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Bodies of the Damned

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God, what am I doing with my life? 

I'm pale, hardly get out at all, and my posture sucks ass. Maybe if I were more put together, others might like me more. Oh wait. I'm dead. Well, undead, but the point is, I'm no longer living. We all are here. That chick. That man in that corner definitely is. All zombies. Corpses.

I don't remember how I became like this, but it fucking sucks. With how many video games I used to play, I figured I'd last longer than I did. Wait, was that a memory? I don't know anymore. All I remember of my own name is it started with “J”. I don’t really understand why I hold onto that letter so much, but I’m guessing it’s because I seriously want to connect with others, like ‘Hey! I’m J, let’s be friends!’. 

It’s boring stumbling around the airport, hearing groans and footsteps from fellow Corpses. Apart from playing “Guess Who?” by myself what others used to be before they became undead, the only interesting thing in this dead airport would maybe be those boney, gangrenous creatures in the corner, gagging with their spit tangling from their chin to the floor and littered head to toe in circuit-like electrical scars.

I call them Squips. After a while, all of us Corpses eventually turn into those…electricity-zapping undead attackers, that just kill anything that moves with a heartbeat… 

I barely sense myself shudder. Interesting? Yes. Creepy as all hell? Also yes.

Sometimes I would see their heads flinch every now and then, like they were…glitching? If you were dumb enough to somehow piss one of them off, they'd emit this ungodly shriek, unhinging their jaw to do so, and contort their body into impossible shapes. That'd also be the last thing you ever saw. Even compared to us Corpses, they were inhuman and feral. It's an unspoken rule to steer clear of Squips at all costs.

...I'm not sure why I call them that, Squips. Not like my memory's the most reliable thing in the world, and it's not like I can really ask anyone else around here about it. I wouldn’t really know if the other pale creatures around me also called them Squips, as all of us can barely stumble a few words in before resorting back to our unintelligible hunger-filled groans.

My glazed-over eyes spotted a familiar face. Well, more like hair and clothes. Normally most of our facial structures fucking decompose to some degree to something a bit less determinable or something along those lines. I don’t remember ecology that well (or was it biology?). Who would in this hell? I think her name was… C.. E? Something like that, but I for sure know she’s female, because of her long dirty brunette hair and busty figure. She was one of the Corpses I was actually able to speak to a little, aside from R.

I would have guessed from her overly preppy torn clothes, that she was a high schooler, like me (at least I think I’m a high schooler… What are they again?). I’m thinking she may be one of those top trio, bitchy popular girls who laughed every time she saw a poor unfortunate soul get pushed into a locker. But that was the least of my concerns right now.

A shorter zombie with a red hair streak slouched on a chair next to C-E. He was, well…the other zombie I could semi-communicate with, wearing torn clothes and baggy jeans with a belt that’s practically just lingering trash stuck to him. If I were still living, I would probably gag at the amount of blood around his mouth; not that he can clean it off without possibly clawing himself, but still. I would maybe expect him to be… a young wrestler? A schoolyard bully? Take your pick.

That's R that I mentioned before. Don't be fooled by his height. He's 5’5” of pure terror when we go out to feed. Ugh. I had to remind myself my diet consists of cannibalizing organs from the Living again. I don't like it, hate it in fact, but the primal instinct of self-preservation wins out morality when you're a zombie. A sad fact of this forsaken “life” I now lead. Speaking of which…

“Huuuh…Huuun…gry,” I groan out. It's one of the few actual words I've managed to use on my vocal chords instead of just inside my head (which was pretty upsetting). C-E and R lolled their heads my direction. From the looks they gave me, it seems the feeling was unanimous. How I could tell? I just knew.

“Sssss…Ciii…ty,” R moaned back. C-E gave an awkward nod and grunted her agreement.

Before long, the three of us and several others formed a small hoard and set out for the nearby city area. That's where a group of survivors made a settlement. They're also our main food source unless they kill you first. Not that I blame them. We’re all trying to survive this new crap-sack world.

The only problem is our destination’s some distance from the airport. Already ten or so minutes have passed, and we've only trudged a whopping total of fifteen feet from the exit.

…God, we walk slow.

This is gonna take a while…