pre-text
            The problem arose when they infiltrated the
fundamental systems of society. Law enforcement, banking, judicial structures and even global conglomerates were compromised by the devious and diligent planning of what we call 'zombies.' Now before your mind jumps to the misconstrued image of a zombie that the media presented as comical and fictitious in the past, allow me to describe the outbreak that is really occurring.
            No one is sure how it began (or perhaps it had no
beginning) but the spread of the zombie disease was particularly worsened by their hunger for flesh. They would seek flesh actively as if it was their day job (which it wasn’t) They ate people the same as their predecessors did, although in a much more 'professional,' manner. I'm not speaking in rhetoric or riddle to emphasize how evil their character is, I'm literally telling you that they are the type to indoctrinate our society, steal a child off of the street, and plan an entire evening family dinner around the idea of eating your child's torso as if it were Thanksgiving - just another piece of meat to stuff. (Candles and everything)
             The difference between what we face now and the
fictional zombies of the past is that the 'undead' of our society are living thinking creatures that know how to use a fork and knife. Now, they aren't simply cannibals because they're still dead, and they’re still diseased. They're dead in the way that they have no consciousness, and no morals or ethics. Hopefully you understand the severity of such a problem, and the paranoia that comes about as a result. How would you know who was, and wasnt infected if the diseased look exactly like you down to even a molecular level? The simple answer - and the potentially only answer - is that you dont. An acquaintance (not even that) of mine was eighteen when he and I realized that this outbreak even existed. Samuel was a challenging piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve being ruthlessly eaten by his own mother, whom then proceeded to savagely butcher her forsaken husband in front of their four year old child. The kid didn't even get to escape as Mrs. Greyan (or maybe it should be Ms. Greyan?) fired a twelve gauage into his chest. The poor child bled out at what I presume was his last supper. This all happened while I was at the dinner table when I realized Ms. Greyan’s meaning of “soup of the day,” was slightly (ever so) different than us non-infected. I suppose I was saved for desert as I was last on the priority list - Ms. Greyan always had a sweet spot for me in more than a few ways- but unfortunately I managed to escape. I never heard from Ms. Greyan again (which genuinely surprised me as she was a woman who loved her seconds, and sweets.)
             In no way am I attempting to intimidate you, I'm
merely trying to describe what life and society has devolved into. These infected people - if you can even call them that - are ruining our society and the lives of billions, however with the power they hold in social systems the survival of our now dystopian civilization hinges on their existence. The proverbial double edged sword.
Part One – Beginning of the End
            Samuel pulled up in his distastefully red sedan, and
motioned through the open door that I was to enter the car. I was being summoned. The rain pattered against my shoulders despite the sad excuse of an umbrella I held over my head. I stood for a moment staring at him as if I didn’t know who he was; as if I wanted to attract attention as to indicate to people I had no idea who this bum was. Normally I’d disobey such a condescending action just for disobedience sake, and to assert I wasn’t one to be commanded, however His Majesty was my only way home. As well as the fact I had already been avoiding his entire family for the past month or so. (On the account of an incident that happened, which I’m almost sure was illegal) I entered.
            The inside of Samuel’s car reeked of cigarettes, and a
pungent aroma I assume that was alcohol (which he was probably drinking behind the wheel in the moments prior)
            I looked over at him, expecting him to look back and
submit the power he thought he had in our relationship. He didn’t. His face was covered in an abnormal amount of stubble for an eighteen year old. Being only a year younger than him (physically) I probably made him look even older by simply even sitting beside him. He was trying to prove a point by growing his facial hair out.
“Heya fella,” he said to me without even a glance, “whatcha plans for tonight?”
I paused for a moment, puzzled by the mere assumption that I would even have plans.
“Nothing.”
“Spose you wouldn’t wanna come over for dinner tonight then would ya?”
Even more confused than before I began “Samuel, what’s the occasion for such a lavish invitation?”
“Nothin’ really. The Old Lady has been buggin’ at me askin’ why you ain’t been ‘round since last month. She thinkin’ you hate her or summin.”
I blushed, and if it wasn’t for Samuel’s lack of caring for anybody but himself he would’ve looked over at me and noticed.
“What about your Dad, does he ever talk about me?”
“Pops? He ain’t much for carin’ bout my friends, so not really. Bu he did said you a wannabe highbrow.”
Black spots started appearing in my peripheral, and soon all I imagined was ripping that hick’s head off with my bare hands.
“Fine, I’ll come.”
The rest of the car ride to Samuel’s was pleasantly quiet. The fact he didn’t feel the need to suffocate the silence with small talk was refreshing, like a heroin addict relapsing. Every time the kid opened his mouth I could consciously feel my intelligence being questioned. As if he thought he was good enough to talk to me. I’ve never been close to Samuel - or anyone for that matter – but I decided I’d get a good meal in me for once and on we went along the dark countryside road that circled his family farm.pre-text
rparmar