After talking about zombie families and children, I realized that to my readers, my own origins remain a mystery. It's not surprising really, because it's not something I like to talk about or even think about if I can avoid it. Even so, I will pull back the veil and reveal the tragic details of my death. I'd like to remind you that we are dead, and therefore don't age by the conventional definition. I did not grow up from a little zombie tyke. I was alive for twenty years before I died.
Late senior year of high school, I met a girl on the internet. Hold your groans about the failures of internet dating, because I don't want to hear them. It doesn't work for everyone, but it worked fine for me then.
To continue, I met this girl. We were introduced to each other through friends and only really talked on occasion, when one of us was extremely bored and had no one else to talk to. I suspect that's how the majority of internet relationships, at least the ones that end up working out fairly well, develop. In time (I can't recall how or when it happened), talking to her went from an occasional thing to a daily occurrence that I looked forward to greatly.
When you're young like we were, meeting in person is a dreamy fantasy, distant and out of reach. A part-time job flipping burgers is hardly enough income to make it a reality. Instead, you have to settle with spending as much time as possible at a keyboard, letting text convey your thoughts and feelings. And so we did, almost daily. We shared everything we had to share, minds and souls entwined, if not bodies. A year and a half of savings finally paved the way, and a long, anticipation-filled car ride finally brought us together.
I imagine this is where you're expecting the girl to turn out to be a zombie, and that she had hidden it from me for all this time. That she was a hideous, rotting corpse awaiting her prey where we had agreed to meet. Perhaps even outrage at being duped and dragged into the life of a zombie.
Not even close. She was everything I expected and more, and the weekend we spent together could not have been more perfect. We capped the last night off with a walk along the beach in the glow of carnival lights. We whispered sweetly how we wanted it to go on forever.
Then we got mugged.
You never know how you're going to react to something like a mugging until it happens. For whatever reason, we fought back instead of allowing ourselves to be victimized by a scrawny, knife-wielding bum who positively reeked. In the end, we were victorious and he fled empty-handed into the night, although the bastard bit my girlfriend and cut my hand before making a run for it. We returned to the hotel we shared, and I tended to our wounds before we spent our last night of happiness together- the night we died.
Dying together didn't exactly endear us to each other. It was traumatic to wake up and realize our hearts weren't beating, that we weren't breathing, and all the other little signs showing that life had left us. And yet, we were still walking around and talking. We were confused, vulnerable, and alone, so we clung to each other. We had no idea what had happened, and no idea where to look for answers. Deep down, as pathetic as it sounds, we blamed each other. Surely this never would have happened had I never come to visit her.
We found answers eventually. While wandering one night, after having exhausted all our money on staying in the hotel, a kind stranger recognized us for what we were. He took us to the others and we learned what we were. For me, it was enlightening. I never would have imagined zombies lived beneath the cities, or even above ground if they were more daring. I immersed myself in learning all about these new found friends.
She didn't take to our new life as openly as I did. She was disgusted by what she had been turned into, and by me for accepting it. She thought us all an affront to God, forsaken by His grace, and she could not live like that. One night, she built a pyre and tossed herself upon it, after telling us all that we should do the same if we wished to be accepted into God's embrace. No one followed her example. I mourned. Others mourned with me.
Everyone has that one relationship that all others are weighed against from then on. I still miss her from time to time, and she remains the example of happiness for me. I hope she made it to Heaven like she wanted, but I don't regret my choice to continue living.
Now you know where I come from, and why I don't like to talk about it.
Until next time braaiiins...
