Craig of the Dead

Hey, you! Yeah, you. Listen up, dude, because I don't have much time. Actually, I have a ton of time, I just don't feel like repeating myself.

South Park is infested with zombies. Yeah, you heard me right. Shuffling around, undead, want to eat you zombies.

I'm stuck as some kind of leader of a tiny crew of kids. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but everyone else seems to think I do, so I guess we're going with that.

In a few days the whole town went from being kinda nuts to completely chaotic. Why do people think I'm a good leader? Why'd all the adults leave? Where's literally half of my grade, they can't all be dead, can they? Why are we not allowed to leave South Park? Do they want us die? How long can we keep on living like this? Most importantly, why couldn't I have just gone with Tweek to the stupid bathroom? Now he's M.I.A. and it's my fault.

Anyway, I hope maybe you can find some pleasure in reading this. I mean, I would probably get bored, but whatever floats your boat, dude.

Gotta run. Clyde's throwing another fit because someone ate his Hot Pocket (Spoiler Alert, it was me). See ya later, stranger.

-Craig

**NOTE: the story is not written as journal entries by Craig, I just thought it would be a fun little bit to put as the hook. Apologies if it is misleading.**

**ALSO NOTE: the mature content warning is for language, and language only. Well, and I suppose gore and violence, but that depends on what you define as gore and violence**