My Shortest Stories: Brief Retellings of Love, Lust, Intestines, and Zombiemania

Entry #9, 7/12/20

TW: profanity, gore, violence

Hello,
           I know I decided to give up writing weeks ago, but this is important and I don't want to miss any details just in case. This may be the start of something horrifying that I can't stop, and I need to make sure I know exactly what went down. Or, maybe whoever finds this needs to know. Either way, I am so sorry, and I hope this can bring any help to those who need it.

To start: I was bitten a few days ago.

          It itched. It itched so badly, and I thought I could feel it spreading up my calf, but I knew what would have happened if I scratched it. I had seen it all before: my skin would flake, then peel, then fall off and never come back. And that was the least worrisome side effect.

          Most days, however, I would think long and hard about who to blame; although there was really no one at fault. I couldn't have known she'd turned. She looked so alive, traditionally speaking. She must have been newly infected; but my inability to protect myself still angered me more than anything (and sometimes still does). Often my brain decides to replay the event like hallmark movies in the wintertime— nonstop twenty-four hour coverage (aka whenever I close my eyes). It hurts me to see it over and over again. I hate what I did, and I hate where it got me.

          I was trying to fix the front door frame (broken from the last looting incident) when I found her in the living room going through my backpack; an older woman with thin blonde hair and a faded pink tank top. She looked spindly and pale; she reminded me of the woman you'd see working the cigarette counter at your local convenience store for thirty odd years. I looked at her for a moment more before shouting from behind the entryway that she needed to leave. She didn't respond. I don't even think she looked back.
          Her sewing-needle fingers continued rooting through my stuff, so I ran up behind her and jumped on her back, wrestling her to the ground. Despite her frail appearance, she was definitely stronger than me, so I sat on her chest to keep her down. However, just as I did, her head lunged at my calf and clenched her teeth around it. The pain was searing and unlike anything I'd experienced before. She wouldn't stop, and I couldn't pull her off of me, so after a few unbearable seconds I desperately grabbed the screwdriver I had been using. I gripped it with two hands, and quickly drove it deep into her eyeball. I can still remember the sound it made: a squish, followed by a barely audible, choking kind of scream. I scrambled off of her as fast as I could as she convulsed on the ground in agony.
          I like to think after that she died sooner rather than later, but unfortunately it's anyone's guess. I watched her, stunned and in terrible pain, for a long while after she stopped moving. I was angry and scared, and I did what I thought I had to, but looking back with what I know now I wish I had never even involved myself. I feel an inescapable guilt for what I did to her, but I would also never wish the pain she brought me upon my worst enemy.

          For days and days I watched her body decompose on the carpet as I thought, "That will be me soon. I will die and become her, and not even suicide will stop me. All I can do is wait". She got her jailbreak. I received a life sentence.

          After a few more days with symptoms progressing, I could barely put any pressure on the leg at all. I had to resort to leaning against tables or chairs to get around. The area around the bite had started developing a yellowish brown crust to go with its array of purples and greens— just like in all the old shitty zombie movies— and all I could think about was washing it out and using a clean bandage. Sometimes I would look out of the sliding glass patio door for hours and just imagine I was back in the hospital for my ACL surgery. All of those supplies just being thrown around like it was nothing. Now, I'd assume, they're all sitting in a dim room somewhere collecting dust. Even just the thought of it could bring any survivor to tears.