Short Story: I, Zombie

Good evening everyone, and welcome to the second of my weekly short story releases in 2016. This one is called I, Zombie and, unsurprisingly, is about zombies. Because I clearly don’t go on about them enough, right? This one’s a bit different as it comes from the perspective of the zombie.

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And now, without further ado, this week’s story!

He sat up slowly. Where was he? What had happened? He looked around. He was in a hotel room, of sorts. Furniture had been thrown everywhere, a scene of chaos. He looked down.

On the floor, blood. Blood everywhere.

He followed the trail and found the source. A woman. She lay in the pool of blood, her blood. Unmoving, dead. The dark red liquid pooled out from a large wound in her neck, spread out in a wide circumference. A screwdriver was embedded in her left eye socket. She wasn’t going to come back.

He looked around in a wider arc. At the far side of the room was a sofa. A foot stuck out from behind it. He approached cautiously. Looking down he saw that it was one of the undead. A zombie. Its skull had been caved in by a heavy object. The table lamp lay next to the body, its base shattered and in pieces. As for the zombie, the brain had been destroyed, as had half of the zombie’s face. Around its mouth, recently dried blood had congealed.

Was he responsible for this?

He walked into the bathroom looked at himself in the mirror, barely feeling his legs moving beneath his swaying torso. His skin was decayed, his flesh a necrotic, pale grey. He had a similar wound to the woman, a bite mark between his neck and shoulder. The wound wasn’t fresh, his own blood had clotted and turned a disgusting black. It looked just like the blood that covered the face of the dead zombie in the other room.

He realised then that he was hungry, a gnawing hunger that engulfed him completely. Why had he not noticed it before? He would not, could not rest until this hunger was satisfied.

Then, a scream. It had come from outside, the front of the building.

With unsteady feet he walked slowly to the door and fumbled with the handle. He must get out there, and quickly, before the meat was spoiled. His hands didn’t want to work. He watched with growing frustration as they flailed against the handle. He lifted his hand high above his head and brought it down on the handle with all the force he could muster.

It was unlocked. Somewhere inside he was glad. He didn’t want to be trapped in here. Not with these bodies. The flesh was stale, unfit for him to eat. Who were these people anyway? A lingering memory of his past life tried to present itself, but a fog had descended on his mind. It was the hunger. It didn’t matter now, what he had been before, his past life. That was over now. All that was left was the hunger.

The door swung open easily. He grunted in appreciation. Without looking back he stepped into the corridor. The smell of fresh meat was calling him outside.