. I don’t remember much from my life before I reanimate, but I do remember that I my name is Annabel. I remember little things like love and reading, but I don’t remember how to do them. My only memories of these things are that they existed in my life.

     I don’t have much of a life anymore. I’m falling apart and I mean that literally. I smell dead, I look dead, and I act dead. If it walks like a zombie and talks like a zombie, it must be a freaking zombie.

     A zombie’s existence is not glamorous, by any means. My brain doesn’t function on a very high level so I can’t think about much. I try to think about what I was like before I got to this point, but I fail at it. My thoughts always become consumed by consuming. All I want is the taste of living human flesh. I’m so hungry and I don’t know why. I also don’t know why I crave human flesh. I know I didn’t eat like this in my previous life, so I can’t understand why I’m so drawn to it now.

     I wander around this place. It could be a city or a town, but I can’t remember. It doesn’t look familiar. It could be my home place, but I can never figure it out for sure. I often look at the buildings surrounding me and try to figure out if any of them are where I did things in my real life. I think I had a job, but I can’t think of what is was or why I did it. It’s just little things that come back to me. I know the word “job” even though I can’t say it or tell you what it means.

     I have instances every once in a while where I come across a living face that I think I might recognize. Sometimes I can remember a name, but I can’t put together who they were or how I knew them. It doesn’t matter. All I do is go after them and eat them if I can get my hands on them. I don’t feel bad about it when I do eat them. There’s something that tells me I should feel bad, but I don’t know why.

     Just the other day, I was shambling around in this place and I came across one of these familiar faces. I stopped for a moment and tried to piece it together and then it hit me. I remembered a name. I don’t remember how I knew him, but his name is Justin. He could’ve been a friend, but I don’t remember what a friend is. It was only a moment that passed before I quit caring who he was, what his name was, or who he was to me. The smell of his flesh was just so intoxicating.

     I think he was going to try to kill me, but he never got the chance. I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him towards me. As soon as his face was in chomping distance, I tore a chunk out of his cheek. It was warm and had a metallic taste and I liked it. He screamed in horror, but I didn’t stop.

     I knocked him to the ground and he put his hand in my face to try and push me away. That was not smart on his part. Even with my limited functioning brain, I know that. I bit three of his fingers off in one bite. Mmmm…finger food. I think that should be funny to me, but I don’t know why.

     I keep taking chunks out of him as he screams and bleeds. I chewed on his arm as he flailed about trying to escape. I dug my hands into his stomach and the blood felt warm and smelled so delicious. It was at this moment that he stopped screaming and stopped struggling. I guess his life was over. I thought I should feel guilty about this, but I didn’t know why. It didn’t stop me either.

     I feasted for hours on him. Every once in a while I would stop and think of his name. Then I would revert back to my ravenous feeding frenzy without a second thought. His flesh started to become cool and the smell started to change after some time. He was not as appetizing as he used to be.

     Without further hesitation, I got up and shambled away. I knew I should feel satisfied. I know I didn’t eat this much in my real life. However, I still had the hunger. And so I shuffled further along in search of my next meal. I still think I should feel bad about my last meal, but I can’t remember why.

      I think to myself every now and again that this existence is pointless, but since I remember so little about my previous existence, I have nothing to base a comparison. So I stagger around in this existence content and constantly hunting. The hunger consumes most of my thoughts, but I do try. I try to remember. It fails me most times. I do hold onto what I have though. I have a name. I cannot say it, but I have a name. That’s got to count for something.

Author's Note

I'm still workng on it some, but I hope you enjoy it.

Reviews

[Za]

Damn.. this was a good read, I've never thought about stories like these in the perspective of the zombies. Great work!

[Sam Severn]

WOW! Blood-curdlingly gruesome n' yet funny....great stuff! ㋡