Status: Ha
WTF
Zombie Popsicle
There are scenes in every movie when something goes wrong. It mostly happens during halfway through the movies. Unfortunately, this is real, so this movie will never end.
From the pit of my stomach I know the Beast has to go to the little monsters’ room. He kept whining and walking in a circle. Every time the bus turned he would look at everybody as if to know which one would give him a walk. Human #1 was sitting down with his gun. The Beast couldn’t handle his bladder anymore and he howled.
The two vehicles stopped at a lonely, but not empty gas station. Martha opened the bus door. The first one out was the Beast. I exited out a window; it is much easier than going through a crowded doorway. I stretched, too happy to care about the zombie next to me. It was three hours since a gun was pointed at me. A little harmless zombie won’t ruin my break (ha, break, hilarious). I was at a stance, ready for the kill, when human #2 shot it, straight at the head. The brain is the best part. I growled at him. I said, “It was mine.”
“It was going to bite you,” he said.
“So what if it did, the mark would go away. That was my snack. You didn’t have the right to interrupt me when I was going to eat it."
The human did not know how to respond. But before he could, I was inside the small store.
Instead of me killing the zombies, the unnamed humans did it for me. By now, I am pretty pissed. I haven’t eaten anything and I won’t until I get a nice Zombie Popsicle. Our group warns the other humans. If I don’t get a zombie in the next couple of seconds I will eat the Beast.
Human #1 was fine with the dog being eaten. Secretly I would eat human #1 rather than the Beast. Human #2 said he’ll take me outside to find my prey. Human #2 is close enough I can actually take a bite of him. We are watching a zombie trying to reach us, but we tied it to a pole a while ago. There is now an awkward silence that he later breaks (I did it again). “How can you eat them? Won’t you get infected?”
Why would he care about wanting to know? I’m not going to eat him. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a confession booth and I want to let everything out. So I tell him my story and how it ends up here. He was a little shaken, though, he told me his story before I heard my stomach growl. If I don’t eat soon my stomach will die of hunger. My limit of not eating food is 12 hours. I know because it was a test to find out. I slide off the bus. What I really want is a Zombie Popsicle, but this tied one will have to do for now.
I ignore the fowl smell. The first bite tastes great. The second one tastes awful. I gag, the rotted flesh falls out of my mouth and it spills on the ground. I throw up the first bite I had. My vision starts to blur. The last thing I know before my face fell hard on the pavement was moaning from the zombie I wanted to eat.
From the pit of my stomach I know the Beast has to go to the little monsters’ room. He kept whining and walking in a circle. Every time the bus turned he would look at everybody as if to know which one would give him a walk. Human #1 was sitting down with his gun. The Beast couldn’t handle his bladder anymore and he howled.
The two vehicles stopped at a lonely, but not empty gas station. Martha opened the bus door. The first one out was the Beast. I exited out a window; it is much easier than going through a crowded doorway. I stretched, too happy to care about the zombie next to me. It was three hours since a gun was pointed at me. A little harmless zombie won’t ruin my break (ha, break, hilarious). I was at a stance, ready for the kill, when human #2 shot it, straight at the head. The brain is the best part. I growled at him. I said, “It was mine.”
“It was going to bite you,” he said.
“So what if it did, the mark would go away. That was my snack. You didn’t have the right to interrupt me when I was going to eat it."
The human did not know how to respond. But before he could, I was inside the small store.
Instead of me killing the zombies, the unnamed humans did it for me. By now, I am pretty pissed. I haven’t eaten anything and I won’t until I get a nice Zombie Popsicle. Our group warns the other humans. If I don’t get a zombie in the next couple of seconds I will eat the Beast.
Human #1 was fine with the dog being eaten. Secretly I would eat human #1 rather than the Beast. Human #2 said he’ll take me outside to find my prey. Human #2 is close enough I can actually take a bite of him. We are watching a zombie trying to reach us, but we tied it to a pole a while ago. There is now an awkward silence that he later breaks (I did it again). “How can you eat them? Won’t you get infected?”
Why would he care about wanting to know? I’m not going to eat him. Suddenly I feel like I’m in a confession booth and I want to let everything out. So I tell him my story and how it ends up here. He was a little shaken, though, he told me his story before I heard my stomach growl. If I don’t eat soon my stomach will die of hunger. My limit of not eating food is 12 hours. I know because it was a test to find out. I slide off the bus. What I really want is a Zombie Popsicle, but this tied one will have to do for now.
I ignore the fowl smell. The first bite tastes great. The second one tastes awful. I gag, the rotted flesh falls out of my mouth and it spills on the ground. I throw up the first bite I had. My vision starts to blur. The last thing I know before my face fell hard on the pavement was moaning from the zombie I wanted to eat.