A Typical Zombie Day A Typical Zombie Day. Morning I decided that I'd best get out of bed. Having no need to actually sleep, who was I kidding that I even needed to be in bed. Anyway up I got. Slowly I crossed the room in my usual shambling way and stepped into my en-suite bathroom. There was a time when my bathroom was a true reflection of myself. Neat rows of toiletries, only the best I might add, Chanel, Boss, Aramis, I had them all, and a mirror of regularly polished, chrome trimmed glass, in which to bask in my own supreme radiance. Now, however, the Egyptian cotton towels and matching bathroom accoutrements had been replaced by nothing more than a dirty toothbrush stood in a broken jar. As you may have guessed, been a zombie, I didn't actually have any teeth but I did like to stand and gaze at what was a reminder of better times. Rather this than look into the long ago shattered mirror which would reveal nought but my extremely ravaged visage, (not a pretty sight ). After looking at my toothbrush for what must have been sometime, I decided to make a move and head on out into the street. This in bygone times, meant a casual stroll past the rows upon rows of crappy shops on my way to work. But now, however, it was more of a dive from building to building in the hope of finding a rotten corpse to masticate on before any other scavenger could beat me to it. Unfortunately despite trawling through several badly smelling side streets, fighting over a small bone with some ravens, ( possibly a child's femur, ) and gnawing on the remains of another decapitated zombie corpse, I didn't have much success. If truth be known I really didn't have the heart to go on a food search today. The daily routine of searching out a suitable food supply was at best wearisome. Even raw raven, at one time a favorite delicacy of mine, had lost it's pizzaz. I was also more than aware of the fact that it was almost a month since I'd lost, apparently for good, my best friend in the whole world; Rancid, my pet dog. Like myself Rancid was a zombie. Before the day that I turned Rancid, he had been the proud owner of the far more boring name of Sooty. Ironically the then Sooty, was not actually a black colored dog, as so much as a dog that often ended the day in a state of extreme discolour. The poking around in any filth he could find inevitably stood him in good stead in his later reincarnation as a scavenging hellhound. If only I'd been more careful and remembered to push my dilapidated couch back against the kitchen door where Rancid spent most days, then he wouldn't have been able to force his way out of there and out through the lounge window into the city. Sadly even the last memento that I had of Rancid, (almost all of his left ear, severed off and retrieved from the balcony floor,) had later become an early evening snack for an ever hungry me. I could still feel that little piece of my best pal stewing about in my guts. Poor Rancid how I miss you still. Lunchtime. Being a zombie, time had become a negligible part of my routine. The mere fact that I tried to adhere to my former timetables, was as much to create an illusion of normality in my otherwise current non-#life, as for any reason such as necessity. I was always hungry. My stomach constantly craved food. Yet I would always try to find somewhere to sit when the sun reached its zenith, in a mock attempt at a normal luncheon. This may have included a seat at one of the many long deserted restaurants within the vicinity, or just resting for a time on the skeleton of some long dead corpse. I was a true stickler for trying to keep a vestige of humanity in the way I both behaved, and acted. This, unfortunately, became harder as the days went by. It was ever increasingly difficult to appear human when one of your eyes fell onto your dinner plate, or your fingernails were the secret ingredient that gave your food an extra crunch. Today's luncheon menu would be as follows; breast of Corvus corax, washed down with a glass of house red. As I sat at my reversed dustbin lid dining table, I couldn't help but think back to better times when my dinner didn't consist of raw raven and a quart of its blood. Only a year ago, before the turning, I would probably have been at work on a day such as this, sweating over reams of paperwork whilst sat in an overcrowded office. The irony of my #life being that both then, as now, I would probably have been sat daydreaming about other things. A dreamer some might say; now dreams are all I have left. I swallowed the last bit of raven meat after having carefully removed it of feathers, ( a devil to get out from your throat if consumed,) and decided to have a careful stroll down to the river for a change of scenery. Now I say river in the loosest terms, as I'm sure that to you, like at one time I, would envision gushing torrents of ice cold, crystal clear water, running from mountain to sea in stately form. Unfortunately the reality was far less romantic. The river Styx on a bad day would still appear divine, compared to the putrescent, oozing, almost living mass of awfulness that greeted my eyes, ( yes I'd pushed the left one back in). Being near the river did have its benefits in that almost all the others zombies never came hear. " Why?" I hear you cry. The answer is simple; co-ordination, or lack of it. A zombie can swim about as well as a rhino can juggle. That's not very well at all. So, most of my kind avoid even the risk of falling into the water, like the proverbial plague. I, on the other hand, enjoyed the quiet this afforded me. I didn't much care if I did fall in as I was pretty sure the sludge was so thick, that I wouldn't even break the surface if I did. Even the damned ravens avoided the waters edge for some reason that I as yet had not fathomed. In other