The Diary of the Dead Guy
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Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: |User| Guvnor Of Space | Guvnor Of Space}}|{{#ifeq: |User| Guvnor Of Space | Guvnor Of Space}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: |User| Guvnor Of Space | Guvnor Of Space}}| ]]
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Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: |User| Guvnor Of Space | Guvnor Of Space}}|{{#ifeq: |User| Guvnor Of Space | Guvnor Of Space}}]]
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 | Xanadu story universe |
Life sucks. And being dead is even worse. Yup. I’m a zombie. If the rotting flesh and smell didn’t give it away, I’m guessing the fact that my jaw is wired shut and I’m moaning is a pretty good hint. I have to keep it like that or I try to bite people. It’s a miracle that hasn’t happened yet. That’s why I’m talking to you using the computer. So how did this happen? I’ll tell you what happened. I attended that damn convention. Damn it! I know being a George Romero fan would get me into trouble.
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So yeah. I was your average college student. I was going for a career in medicine, which isn’t going to happen now, and I had a good enough family. Then my roommate had this brilliant idea to go to this costume contest. Our college wasn’t that far away, and even us college students could afford to drive there. The problem of course, was going to be what to dress up as. It was my roommate who came up with the solution. “We’ll dress up as zombies! All we need is some makeup and torn clothes. We probably won’t win, but if we’re creative enough….” And man, we were creative. I shaved my hair in patches, and then applied a nice gray shade to it, just like Mr. Romero’s old school zombies. I tore up an old suit I got at the thrift store and left a flower in the sun for a few days to serve as a corsage. Some fake blood and scabs finished the job. I looked pretty dead if I do say so myself. My roommate looked even better… or worse, whatever. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment. We laughed at each other, made zombie noises you know, stuff like that. We screwed around as much as possible. It was only an hour drive to the convention, even with traffic, so neither of us got a hotel room. I’m glad I didn’t. If we had, they might have tried to stick me in there afterwards. I don’t like to think what would have happened… Anyway we got there. We were having a great time, shuffling around, snapping at the passerby, when they announced that they were going to name the winners. Naturally, we were both excited. I stood up straight, in a very un-zombielike pose. My roommate… he slumped over and moaned in zombie like excitement. That was the moment of the event….
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Let’s just say that being a zombie sucks. Right after the change, I was pretty confused. The first thing that hit me was that I couldn’t feel anything. I had always thought that zombies must not be able to feel anything or else they would be in constant pain. The second thing was the fact that every muscle in my body reacted so slowly. While everyone else ran away, I more…shuffled. I was trying to run, I really was, but I physically couldn’t. It actually took me awhile to figure out that I was a zombie. I think I finally realized it when I tried to bite a fleeing guy in a parka. I just got a mouthful of fabric but it is a little scary to involuntarily attack someone. I chased the fleeing crowd before I realized what I was doing. That’s something else. Zombies chase loud noises. I managed to stop myself though. Let me tell you, that took every ounce of willpower I had. Of course, once I consciously stopped trying to think like a zombie, I realized that my roommate had to be having the same problem. I looked around the mostly deserted room before I spotted him. He was moving towards what looked like an unconscious man half under a table. Somehow I didn’t think he was trying to help. I tried to yell out to him, but all that came out was a moan. Yeah. I was a zombie.
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You’re right, at least I can still think for myself. My roommate wasn’t so lucky you see. When he heard me moan, he walked over to where I was. I tried to get his attention by grabbing him, but… He ignored me. I knew he felt it, because while my nerves were dead, I could still feel pressure. But he just kept staring blankly forwards like…well like a corpse. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t talk, I lacked the coordination and materials to write, and most people would probably run away from me. And now I seemed to have lost my best friend.
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That whole subconscious thing is both a blessing and a curse. True, it’s probably the reason I still remember how to type, but it’s also the reason my best friend got turned into a mindless zombie. No matter what I did, I didn’t see any sign of recognition in his face. I thought it might have been the fact that it was dead. But when I let him go, he took off for the nearest unconscious victim at full zombie speed. Luckily I was less decayed then him and I caught up to and restrained him. This was going to be a bad day.
