Field of Corpses

Days were quickly turning into months. They all went by so slow, and there was nothing to do. By now, everyone was a zombie, expect for me. I somehow managed to stay half-dead, all by myself. It was getting frustrating. I just wanted to die now; I saw no hope for me. There was no way I could make it to California with how my heart was now. It wouldn’t last long enough to fight through the lonely journey. I just wanted to die.

Outside, it was a warm enough day. The ground was covered with slowly moving skeletons with patches of rotting flesh. They walked so slow, but they didn’t bother me. Everyone was either dead, or dying in my case, now. There was no more lively humans for the zombies to kill. They all knew somehow that I wasn’t fully alive, so they let me be. They let me walk passed them quickly, while they had to drag their feet behind them ever so slowly. It really wasn’t too fair, but none of them probably cared. The only thing they wanted was to be left alone too.

That was my reasoning for wanting to die, was to be alone, but sitting in my room all alone got to me. I smoked enough Marijuana to get myself too high to stand up, and I went into deep thought. It was then I realized I didn’t want to be alone; I wanted someone next to me. I wouldn’t even care if it was a damn ass zombie who somehow managed to keep me company. I knew I should at least die trying to find someone, rather than giving up completely like I was already doing.

I wanted someone enough that I was willing to make a journey. I took my music player with me, and that’s where it began.

I walked passed countless numbers of dead bodies and zombies, not really knowing where it is I wanted to go. I knew I didn’t want to stay in Utah though. I was the only half-dead in Utah, but I wasn’t sure about the rest of the country. I knew this could be the way I died; trying to kill loneliness.

I was like that soldier not willing to give up. I wanted something so bad, I was willing to walk a thousand miles, drive hundreds of cars, and never stop, just in case there was someone out there I could take with me to California. Ultimately, I decided I wanted to be alive again.
So, I set on. I didn’t let my rotting skin or the occasional maggots wriggling inside my brain stop me. There wasn’t anything in the world that could stop me now. I was trying to be optimistic, and I believe that’s what kept me alive for so many miles.

Sure, I’d stop to talk to some zombies every now and then, but they could never carry on a conversation. They could move their heads, and talk through their hands, but they never could speak. I was basically stuck talking to myself whenever I’d need to take a break to charge my iPod.

My iPod was the only thing I felt was still keeping me alive, though. I couldn’t believe he stayed alive so long, even after all the times I dropped him and he’d randomly stop working. Music was that one thing that kept me wanting to keep going on my journey to who knows where.

It was a relaxing walk, really. I had gotten so used to all the limbs and bodies around the place that I actually started to think of it as beautiful. My mind was already screwed up before I died though; so I always found beauty in the strangest things. Like a dead body sprawled out on the road, trying to crawl to the other side. His legs had obviously either given up, or everything has rotted so much that he could no longer stand. He left a trail of blood smeared on the road behind him. For some reason, I thought it looked rather 'cool'.

I saw a lot of bodies and zombies though, so I could never really concentrate on just one. They were all the same to me. They all were dead, and they all had nothing left. They were all just gone. No one had a right mind; they probably couldn't even think anymore. I wouldn't know though. I still wasn't as dead as the rest, and I've been dead for a little over a year.

That was really all I thought about anymore, was how not-dead I was. I was thankful I still had something going for me, but I had my bad thoughts too. All I wanted was someone who could actually carry on a conversation, and preferably not grunting or moaning between each word or sentence. That seemed nice, and even though my mind was set on leaving, I still had a lot of time.

I decided I would go say goodbye to my old friend Paul. He's been my friend for a while, and even though the rest of the country might have been dead, I still had Internet access and I could talk to Paul. I had to avoid the others though; the people who lived outside of our Gorey country. If they even so much as caught on that I was the 'only one left', they'd surely try to take me away and do tests on me. That is if my zombie 'friends' didn't get to them first.

Zombies might have been dead, and they never bothered me, but they still had the sadistic urge to kill. I never got that, yet, but I always wondered about it. The zombies wouldn't try to eat each other or anything, but any animal they could actually get a hold of would get its head ripped off and its body torn to shreds in seconds. It fascinated me deeply. I almost couldn't wait until I got that verge.

