I'm Still in Here!

My name is Jessica… and I didn’t survive the zombie apocalypse.

I remember the exact moment I turned.

The world tunneled into darkness.

I felt my heart stop.

Then my body convulsed… and started moving on its own.

I now know how blood tastes.

Not mine — but yours.

Now, I’m just an echo of who I was — rotting flesh in denim shorts and a cruel joke of a t-shirt.

I don’t sleep. I don’t dream.

I only hunger.

See, what all the movies and books got wrong is they tell you that when a person gets turned, everything that made them human is gone — destroyed by the virus.

Well, that’s a bunch of shit.

Because I’m still in here.

I’m not sure if this happens to everybody who’s bitten, but it does for me.

I’m in here — but I’m not in the driver’s seat.

Hell, I’m not even in the backseat.

I’m locked in the trunk, with a tiny little peephole to look through.

It’s like a bad dream you can’t wake up from.

You know those moments when a zombie looks like it recognizes something?

It pauses — just for a second.

Hey, I remember that house. I think I used to live there.

Hey, I know that person. That’s my sister.

That flicker of recognition, right before the decaying meat suit lunges for your throat?

Yeah.

That’s me.

That moment — of clarity — that’s me, trying with every fiber of my being to have a say in this nightmare-fueled existence.

When you’re walking up behind me and say my name, and I stop — literally dead in my tracks — you think you’ve gotten through?

That’s me, straining against the chains that bind me.

Against the virus that controls me.

And that’s exactly how I killed my dad.

I can still taste him.

That fatherly, parental warmth, reduced to squirting blood in my mouth.

The whole time, I was in here — screaming, crying, praying to God that someone — anyone — would be merciful.

Put a round in my brainpan.

Smash my skull in with a sledgehammer.

But no one did.

I don’t know how many friends or family I’ve killed.

How many I’ve infected.

I’ve honestly lost count.

My dad.

Mrs. Henderson from next door.

That creep who used to stare at me from his upstairs window. Well— he actually had it coming.

But little Tommy Fenderson?

The kid I used to babysit?

That one was the worst.

He was still calling my name when I bit into him.

“Jessie, please, don’t hurt me!”

Yeah… that sucked.

So do me a favor.

If you happen to see me wandering around —

And you can spare a moment —

Please.

Put me out of my misery.

I don’t want to stay like this.

Not like this.

Not forever.

Author's Note

I had a nightmare and this is what came from it. I can't think of anything more soul destroying than what happens to Jessica. A fate much worse than undeath. If you like this, there more on the way from Black Spyder Publishing - www.blkspyder.com