I managed to drag him outside without any more biting. It seemed that zombies don’t attack each other. At least not in any of the old movies that we watched, which is all that matters I guess. The scene outside was bad. It turns out that while we had been inside, the police had set up a perimeter. I’m sure you know all about that though. The news coverage was pretty intense. Anyway, all I was trying to do was prevent a zombie apocalypse. I had no questions about what would happen if my roommate got away from me. I really wanted to be able to die knowing that I wasn’t responsible for the end of the world. I decided I would drag him over to the nearest SWAT van, thinking that they might have something to restrain him with. That’s when I tripped over the arm of an unconscious anthro fox. Damn thing was curled up in a pathetic little ball. I had no sympathy for the guy when I landed on him though. At least he was still alive. Of course what happened to them isn’t important. What is important is that when I fell, I lost my grip on my roomie, and he took off towards the nearest crowd of, uh, people. Luckily for the world, they managed to dodge the slow moving zombie. However, he wasn’t done yet. He switched his focus to the next closest group: a bunch of very scared looking rabbit people. None of then was taller then four feet, and they were all having trouble moving around. Apparently they had come as a litter of rabbits. I would later find out that the group of four people shared two feet.
This is a really bad thing when one has to run away from a zombie. The multi-rabbit tripped and fell over…which as anyone can tell you is a death sentence when facing zombies. Luckily, a nearby police officer saw the flesh craving monster. He was also smart enough to realize that it didn’t want to give the rabbit thing a hug. He shot my roommate in the leg, which happened to, uh, tear off. It was enough to drop him. The zombie who had been my roommate fell to the ground. He was confused for a second before (figuratively) shrugging it off and using his arms to drag himelf towards the rabbit. The police officer wasn’t going to let that happen. He stood between the zombie and the rabbit and the zombie, his pistol drawn. He looked scared out of his wits, but he managed to speak. “Detective Charles Brown, Orlando PD. Freeze or I will be forced to shoot!” Of course the mindless zombie didn’t obey him. I had just managed to get to my feet when the Detective opened fire. It seemed he was a fan of zombie movies. The shot went right into the ghouls head. Decayed brain sprayed all over the pavement. I moaned in frustration. That guy had just killed my friend. Oh the irony. I know now that there was likely no way to reverse the transformation, but at the time I fell into that age old zombie cliché. You know the one. It’s the one were the hero gives a speech. “They’re not your friend/spouse/loved-one/child/grandparent anymore.” Well, I had yet to hear the speech. I lurched towards the officer. The man looked more then a little worried to see a second zombie but held up his gun. “Damn procedure…Alright. Orlando PD freeze or I shoot.” I think it really surprised him when I stopped and held my hands up. I was angry at the man, but getting myself “killed” was not going to help matters. I even tried to smile. I think that’s when he peed his pants.
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I guess that it could have been worse. If I had been shot at all, it would have been permanent. Wounds don’t heal on zombies. I already had scrapes from the fall, and they were going to be there forever. Either way, he had the presence of mind to “escort” me over to a computer. The guy using it seemed to be going over the sign in sheet for the convention, apparently trying to determine who everyone was. The detective motioned for him to move. Seeing the undead monstrosity he was escorting, he obeyed. The first thing he did was open up a word processor. “Alright. Who are you?” I pointed to my name on the list. “And your friend?” I pointed to his. Then I started to type. Which is difficult with uncoordinated hands. I ended up hen pecking with my pointer finger. Why did you kill him He was my friend.” He started laughing. He stopped when he relised what he was laughing at. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s been a bit of a stressful day. I’m not even going to explain it. If you’re as big of a fan of zombie movies as you appear to be, you know the answer.” But we could have fixed it. There has to be a cure. “That’s what everyone else is saying. Right now, we’re just trying to sort out this mess. So if you’re not planning on biting anyone, I’m going to let you go.” Wait! Go where? He shrugged “Back to your hotel room. The place is quarantined.” I don’t have a room. Drove. The detective rubbed his chin. “Well then. We find ourselves at an impasse. I can’t let you go, but you have nowhere to stay here. Maybe…”
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And that’s how the ME (Medical Examiner, you know, the guy who deals with corpses) ended up in “possession” of me. I got transported to the city morgue, where I was placed in a freezer. I have two things I need to explain to you. The first thing is that I understood why they did it. I was, for all intents and purposes, a decaying corpse. Such things are not pleasant to let sit out in the sun. Plus, I liked not falling apart. The second is that I was no longer able to regulate my own body temperature. That was fine in the eighty degree Florida weather, but in a freezer, I found that all my muscles were completely frozen. Now let me explain something: The freezer I was in was an actual freezer. So there was nothing to do or see, and I was completely frozen. The detective had apparently briefed the M.E. on the dangers of an uninhibited zombie. I would find out that I spent a week in the freezer before a man in a suit arrived, and had the M.E. thaw me out.
