Zombism Or Hypothermia?
It all made sense once I decided I was dead.
20251019
Written for Bradley Ramsey's "Narrative Feast 3" event. Prompt from DailyPrompt.com
It all made sense once I decided I was dead. I mean, why else would I find myself face down in a cemetery?
Of course I don’t remember how I got here. Of course I can’t feel my body. Of course when I try to speak my words are slurred mumbles. It all makes perfect sense.
But now what? I’m not sure how to go about being dead. It’s like the first day of being a transfer student, where you can tell you’re doing everything all wrong but nobody’s explaining.
I should’ve watched more horror movies.
There’s distant shouting right down my ear. My vision waves back and forth.
Oh.
Someone’s shaking me.
My ears are slippery and can’t catch his words. His high-pitched, frantic tone grates against my foggy mind.
I think he’s alive.
What am I supposed to do? Is he… burying me? I suppose being buried might be nice? That what dead people are supposed to do, right? Go under the ground and sleep forever.
That does sound nice.
He’s peering at my fingers. Squeezing them. I don’t mind. It doesn’t hurt. Of course I can’t feel pain - I’m dead. But his sobbing is getting annoying.
Light disturbs the graveyard and blinds me, my eyes failing to adjust. Thankfully after a moment it’s blocked. Shapes swim into focus. Phone. He got out his phone. Now it’s held against his head.
Oh.
Someone who’s perished yet failed to die would be a monster, right? Makes sense that the real world would play out like those zombie games where you have to put them all down.
Or maybe they’ll take me to a lab. Put me in one of those giant tubes. Do… stuff… to me.
No. No, no! NO!
My arm swings. Clumsily, but with enough force to knock the phone from his hand. I throw myself on him.
He’s not fighting. His arms are trying to help me upright again. He doesn’t realise what’s happening until my teeth are buried in his neck.
My mouth can still feel how warm his blood is. But the taste feels distant. Like I’m watching someone eat through a restaurant window.
He gargles and thrashes against me.
It’s alright. It’s alright. Being dead isn’t so bad.
The exertion has awakened a throbbing in the side of my head. My hand gropes and fumbles and finds a soft spot which is… oozing?
I untangle my teeth from his flesh and roll sideways. My fingertips are stained dark. They glisten in the light from his fallen phone.
I touch the throbbing spot again. My fingertips come away darker.
Did… his blood get on me?
The roaring numbness sucks me deeper.
Must be. After all, I can’t be bleeding. I’m dead.
Aren’t I?
Sound is echoing from the phone, but it’s almost indistinguishable from the tinny buzzing in my ears.
I lie back down, next to him, and embrace the darkness that swallows me. That seems right. I’m dead, after all. It makes sense.
Prompt was “I perished but sadly failed to die…”