We do what we do to survive. Sometimes it is pure instinct, and other times, it is pure hatred. At some points, we lose ourselves.

I always look back on those situations mad at myself.

but he changed my world.

He killed me, only to save me.

I love him.

But I have no emotions.

This is the world.

Gone to hell.

© PretendingToBeProfessional/ InsertSassyName


1. Prologue



My bones are fragile. My skin is more. I am fragile. Ever since I was changed, I have hurt myself too easily. Ankle snapped. My arm continues to be bent at a strange angle. I have a high craving for blood. Not brains, blood.

But I'm not a vampire.

I also crave meat. Not animal meat, though I eat it, and it causes the cravings to swerve a bit. In fact, it makes the need for human meat and blood to increase.

There are many of us. We don't exactly live peacefully.

We do in fact have emotions. Without emotions, or feelings, we would not have hunger, pain, not even thirst.

Our emotions and feelings are different- certainly- but we are a lot like humans despite what vivid minded people have said.

In fact, I used to be a human.

But that was long before the transformations began.

The first one was a doctor. He had been experimenting on mice when some sort of gas or fluid spilled into his office. It changed him.

At first they were sure he was fine. He got up, and with help, walked out, and continued life.

A few days later, he killed one of his patients.

He had been working on humans for a long time. They were always corpses that were long dead. Nothing had ever happened to them before.

But he ate one.

I'm not even over stating this... This doctor, ate one of his patients.

It was like stealing, so he was thrown into jail. At the. Nearest jail, he had a special cell. It's reported that he complained of hunger,but not for real food, he wanted meat.

Scrambling to get what the doctor wanted, they cooked up steaks by the dozen.

The doctor refused to eat any of them. He saw them as large slabs of brunt meat. They were well done, and hadn't had been burned, so his watchers thought it had been stupid, and childish of the doctor.

Nobody could figure out what he wanted, so an officer went into his cell.

And never came out.

I have never thought of how cliche this all sounds, but it shouldn’t be. This has never happened before in history.

Maybe cannibals have existed, but to this degree?

We don't eat each other.

We don't kill each other for the next days meal. The doctor was considered out of his mind and sent to an insane asylum.

As a human, it seemed surreal, impossible, and it looked like a doctor had gone insane.

That was before it spread.

I caught it off of the streets before we even knew what was going on.

As soon as I found out, I left. I couldn’t stand the thought of my parents catching it, or being killed by me when I did turn.

I should have saved them.

My family died a few days later at the hands of another zombie that had lived in my neighborhood. She didn't know.

When you kill, all you know is food. Nothing else registers on your mind.

Just the fact that you're hungry.

Not for food. No, food will not quell the pains, will not stop the hunger.

And after a while, it becomes pain.

Sometimes raw meat helps, he blood tastes worse than human blood, but it does help you to keep going without feeding, or killing.

See, getting bitten speeds up the process of becoming a zombie. Unless the person is completely finished, they cannot make the transformation. The only other way to get changed, is to come in contact with the blood or saliva of an infected.

Without coming in contact, you do not become one of us. If you do in fact get bitten, you will transform in seconds. Unless they finish you off. If they- we- finish you off, you immediately die. There is no transformation, you will not come back under any circumstances.

I suppose in some cases that is better than what really does happen.

And the way I was affected, is a story lost with time. It was about a year ago. Since then, I have struggled looking for a cure, looking for anything that could save my life.

And nothing has came to rescue me.

Sure people have tried to help me, obviously, but it was for the better of others, sometimes these people don't live another day. Sometimes I cannot resist the hunger.

The hunger of an undead. The hunger of a zombie.

Sometimes this realization kicks in when it shouldn't. Sometimes it crushed me, and I just want to kill myself.

Sometimes I know that option is the only good way to be. I shouldn't exist I shouldn't be alive. And the people I have killed, will never come back, and it is all my fault.

It will always be my fault.

But I am unable to change anything else in my life. Now that I have gone through it all, now that I have pushed myself beyond anything I could comprehend, I look back and know what a horrible person I have been. I'm terrible. Beyond terrible, and horrible, and every other word that describes zombies, and flesh eaters, and every other living thing that is horrid.

I cannot be a worse person.

Maybe saying person is a long stretch. Obviously I am not alive anymore. Maybe I look it, but I do not act like it.

I'm a monster.

Maybe monster is yet another long stretch for a word. Maybe I should call myself worse. I don't mean I am better than a monster: no I am definitely worse.

You can say I'm being dramatic, impatient, irrelevant, and every other harsh word you could use against, but I know I am right.

I am far worse than a monster.

But how I became who I am, is uncertain to others, yet a hundred percent certain to me.

I was working in the hospital. Maybe working is a bad way to put it, since I volunteer, but my grandma pays me for it. Back to the subject, I was working as a secretary. Normally I would be delivering food to rooms, so this wasn’t anything like I had ever done.

We were getting a lot of people who were convinced they had been bitten. Normally people shouldn't go to where they are being cared for, but most decided to take the chance.

It was getting later and later a night, the hours dragging by. I had yet to come in contact with one of the infected.

Until probably the last 20 minutes.

One sneezed on me as I was working. Being there, I didn't think a second thought of it, just continued with my job.

Until I got the signs.

Then for me, all he'll broke lose. I had to get away from my family before the change even began.

But even then it was much too late.

My family wasn't infected by me, as I said before. I went back for them one night, but too late.

One of our old neighbors had gotten to them.

It was too late.

I guess this doesn't matter. It's long gone. Part of my history but long gone.

The effects still eat me alive.

I'm one of them.

A monster


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