I would like to thank my friend Kayla for the story idea, I wrote this for her.
I had been running for days with no rest. Sleep was for the weak, no longer the dead. My friends rotting corpses followed close behind me. I had to be careful never to glance over my shoulder or I would be trapped. Their twitching torn figures entranced me. Their shadows danced across the ground, darkened limbs reaching hungrily for me. They were so sexy. But I couldn’t stand and drool over them or I would be one of them. Which in itself was a pulling proposition, but I rather liked my brain.
They caught me on the fourth night. I had paused for breath, my lungs shuddering with lack of oxygen, my veins crying for nicotine. It had been an ambush. Some half eaten broad was the first to bite into me. The rest swarmed like flies. It was ecstasy, it was pure pleasure. It was the end.
I fought. I clawed and pulled and bit into decaying flesh, kicked and punched and screamed until one of them bit into my lips, successfully silencing me. I slipped my tongue into the things mouth, prodding the rotted cheek savoring the taste of death. In this second of weakness and lust a zombie bit into the flesh at the back of my knee, another tearing at my shoulder. I moaned and in that instant my tongue was bitten off. I held on tightly to every second of pain. Eventually the girl who had first taste snapped my neck. At this strange angle, as the light faded from my world, the last thing I gazed upon was my pants. And even though blood gurgled in my lungs, and my throat was beyond repair, and my lips raw a sob still escaped me. My poor black pants were ripped and stained. I had spent $153 on them. They had fit me perfectly, and now they were ruined.