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There was something we had never thought of. When you freeze something, all the water in its cells expands when it turns into ice. This causes many of them to burst. That’s why most food is flash frozen. It helps prevent this. I had not been flash frozen. When I first unfroze, I had trouble seeing. Apparently, my eyes were pretty badly freezer burned. That’s why I have the glasses. What? Oh yes. They look pretty bad, don’t they. That’s my “clothing curse”. Anything I wear becomes dirty and torn. Not that that usually bugs me. Anyway…
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The man wanted to talk to me about a more permanent arrangement. You know, one were I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind. Apparently, the guy worked for “Ripley’s Believe it or Not”. With all the other odd things that had been created by Xanadu, I was the only certifiably sane zombie. So he was there to talk business. The deal was, I got to live in one of their museums, with all my needs and entertainment met, in exchange for being on display twenty four seven. I snapped it up in an instant. It’s not like I could complete college now.
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The first problem we had to face was the problem of decay. This was actually relatively easy to remedy. This chamber I live in is filled with a gaseous disinfectant. One of the reasons no one is allowed in here. The levels in the air are lethal. I don’t have a sense of smell, nor do I need to breathe, so that wasn’t a problem. Anything I want, such as books or movies, are put through an airlock, where they are disinfected, and the air inside is replaced with the air I breathe. The next problem was my lifespan. Oh, I’m technically immortal. But with what quality of life? Every time you exercise, you are tearing muscle fiber. Your body repairs that fiber, and makes it stronger. That’s what working out is. Tearing your muscle fibers and having your body reconstruct them. The problem is that my cells no longer multiply. That means that every time I move, it becomes a little harder to do it the next time. Eventually, I will lose all muscle control. My brain may stay active forever, but I don’t want to contemplate what that will be like. I’ve already lost use of a pinky finger, and at this rate I will be out of muscles for the operation of this keyboard in the next forty years. And finally , the third and most important problem: Lawyers. That’s why my jaw is wired shut. Liability reasons. You see, even though I am intelligent, the museums lawyers decided that I might bite people and start a zombie apocalypse. The lawsuits would be enormous. That’s the reason I also have to wear this collar. It’s rigged with a small explosive device that will go off if I ever leave the museum. Oh, and I have to get regular rabies shots. It has something to do with the fear of zombie plague being mistaken for rabies. Which makes no sense at all. But, hey, no-one ever said lawyers were smart.
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It’s really not that bad being on display all the time. I never eat, I never sleep and I never have to use the bathroom. One of the other things I used to do in private isn’t possible anymore, because all of my nerves are dead. I still follow politics; I am still technically an American citizen, so I get to vote. (Though I am safe from getting drafted. Apparently, I have a “debilitating medical condition.”) I will probably “die” a lot sooner then I would have otherwise. That’s another part of the contract. I have a button to the collar on my neck. If necessary, I can bash my head onto it.
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And that, Mr.Reporter, is my story. I am a little bitter that my life has been ruined. I will never marry, never have kids, and never have sex. (What? I’m a virgin.) On the upside, I don’t have to use the bathroom, or sleep. On the downside, I will never taste food again or dream. I will never hike through the mountains, or see anything outside these four walls. I will never drink alcohol again, but on the other hand, I will never have a hangover again either. Although I have to say, I’ve missed my dreams.