This is exactly why my friend Paul hid out though. He'd been in his room for about ten months now; right around the time when everyone else completely died off. Yet, I never figured out how he did it. How did he stay alive? How did he stay hidden? Every time we spoke, he'd always tell me that they stayed clear from his building. He said he never saw them outside his window, and they were never around him when he was zooming past them on his bike with a joint in his mouth. That's pretty much how he always was though, so I wasn't surprised to see him that way when he peered out his window.

I knocked on his window, making it to the tune of 'Know Your Enemy', and waited for him to look out. As I stood, waiting, I looked to the side to see a zombie had been following me. He was pretty far away, but he was still coming towards me. It puzzled me, but before I could ponder on it much longer, Paul answered to my knocking.

He looked pretty dirty, but that was okay. I wasn't expecting him to be clean-and-shaven anyway. After everyone died, Paul stopped looking like Paul. He used to wear his skater jeans and his skateboard-brand T-shirts, but now he was in survival mode. His pants were a little torn and stained, and his shirts were mutual. He was still the same old Paul to me though. It was refreshing to know someone who didn't die off and turn into a zombie.

"Hey kid." I said with a smile as I waved.

He returned the smile and opened the window. "Come in, Gloria."

I hurried and climbed through the window, just in case that Zombie was still watching me, but I highly doubted he would try to get into Paul's house anyway. Still, I was watching out for Paul.

"How have you been, dude?" I asked nonchalantly.

"I've been alright. I got this sweet new video game!"

See, same old Paul. Even when the country was dead, he still found interest for video games. I'm assuming he went to the closest store where they rented games and just took them. He had boxes of games and game-devices shoved in his closet. Not to mention the Marijuana plants growing all throughout his house. That's what he did when everyone died; he stalked up on weed and video games. No wonder how he stayed happy.

"Sweet! What is it?"

"Border Lands."

I shot him a confused look. "Isn't that about zombies?"

"Kind of," he laughed during his pause, " it's so fucking cool though!"

"Maybe you should get out and actually fight some zombies, aye?"

He instantly looked at me with a serious expression. "No."

"Alright," I said putting my hands up. "I think it sounds fun as hell though."

"Yea, but I'd rather be safe in my room."

"I get it. You'd rather be a huge muscular dude kicking zombie-ass, rather than beating them outside with your skateboard."

That made him laugh. "Well if I really wanted to kick zombie-ass, I could do it right now."

"Go for it, " I said encouragingly, but he knew I was just messing around.

"No! I don't wanna kick my own friend's ass!"

"Ha ha," I laughed sarcastically. "How come I'm the only zombie allowed in your room?"

"Because you're the only one that has enough lung capacity to smoke this with me!" Right away, he turned around and grabbed a huge bong off his desk. Of course, he already had it loaded and ready to smoke.

"What are you going to do when you run out of lighters?" I joked.

"Die." His answer gave me cold chills. I never knew anyone who loved smoking weed so much.

"Alright, well I'll smoke that with you, Paul, but I gotta get going after. I came to say goodbye."

He was in the middle of his hit when I had told him this. I made him stop. "What??"

"Yea," I sighed, " I'm leaving. I'm going to try to make it California."

"What's in California?" He asked, then went back to smoking.

"My heroes." I answered, and took the bong when he handed it me.

"You really think it's going to work?"

"I hope so. If I can make it..."

"Well here," he went to say, but left the room for a few moments. He came back with a huge backpack and handed it me. "Take this for the road."

I looked inside and saw the largest amount of Marijuana I had ever seen inside one huge bag. I mean, I knew he had plants and trees all-throughout his house, but never had I seen so much weed picked and ready. It brought a huge smile to my face. "Really?!"

"Yea." He said with a huge smile and nodded his head. "Anytime, Gloria."

"Thank you, Paul!"

I gave him a huge hug, and like I did every time I went to visit Paul, I sat down on his couch, smoked a lot, and played some video games. That was my goodbye.