Me, Myself

I'm not tethered to him or anything, I can go wherever I'd like. But he's gonna die one day - really, truly die - and I...I need to be there for it.

The screaming and gunshots started anew and, for what felt like the millionth time in under a year, I have to ask: why the hell was he still alive?!  Or undead or whatever; these weren’t the intimidating kind of zombies that sprinted at you like a pack of wild animals.  These were the shamblers and the stumblers and the crawlers.  The ones that we realized were silly and had to work to make intimidating again by introducing every possible mutation, infection, and gimmick under the sun.  Get the original flavor and suddenly no one can shoot straight!  Or he was just the luckiest little undead to ever walk the Earth.

                Glass shatters, terrified shrieking and the sounds of skin, bone, muscled being ripped and torn filled the air.  I glance over my shoulder, it was just the horde starting to slowly pile into the warehouse through a now shattered window on the side.  It’s a shame, seemed like Team Survivor had a pretty good shot at winning this one; building was heavily fortified, most of the windows had been boarded up, it was a lakeside lot so that was a whole avenue of entry cut off.  Ah, but the reigning underdogs, Team Zombie, rise above expectations and smash through the defenses like they were made of tissue paper and rip into Team Survivor like…well, like they were also…also…

                I heave a sigh, bending backwards until I was U-shaped. 

     Made of paper.  Jesus Christ what’s wrong with me?

                More gunshots ring into the night and I turn and float down until I was just above the horde.  Let’s see if my “VIP” has done anything worthwhile. 

                I swoop over their heads, not ruffling a thin, decayed hair as my hands pass through their heads.  Honestly, the best thing about the apocalypse was the horde " well, from the point of view of someone it couldn’t touch.  Guessing at the circumstances of their turning kept me sane.  Or, well, far from insane at least.

                 This kid for example, barefoot and bouncing on one pajama clad leg.  He was maybe around 6 or 7, his sleep wear colored blue and absolutely smothered with images of Pikachu.  Definitely got caught in his bed, which made him one of the earliest zombies, before Team Survivor started fighting back, the fact that he was still moving at all was pretty impressive.   In a morbid sort of way.

                Then there was this girl a couple undead over, real pretty, even with the zombie makeover.  She looked recent, maybe a few weeks at most, her auburn rat nest hair swung delicately between her shoulder blades in waves that you could lose a hand in.  Her clothes were even in pretty good shape if you ignored the entrails hanging out of the hole in her side and the bit of tendon laced thread that was keeping her arm attached.  She was definitely one of Team Survivors lose- no, no I mean lost.  C’mon stop that, these were people. 

                I sigh again and fly up to peek through the wall where the broken window was, looking around the warehouse interior.  The place was flooded with rotting flesh and dried blood; they clambered on top of each other and clawed at the air like the starved masses desperate for a dangling piece of bread.  They were all converging on the upper shelf, packing themselves on the rusted metal stairs all the way to the boarded up doors of a small, sheet metal room.

                Team Survivor was putting up a good fight, better than most I’ve seen when they were backed into a corner like this.  The muzzles of their guns poked through gaps in the plywood and every shot seemed to take out one or two of the shamblers, no wasted ammo.  Can’t say I was holding my breath though, the zombies always outnumbered the bull-

                I catch a glimpse of him on the very edge of my vision.  My eyes widened at the sight, I’d never seen him this close to a final stand.  He was crawling over a middle aged man in the remains of pink dress shirt a little off from one of the muzzles.  And then dress shirt fell, bits of his jaw hanging from his neck, leaving him out in the open.

                My heart would have been thumping in my chest if it were still there.  This may be it, the end, buh-bye cruel world and hello pearly gates. 

                He was slower than the others, his leg was all sorts of broken and he had to drag it behind like a slab of meat.  I could vividly remember the pop and crack and pain from that fall.  I could remember the desperation behind the dried blood on his sliced fingers as I was dragged on the asphalt.  I could remember every second of agony behind his ripped open chest and stomach, both now empty cavities save for a non-beating heart. 

                One of the survivors spotted him, a muzzle swiveled and leveled at his head.

                I could remember rising and watching as I was devoured.

               He continued moving closer, groaning in a voice too much like my own.  With a face so familiar it hurt.

                I could remember him getting up in my place, another monster on the streets.  My body, my teeth, my hands, my clothes tearing at my people like he was never one of them!

                This was it!  This had to be i-

                I clapped my hands over my ears at the screech of tearing metal.  Whoever was on the other side of the gun started, the shot going wide and hitting an old woman in a bathrobe next to him.  The muzzle disappeared from the gap as shouts of alarm, fear, and pain resounded off the walls.  I watch him as he lumbers into the horde, pushing and shoving until he clambered over the new hole ripped into the steel, gnarled leg and all. 

                My fingernail dig trenches into my palms and I float up and through the roof and into the night air.

                I f*****g hate being a ghost.

Author's Note

I've never had one of my pieces properly reviewed before. This was written for school but I'm proud of it and I hope you enjoy.