chalice_palace t1_jcmu1lu wrote

Reasons I am almost definitely not a zombie:

  1. Bruises can stay for weeks without clearing up. The fact that my upper arm remains bright purple and blue should have no bearing.

  2. There is nothing on me that looks like a bite mark. The scratches on my arm in the middle of the bruising are from whatever I ran into. Probably a tree.

  3. Just because it felt like I was holding my breath for an hour yesterday while waiting for a hoard to pass doesn't mean it wasn't really a minute and a half. Obviously I can't accurately tell time without a clock.

  4. I've always had difficulty finding my pulse especially in my wrist. Not currently being able to find my pulse means nothing.

I haven't been able to work out how the whole situation started yet. Between avoiding hoards, packing and repacking my survival backpack, raiding Wal-Mart for more paint samples, and price checking DVDs, I just haven't had the time.

I like paint samples. They remind me of paint commercials on TV, the kind where the parents are figuring out what color to paint the new baby's room.

Which reminds me I've got to return the baby names book to the library. It's due date is tomorrow. Along with half a dozen other books.

If I leave now, I think as I'm shuffling through the paint samples, I'll probably make it before the library closes. And I've got another pack of the expensive index cards for the catalogue. If there's anything I've learned from the Library of Alexandria it's that a society of one still needs a working card catalogue if they're going to be able to use any of the books to survive without burning them (adult romance novels don't count). Well that and don't burn your only source of information and entertainment no matter how angry you are to be the survivor.

The library is actually the reason for my list. If I'm going crazy or turning into a zombie I'd like to leave a record of it. That way some poor archeologist in the future can make sense of what happened here. I certainly haven't managed it yet.

I pick out a nice set of greens and rub the colors as I make my way out of the store. I use the side entrance and lock it up with the nice bike chain I found in the toy section. The key goes into the drop box. My sign on the door says, "The key to the chain is in the (unlocked) drop box. Please lock up and return the key when exiting."

The other side of the sign, the one that can be seen from the inside of the door, says, "Please sign your name and then come visit me at Costco." I've taped a working pen to the sign, but the only name there is my own.


I make it to the library without any mishaps greater than tripping over nothing. Not even a zombie to walk away from.

My sun-bleached signs on the library doors read, "Welcome to the Library! The key is in the Dropbox. Please lock up and return key when exiting."

The books are also behind locked doors, but I keep the key with me. Books useless in an apocalypse (read: adult romance novels and unfinished series) are left in the lobby. They are for kindling.

I'm halfway through cataloging the Young Adult J's when I hear a thud and some shuffling. I pause and listen more closely.

Did I forget to lock the door? I think.

A moment later I realize the answer is yes when a zombie shuffles into view. I look toward the other end of the aisle for my escape route, but apparently I'm on the one aisle with only one entrance. I look for my escape plan book. But underneath the catalogue cards is just dusty carpet. I purse my lips and sigh inwardly.

Climbing the shelves it is.

At the top I pause to examine the zombie. It looks like it had been wearing a pink dress and it's hair is a dark shade of red. It's bruised arms reach for me but can't quite touch the top of the shelf. It grunts and rasps.

Terrifying. (Please note the sarcasm.)

It doesn't look like anyone I know so I jump down the other side and make my way to the stairs.

"Hey Zom-breath!" I call, when I'm past the aisle. "The delicious definitely human flesh is over here!"

The zombie turns and starts shuffling it's way over toward me at a much faster pace. The closer it gets, the more it's jaw begins working readying itself to feed.

I let it chase me out of the library before I turn a couple of corners and loop my way back to the library.

It seems I've only left out the most important part of the list. I put it at the top and number it 0.

The zombies do not see me as one of their own.