I’m wiping down the counter of the diner I’m working at, and my fingers are starting to itch and burn a bit from all the chemicals on the rag. I have to lift up the limp arm of one of the patrons to get at the large stain forming under him. It’s red and normally that would be bad, but the counter is already kind of brown so when it is totally dry it should blend in pretty well. The streets are usually crowded this time of night. People are rushing between work and home, usually unsure which is which. Their headlights sweep one way and the other and the exhaust clouds the air and makes it hard to see anything except the cars. It’s not like that lately though, the streets are dead tonight just like they were last night and the night before that. I swear, one zombie apocalypse and business just dries up like that.
I’m not sure why the dead started walking the Earth. Maybe that whole “When hell is full, the dead will walk the Earth.” thing wasn’t so far off. It doesn’t really matter why the dead have been becoming mindless killing machines, it’s not like finding the source of the problem will fix anything. Besides, it’s not like any of the brilliant minds of today have had much time to think about anything. I imagine most of them have been busy running for their lives. It’s kind of ironic that I have so much spare time on my hands when the only people who could really do anything about the zombie problem have no time at all. Maybe that isn’t ironic. I’m not sure, but all the English teachers are dead so it doesn’t really matter. All of my English teachers were the kind of people who would be the first to go during a zombie attack. None were particularly fit, and they were all terribly smart. The zombies probably swarmed them and had a lavish feast on their fat, intellectual brains. My Gym teachers on the other hand are probably doing just fine.
I’m glad that I haven’t been eaten yet, but I’m beginning to feel a bit insulted. What’s so wrong with my brain that no zombie has come barging down my door to devour it? I’m smart, I got good marks in school; though I stopped going after brainless corpses started showing up (outside of the shop classes, I mean.) Judging from my Math marks alone, zombies should be pounding down my damn door. None are though, it’s just me and Corpse Dan.
Corpse Dan is an ex-patron of the diner I work at, The Slam-dunk. His real name is Dan Messing, but now that he’s a corpse I decided to shorten it to Corpse Dan. He staggered into the diner today with a big ol’ chunk of his shoulder missing. He drank some coffee that I served him, then he slowly bled out all over the floor. Dan Messing was a messy bastard. He became a zombie for a bit, but I figured I shouldn’t let a zombie hang out in my diner. So, I shot him with the hand-gun that my Italian boss keeps under the cash-register. It was a poor decision, and I’m still scrubbing at his blood, but better dead than un-dead, am I right?
With tenderness, Travis