The Real World

Millions of people across the world were already proclaimed dead, most of who are trying to kill those who remain living. I’ve been sitting in my apartment for over a week watching the news and playing video games. I was a hermit who did everything I could from the comfort of my living room. I worked from home, played video games, and passed whatever extra time I had by watching the news. I only left the apartment every week or so to collect supplies and mail out the transcripts I had written. Today was that day. I needed toilet paper, a new toothbrush, all the frozen pizza and hot pockets I could get my hands on, a carton of cigarettes, and a case of Easy Street Wheat, my favorite beer.

I sat on the couch watching as the news reported death tolls in Los Angeles and New York. Yesterday they said Colorado was pretty bad. Apparently some dude got sick, went to the hospital, and died before waking back up and eating the medical staff. I over exaggerate of course, but whatever he had was so contagious that every employee in that hospital that day died. It was a sad day for Austin, Texas. I didn’t really buy into the claims that these people were coming back to life and trying to eat the living, like reality turned into some twisted zombie horror film. The news never showed video footage of this happening because they claimed it was too dangerous to get close. I figured it was just a nasty strain of the pig flu and the CDC was having a hard time making a cure. Perhaps that explained the large death toll, assuming the news wasn’t bending the numbers to make it seem a lot more dramatic.

I got off my couch, grabbed my Denver Broncos hoodie, and headed for the door. I paused for a moment to put my hoodie on and reached out for the knob. What if the news claims were right, though, about people become zombies and eating others? If that were the case, Denver would probably look pretty bad. I’m on the east side of the city in Aurora, the most populated suburb in Denver. If people were turning into zombies, then this area would be bad. As ridiculous as it seemed, I waded through the piles of pizza boxes and empty Mountain Dew cans to my room and grabbed the Colt 45 my father gave me last Christmas. The silver gun was heavy in my hand when I picked it up. I inserted a full clip into the gun and stuffed the three extra clips into the pocket on my hoodie. Jesus, I was preparing for war.

I rubbed my lips, realizing that they were pretty chapped. That reminded me, I need some more Chap Stick. I went back through the sea of waste in my living room and opened the door. I peered out into the hallway and saw that it was empty. I began my short trip down to the elevators. Maybe I should take the stairs. I’m only two floors up and my fat ass could use a little bit of exercise. As I reached the corner a cold, dead human stumbled into my view. His eyes were a dirty yellow and his face was green. He looked like he was decomposing. A small trickle of blood flowing from the gaping hole on his face spilled down the remainder of his cheek and onto his ratty clothes. He snarled at me, showing off his yellow, blood stained teeth that were as sharp as fangs. He took his first few steps towards me, the tops of his feet dragging on the carpet, his hands outstretched in my direction. I was frozen for a brief moment, but it was long enough for this creep to grasp my hoodie as I turned to run. I should’ve left it at home, its mid July, who needs a sweatshirt in July? His strength was overwhelming as he dragged me onto my back. I fumbled for the gun in my pocket while the man fell on top of me. This fucker was clumsy, which was my only saving grace. I pulled the gun out of my pocket, turned the safety off, and fired three rounds into his head.

My ears were ringing from the gunshots; I hadn’t realized how close my head was to his until the sound shook my brain. I pushed him off of me and stood up. The man’s blood, as black as night, stained my beautiful Bronco’s attire. I ripped the hoodie off and sprinted towards the stairs. I was half way down before I realized that I had urinated all over myself. I reached the bottom of the stairs and checked my pants.  It looked as though someone dumped a bucket of water on me. I can’t do this. I’m a loner who spends most of my life in a fictional world living as someone else. I’m no survivor. I walked outside, letting the warm breeze consume me. I made my way out into the street that was still lined with streetlights. I dropped to my knees and put the gun into my mouth as the lamp above showered me in a spotlight, as if my suicide was on a stage for everyone to see. That’s when I realized that I was made for this. I kill fictitious zombies all the time. As that thought crossed my mind I saw two more zombies approaching me from my left. I pulled the gun out of my mouth and fired two shots. Dead on. I stood up again, letting the spotlight shine on my epiphany. I may have been an outcast in the real world, but that doesn’t make my life any less worth living. My lips stung me for a moment as I pondered my decision to live. Christ, I needed some Chap Stick.