March 2045A Story by Alene ParrA letter from a teenage boy, post-zombie apocalypse to an unknown reader.MARCH 2045 To Whoever finds this, Zombies are living among us. No,
they’re not breathing or expelling waste, but they are going about their daily
lives. I saw one mail a letter the other day. A LETTER. Who does a zombie have
to send a letter to? I mean, he probably ate his whole family years ago. Oh, you have so many questions
now. I’m getting to them. First though, I’m telling you my story. Sort of. My mom was born during the Zombie
Apocalypse. Or, if you’d rather I be politically correct, the Disease Era. My
grandparents both died at some point during the chaos, but Mom was raised by a
group of refugees who managed to keep their brains from being eaten. Actually, I’d like to pause here
to correct myself. I was working off a stereotype there, but if you’re reading
this in the future or if you’re from a different planet, you need to know the
truth. Zombies don’t just eat brains. They eat flesh of any kind. That’s why
we’re able to keep them contained these days, at least for now. They eat our
dead. No more burying corpses. That’s kind of gross anyways, why did people
ever think that was a good idea? Then there was my dad. He was 4
years old when the disease struck. He was bitten really early on and his hand
had to be amputated, but they were able to stop the spread of the Strigoi virus
and he never became a zombie. Anyways, as you probably guessed, my father was
part of the same refugee group as my mother, so they grew up together and dire
situations and hatred of zombies brought them together. Great Hollywood story.
Or I think it is. Hollywood isn’t a thing anymore. That’s the funny thing about
humans, isn’t it? They make all these scenarios up and turn them into movies,
but no one ever takes them seriously or truly prepares for something that could
happen. I’ve watched a ton of zombie movies and even though there isn’t a
single one that gets them totally right, there’s a lot of stuff that was
predicted correctly. So why weren’t we coming up with answers to the zombie
problem, just in case? Next I hope aliens invade, and we’ll see how we deal
with that one. Last week, there was this big
revelation that the zombies had formed a political party. Party Z, of course
was the name. I think they probably thought “Flesh-Eating Party” sounded a
little too much like a typical Saturday night for them. Okay, I know that joke was bad. Anyway, so the zombies want to
represent themselves in the parliament, because they have needs that differ
from the human population and they want their voices to be heard. They’re also
pissed about some racism that’s been going on. Yeah, zombies are more sensitive
than you’d think. Oh! This is important. My Uncle
Fred is a zombie. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you that already. The thing is,
we don’t see Uncle Fred very often because, well, my dad’s a bit pissed at him.
Yeah, he’s the guy who munched on Dad’s hand. And tried to eat his face. So, he
stops by for birthdays and stuff. They’re still pretty similar to
humans, you know. Except that they can’t really talk. The few things they do say
take forever to get out. I mean, like forever! And that might be okay for a
zombie. They can only die if you sever their brain stem. Basically, they live
forever. THIS IS WHAT’S SO FUNNY ABOUT
PARTY Z! By the time they’re done
discussing their platforms and what they want changed, I’ll probably be dead
anyway, so I’m not worried about it. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you more
about what the zombies eat. I know that you probably don’t care about politics.
Even politicians don’t care about politics. So, there’s these little
buildings set up outside of hospitals. All the dead bodies go there and then
the zombies go in and get their portions and that’s that. Easy. And
environmentally efficient. I guess some people are pissed because they don’t
want their loved ones to become Zombie Snacks.
Would you rather have them buried in the ground to be Worm Snacks?
Everyone’s gonna get munched on someday, it’s just a matter of who’s doing the
munching. I went to a graveyard on a
history trip last May. Holy, it was the creepiest place. Just all those dead
bodies, rotting there underground. Who would want to go there when they die? They’re also talking about
teaching us Zombie anatomy in schools. Which I’m all for because I really want
to know whether or not they go to the bathroom. It’s not really something I
know how to politely ask Uncle Fred, and I also have no desire to spend three
hours waiting for an answer. And I’ve never seen a zombie in a public restroom. I do know that zombies can’t
procreate. Thank goodness, because human babies are creepy enough, I can’t even
imagine what they would be like with dead eyes and saggy flesh. Also, can you
imagine two zombies doing it? So, that’s where we’re at right
now with the zombies. A civilized society, for now. Mostly because the zombies
know that they need the human race for food and humans don’t want to get their
faces chewed on. So, I hope
if you’re reading this, things are still going well. I’ll continue writing as
things continue to change on the zombie front. Best wishes, © 2013 Alene ParrAuthor's Note
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