And there he stood, wretching in the middle of the kitchen floor. Tossing up all he ate this morning. What a stomach turning moment. He thought he was going to have an out of body experience, a heavenly treat, all set out on a table, just for him. What he ate tasted like sawdust and roach spray. Not that he ever tasted either of those things but… it tasted like what he imagined those items would’ve tasted like.
He hobbled over to the sink and looked out the window. Saw a couple of his friends walking the street aimlessly. If only he were right… they would have been so jealous when he told them about it. But no… now they just have more ammunition with which to make fun of him. He quickly thought “I have to clean my shirt! They’ll never know!” He fumbles at his shirt trying to wipe off his breakfast which he so gracefully delivered to the floor. Blood was hard to wipe off he learned. Not to mention one of the fingers he vomited up fell into his shirt pocket. He pulled the finger out and then promptly ate it.
He wondered and thought about how silly he must have been to think that there would be a plate of human brains just out on the table for all of the zombie world to see. Watermelon… what a goof. He can his friends groaning about it now. From a distance anyone could have made the same mistake… or so he thought.
Since his zombification, he’s been having trouble focusing his actions. His thoughts are straight but his actions are more primal and not at all what he intends to do. Nature of the beast he thinks to himself and laughs, although the laugh just sounds like another mindless groan. He walks out of the house, joining the rest of his brood, hoping no one would notice his dirty shirt. Thankfully, everyone’s shirts were covered in blood. Content with his camouflage, knowing he won’t be questioned by his zombie buddies, he looks around to see if there are any more humans running about. He could sure go for a left leg right about now. Why not a right leg, one may ask? Who knows? He’s a zombie after all.