words and to cut my rant short, I quite liked it here. I took a seat on an old tree trunk and stared out at the world ghosting past me. My mind wandered to other things. I hoped Rancid hadn't fallen into the wretched river. That would be a fate worse than even the one I had bestowed upon him. I don't know why I did it really; possibly the thought of been forever alone in my half-#life or just jealousy at Sooty, as he still was then, having it better than I did. Maybe it was just down to ravenous hunger and the bite that I took out of his rump, that in time had turned him. Poor Rancid how I miss you still. Early evening. Somehow I had lost track of the time, and realising that I had best get a move on, I turned my back upon the once great river and headed back towards my apartment. The city at night was an even worse hellhole than during the day. I, would be considered dangerous to most people, (and indeed I was ) but to the majority of the creatures that hunted in the streets at night I would be termed angelic. The safety of my rooms became foremost in my mind. I must get home. Although my apartment its self was about as safe as you could get in this city, the view from my second floor balcony would lead you to think differently. At night it was truly terrifying. As I stared from above, burning eyes would glare back from every nook and cranny. Shuffling dark figures moving along dark passages. Eerie glowing lights. And worse of all was the sounds. Screams of more than just terror, gurgling, choking, and death haunted the streets. But worse of all was the pleading of the living before the advent of the final slash or bite.Even now after so long, there was still living, breathing people out there. They would come out during the darkest hours somehow thinking this would conceal them from the night terrors. They were wrong. To the undead, the living were not just food, they were an anachronism to that which they once was. And it was this that drew forth the hatred and purest evil from the tortured souls that could not pass on from this world nor return to what they once left; namely #life. I judged the time to be close to eight or nine o'clock by the quickly setting sun and I still had a short distance to go to get home. That was when I heard the sound that quickened the beat of even my still heart. "Howoooragh!" I simply called them Devils. Neither beast nor man, they were a mixture of monster, ( who was I to talk,) and myth. Creatures that dealt in death. Not because they could or should, but because it took their fancy. Killing was a game to them and even though I was reasonably sure they could not hurt me, I wasn't prepared to take that chance. I hurried along even faster than I already was. This was my first mistake. Zombies are not built for speed. The extra energy that I put into moving my legs, only achieved in the tearing of my left foot from it's socket. I fell. There was no pain as I hit the concrete just the realisation that I was probably a goner. Turning, I grabbed for my fallen extremity and tried to drag myself towards the closest alley. The falling darkness, coupled with the shelter of dustbins and rubbish was my only possible chance of escape. If only Rancid was here, he'd have defended me. Poor Rancid how I miss you still. Evening. I could virtually feel the Devils teeth at my throat. I sensed my zombieing days would soon be at an end. It would have at least been nice if I could have ended my time on this planet with a full stomach. As always, you guessed it, I was starving. Reaching the closest dustbin, I dragged myself into a sitting position, wedging my back up against the wall and pulling my legs, both be footed and none so, up against my chest. It was a poor excuse for a hiding place but in the circumstances the best I could do. I waited. I smelt the Devils long before I could see the reds of their eyes. It was like your worst nightmare brought to #life in smelloscope. I closed my eyes and prayed to a god that had long ago deserted my kind. Then stillness. "Howoooragh!" Slash, crash, growl. I felt nothing. Carefully I opened one eye and yes, there before me hackles raised in defiance stood Rancid. Never had I felt happier, even when alive. Rancid had placed himself between me and three of the biggest Devils I had ever seen. Without a second thought Rancid tore into them with a savagery I felt it hard to believe possible. Fur flew, blood spattered and sinew ripped. And as quickly as that it was over. Two devils lay dead at Rancid's feet, the other racing off at a rate of knots that I would have felt nigh on impossible from a creature that had left one of it's legs in the grip of Rancid's jaws. "Rancid!" I cried. "You've come back boy. Oh I'm so happy. Thought I'd lost you forever." Slowly, methodically, Rancid turned towards me. There was no reciprocated love in his eyes, only hate. "Rancid, it's me your master. Don't you remember me. Please try boy, please try." Rancid advanced, a bestial look upon his visage. "Sooty, it's me boy, come on Sooty." Rancid stopped, cocking his head to one side inquisitively. Then turning to his left I followed his gaze to where, lain in the darkest recess of the alley, came forth five little bundles of fluff. Rancid was a father. The zombie puppies, for zombies they unmistakably were by their red eyes and mouldering features, ambled towards me. I smiled. The best friend I had ever had was not injured, missing or presumed dead anymore. He was alive and the father of the motliest assortment of puppies I had ever seen. "Here boy, come on Sooty" I coaxed. Again Rancid cocked his head to one side, a trait he had mastered whilst still in the land of the breathing, and edged slowly in my direction. Then as if in payback for the non-#life I had bestowed upon him, pounced.....!