User:Sockpuppet of an unregistered user/UnBooks:The Zombie Diaries

The year is now 2410. Some four hundred years ago there was an extinction level event in the form of a zombie apocalypse. Little remains of that time but when scientists ventured out into the old world they came across this diary, giving them valuable insight into the event, and even expanding on accepted zombie theories.

August 05 2009

Dear Diary.

It looks like today might be the end of the world. You know, a good old fashioned zombie apocalypse. Except it’s not an old fashioned one at all, these zombies run! Which, in my honest opinion, ruins their majesty. Slow zombies – true zombies, represent death itself. It’s always coming after you but if you keep your wits about you, you can avoid it for longer. But these rotting athletes just spoil it. Sacrificing a brilliantly subtle metaphor for high-octane action is what Hollywood is all about now, and I don’t like it. Though I suppose that doesn’t matter because everyone is having their guts ripped out.

In fact I had a narrow escape, just now. Yeah I was coming back from work and this great big beefy zombie (sorry you don’t know that's a pun, it was an actual cow!) came stampeding down the road and jumped up on my car! It put a proper dent in the roof too. Then the other zombies came running along. If they weren’t running I’d never have gotten out of my car, I just presumed it was a fundraising event for breast cancer and I wanted to donate. But then this one dude ran up to me and started trying to eat me! I mean not in a gay way, he was trying to rip out my intestines. I got back in my car before he managed to tear anything vital and I drove away at speed. There was a disgruntled mooing as the cow fell off the roof and crushed the zombie as it chased me. It was awesome - but unrealistic, what kind of virus kills people and makes them faster? Fucking Hollywood. I’m a bit worried about these scratches though, usually the people in the movies don’t worry but then they end up dead. Hollywood – fucking Hollywood! – doesn’t get everything right though. I’ll be fine. Right?

August 06 2009

Dear diary.

Wrong. I feel like turd. Molten turd. I was up half the night shitting out my vital organs and all morning I’ve been spewing up blood. I don’t want to die – I don’t want to be a zombie – least of all a fast – fake, fucking Hollywood zombie! It’s not fair – I had stuff to do next week. I was getting divorced and I really wanted to see that through to the bitter end.

Shit. These might be the last words I ever write. I better make them good for tonight I’ll dine in hell and tomorrow I’ll wake up dead. Oh that’s sounds good, I’ll have to copy-write that...

So long cruel, stupid, unrealistic world!

August 07 2009

Dear diary.

This undead lark is fucking amazing! Ok, so I woke up in a wet bed for the first time in three weeks but – get this – it wasn’t piss! It was purification. And do you know how much you can get done in the morning when you don’t have to take a dump? I watched GMTV: good morning – on the television! Whoever thought of that needs a medal. I’ve got so much a real hankering for strawberry jam as well.

So I decided to go down to the shop. Out side was a bit of a tip, more than normal anyway: car wrecks and bits and pieces of people littered the ground. I picked up what I thought might be a hand and put in the bin; tidy as you go, my ma always said. There was another one of us sitting on the curb, chewing on a head. He snarled at me as I walked past and so I belched back at him. He growled again. And so I belched again. And then he growled. So I belched. Then he threw the head at me and it belched. So I dropped it and ran away. There was something that didn’t quite feel right as I ran. I stopped and I thought about why running would be wrong, and then it struck me – I was only wearing one shoe!

Anyway, after trying and failing to take my shoe off, I continued my trip to the shop now at a gentle walking pace, slobbering over the thought of that jam. The jam was going to be amazing! I could just about feel the jelly bits slide over my tongue as I scooped it into my mouth. If it was still possible I’d no doubt have a hard on. I passed through the shattered door of the local shop and noticed there was a funny smell about it. Maybe it was smoke from the fire but I was sure it was something else.

I made my way through the smoke to the jam aisle and found what the smell was. A woman. A living one. She was dying beside my jam – and that made me angry! I lunged at her and then beat her screaming head in with some half-price marmalade. That’ll teach her. After the eight or nineteenth blow her head caved in and her brains spilled out. It was messy. The brain fascinated me actually, as it slithered off my fingers. It was nothing at all like jam and I decided it wasn’t for me.

It took me a while to notice I was on fire, as I guzzled jar after jar of strawberry jam. But when I did notice it gave me an idea. I reached behind me and peeled of a strip of my crispy skin. Then I scooped up some of the delicious, delicious jam and put it in my mouth. It’s not something I’d eat again if I’m honest, but my ma always told me I didn’t know I didn’t like it until I'd tried it, which remains true.

It was raining when I left the shop and so I was put out pretty quickly. Not that it bothered me one way or the other. I had jam. I’m not sure how but I realised that if I walked backwards, with one leg on the pavement and the other on the road, the height of the curb made up for my lack of shoe and so it was generally more even.

August 08 2009

I can't find any jam. The shop properly burnt down yesterday and I don't want to run into town and get more because there’s armed police everywhere, "keeping the infection under control" according to the bastard government.