Diary of a Teenage Zombie || ONC 2021

Day 1

Last summer when I was going through a tough time at school after my grandpa died, my guidance counsellor had suggested I write my thoughts down in a journal, or a daily diary. It was meant to help me process everything. I didn't bother then; I thought it was stupid. But now--now it seems like a very good idea, especially after the mental day I just had!

It started like any other; I woke up--alive. And one minute I'm having my normal breakfast of vegemite on toast, then the next, I'm being chased down the street by my best friend Derek's armless mum, who was a lab technician at the infectious disease laboratory a few blocks from my home. She jumped on my back, making me stumble, and sank her teeth into my shoulder blade before I could get away. Of all the things I'd dreamed about her doing to me, biting me and turning me into a zombie definitely hadn't been one of them. And as you can probably guess, about five minutes later I had a sudden and unquenchable urge for raw meat--the running, screaming kind.

It's a weird feeling being dead--well, not completely dead. I can still walk and talk. I can eat (although the menu has changed drastically) and I still feel things. Like when my Italian neighbour shoved a butter knife in my eyeball, that really hurt! Or when he furiously kicked at me as I took a bite of his flailing arm. It was totally worth the pain though, because he was delicious. All the best food really does come from Italy.

I also felt guilt when I left the neighbour's and went back home where I took a cricket bat to my Dad's stunned face. He fell back like a tonne of bricks, causing my mum to stumble into the open fireplace. She managed to get most of the fire out before she slumped to the floor next to Dad. Then for the life of me (no pun intended) I couldn't decide who I should eat first.

Should I eat my parents? It seemed a bit morbid, but they smelt fantastic and I was ravenous. To my left was a nice plump, hairy piece of meat, and to my right the more tender, slightly burnt piece. I probably shouldn't call my parents pieces of meat, but at that moment my only thought was: I wonder who has the most tasty brain? Probably mum, she used hers more.

Wait... what was I saying? Oh, yeah, who to eat? If I leave them too long, they start to rot and then they taste like crap. Found that out the hard way when I tried to munch on leftovers of my best friend. That was only a few hours ago, just after I was turned. How young and naïve I was back then. Nope, they have to be fresh. Still alive is obviously the best option, but beggars can't be choosers. Once everything starts turning blue, she's all downhill from there. Such a waste, really.

I took a moment in my indecision and looked around our blood splattered living room. There was glass and broken furniture everywhere. But my eyes couldn't stray for long, I was hungry. I'm always hungry now, like super-freaking-duper hungry! But I felt kinda bad, they were my parents after all. Still not being able to decide, I had a lightbulb moment and pulled the bodies closer together. Maybe having them side by side would make my decision much easier?

I went to pull mum to the middle of the room and lost my grip as her skin came right off in my hands. I had a taste--mmm, not bad. It would probably be best to bring dad over to mum instead. I grabbed the chunky old fella and heaved with everything I had--almost put my back out. Then I got the fright of my life, I mean death; I mean... ah, whatever! Dad's hand grabbed my ankle as I went to move away, and he let out a small moan. I couldn't believe it, the son of a bitch survived my frenzied pounding.

"Dad," I whispered, leaning over him. He looked up into my lifeless, half bludgeoned eyes. "Toby?" I could tell he was absolutely terrified. I gave him a small smile and said, "it's ok Dad, I'll make it all better."

And with that I got up, grabbed the cricket bat from where I dropped it only moments ago and gave one great almighty swing straight towards his petrified expression. I would've preferred to just dig in, but I like to think I still have some morals left. So I put him out of his misery before I went to town on his buffet of vital organs.

After a feast of Mum and Dad, I lay down on the couch to digest everything that had happened today. That's when the heartburn started. I like to think it was Dad having his revenge. He was a stubborn old bastard, I should've known he wouldn't go down without a fight--literally.

It wasn't long before the familiar pangs of hunger overwhelmed me yet again, and I found myself wondering what my finger would taste like? I'm pretty sure I could manage without a couple of them. Derek's mum seemed to do pretty well with no arms, what's a few fingers?

Just as I was about to put my taste buds to the test, I felt something hard press firmly against the back of my head. Looking up into the window opposite me, I could see the reflection of a rather large middle-aged man standing behind me, holding a rifle aimed right at my noggin. Oh shit!

Word count: 961