Born-Again Virgin Zombie

A little-known fact about zombies:

They’re all around you.

Take me.

I’m 14 years old. I was inducted last year. My parents have no idea. I pass for human, even though I’m an immortal undead brain-eating monster, and stuff. I’m really good at acting. My sunday school teacher thinks I’m darling. My mother thinks I’m emo (I’m not, but they taste good. Depression softens the brain, or something). I guess it makes sense. I wear thick white makeup and thick black eyeliner and weird contact lenses. I wear black a lot, because it hides the blood.

Hey, maybe all the other emo kids are zombies too. Wouldn’t that be mad?


Zombie myth number 1: We all eat human brains. All the time.

Not likely. I eat a balanced diet. Fresh fruit, vegetables, dairy, grains and brains. Umm, usually at least one of those a night. But it’s not like it’s a staple of my diet or anything. More like a midnight snack.

Zombie myth number 2: Zombies are all rotten, with bits falling off all the time.

Bullshit. OK, I’ve lost a finger or two, and had to do a quick fix-up job. Lucky Mum taught me to sew. But usually it’s fine, we kinda regenerate as we go. Mostly. I need to exfoliate more than most people, or I get all-over dandruff. And I don’t exactly like my skin tone, which is like, beigey-grey. Like a carpet that’s 20 years past its use-by date and used to be cream, but now is just a faded ick.

Thank God for AberZombie products. They provide me with these cool gloves that look like human skin with fishnet gloves over them. Very cute, and the texture fools everyone. I love you, AberZombie!

Sex, of course, is the real problem. That much friction really isn’t good for zombie flesh. My first experiment that way led to a hysterical teen boy screaming his way down the street and some really nasty fix-up work. And forevermore, I’ve been a born-again virgin zombie. It kinda sucks.


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