Hungry Heart

Part One: The Attic

Heart racing.Blood pumping. Feet speeding. Hunger burning.
That was all I could think as I climbed onto the table, pulling and grasping at the feet of the humans as they foolishly retreated into the attic. They should have known better. They should have ran into the street. Sure, a lot of my kind were out there as well, but now they have cornered themselves, trapped like mice. Dinner. The thought made me wince from within, though I had no control over my body nor what was happening right now.
It wasn't always like this. I don't know how long I've been like this, but I've had to watch as my body trapped humans and ripped them apart limb from limb day after day. I've had to see what this thing saw, taste what it tasted, kill who it killed. And I couldn't stop it. My body was the zombie and I was the hostage. Doctors and scientists all around the world warned us about the virus. They said it destroys who you really are. When you're bitten, you're gone. That's it. That's the end. Now you're just a walking shell waiting on your next meal that is anything with a heartbeat.
So what makes me different? Why am I still here? Why is it that I'm still watching as my body limply pulled itself up into the attic.

My body slowly shuffled forward in the dark. The other zombies haven't figured out how to get in yet, but I was always the smart one. I was always the stronger one. I guess that's the only thing that counts against you if you've survived the apocalypse- you become strong and you make a fine zombie. The large hunting group moaned and hissed in a choir of mindless hungry beasts. Fear trickled within my mind, yet my body felt nothing but the urge to eat. The attic was too dark for me to see anything, the humans could be anywhere.
I wish I could find them and somehow tell them how to escape, how to be free and where to go. I wish I could stop myself. As my zombie-self trudged forward I let my mind slip away to before the virus, before the death, before I was this and so to last December.

To Kyle. My dear Kyle. I remember his blonde hair that was always so messy, his blue eyes that I used to stare into every day, his soft lips I used to kiss passionately every second I could and his body, pressed against mine as his arms folded over me, protecting and embracing me with his love. He was my true love, before all this.
We met when we were only ten years old. He was the boy next door and as the typical story goes, I was always madly in love with him. We were best friends for almost ten years. I decided to block my mind and fill the zombie's head with memories from that first day.
Kyle was always different. Other boys would be playing with cars or reading comics, but you would always find Kyle attacking a helpless tree with his Styrofoam sword and that ugly black cape he cut from his favorite bedsheets.
"Hi!" I had greeted him as he struck a winning blow in his front yard.
He turned around and grinned broadly. "Did you see that? He didn't even stand a chance against me!" young Kyle stood proud.
"It's just a tree." I giggled as I stepped closer to him.
Kyle looked hurt by what I had just said. "But no, it is a Prince!" he held his arms to the air as if he was declaring it to a crowd, his royal subjects, I suppose. "He dared challenge me."
I giggled. "So what does that make me?"
Kyle paused and looked me over. Seconds passed and just when I was beginning to think he'd gone mad he'd said "The princess we were fighting to win."
And boom. Since that moment, I couldn't take my mind off him.

I remember how he took me to see a movie on a Saturday years later, a lovely morning. The sun was shining its brightest and the air was cheerful. I remember thinking that it was like the cheerful chirp of the birds was trying to tell me something.
I remember how he stole a kiss on the way home, stopped at the waterfall, took my hand, knelt down and kissed it as he softly asked me to be his wife.

Kyle, oh my dear Kyle, where are you? Where have you escaped to? Longing filled my heart and my mind-self burst into tears. My body heard a scurry to the left and turned to it hastily, smelling the fresh cut on the child's leg, the wound drawing it out. I couldn't watch. I wish I didn't have to, I wish I could look away! I pushed another memory into its mind. It may have taken my body, but it will never take my mind.