The boy walked all alone. 6 feet tall and seemed to be a teenager. Despite the flesh wounds all over his body, his blood stained black jacket riddled with tears and holes, the bruises and scars that covered his body, he still walked with a large smile on his face. The smile didn't look like one of happiness. His body leaned forward and he was wielding a sword, dragging it across the pavement on the sidewalk. He walked slowly and struggled to keep his body up with all the wounds on his legs, unable to walk in a straight line. His skin was red. His whole body was the color of red blood, and some parts of his skin looked torn off. His eye sockets had no eyes, it was like looking into an abyss. He wore a jacket, but it wasn't zipped up, it was shredded after all. He had a t-shirt under it. Of course, that too was ripped and bloody. His pants were black and they were also ripped. His shoes didn't look too bad, but there was a lot of blood on themselves, like they were dipped in red paint. He left a bloody trail behind him. That's what I told the police. As unrealistic as it sounded, I had to tell them what I saw. I called the ambulance first, but he ran away very quickly. I only called the cops so they could capture him. I don't have trust in the police, but I was worried. It was likely a 25 percent chance that they would pursue him.
For some reason he had no problem with running while a second before he was huffing and puffing with every step.
The next few days, I was thinking about that kid. What the hell did I see that day? Was it real or not? I wish I ran after the guy, but he was too fast for me. I hope it wasn't real though, it shouldn't be. A zombie on the streets of this city sounds like a horror story or some folklore.
On a Tuesday morning, I watched the news as I ate my breakfast. I was chewing on cereal, and wanted to see what was going on. The news reporter talked about a zombie-like person that was found sleeping on the side of the highway. My heart dropped as I realized that the zombie kid was actually real, and not just me being tired from work.
It was on my mind all day. The implications of a zombie scared me. Are we going into a zombie apocalypse, or is it a ghost? I couldn't tell at all!
Later that night I was walking home from my night shift. I heard slashing and grunting. I had only gotten off the bus 3 minutes ago. I was standing on the sidewalk, looking around to find out where the sound was coming from. I argued with myself to decide whether I should go see it or not, but I eventually decided to go see it.
It could have been him, that poor kid.
I walked over to a backyard where the sounds came from. I was standing in front of a fence and beyond it was the kid. He was right there in their garden full of many beautiful flowers from roses to tulips, and he was slicing them with his sword. He was laughing, like it was a game to him. How can someone who looked like they were mauled by a bear be able to enjoy himself like this? His voice was so scratchy, it must have been painful to even breathe. Maybe he is a zombie. I was intrigued, and I didn't think of hiding myself in case he saw me. I was standing on the sidewalk with my eyes glued to him. He had such a wonderful smile. It was like sunshine in the darkest place. His teeth never looked broken, everything but his teeth and hair seemed to be damaged in some way.
He started giggling, and he began to spin around as if he was a drunk man dancing. He went on for a few more seconds before tripping over his own sword and landing on his back. He breathed in and exhaled, with his smile being gone now. He stared into the sky, but there were no stars in sight. Just a purple and black void stretching for miles and miles. He didn't move or anything, just stared. So did I, I didn't want to be noticed, assuming he would run away again if he thought I was going to call the ambulance.
A minute later, for the first time, he spoke, "It's not enough."
The voice was scratchy, it sounded like he struggled to get the words out of his throat. I wouldn't be surprised if he had internal bleeding. He coughed, "It isn't enough."
