Crunch.
I'd like to tell you that crunch was of an apple, of a pear, maybe a cucumber. But, sadly, it was a human skull being crushed beneath the weight of a very heavy, very muddy boot. Mine. To say it hurt would be an understatement, and to say it was excruciating would be a little dramatic. So what was it?
To be honest, it felt like a freaking paper cut. Yeah. An annoying little pain that makes you feel like you want to chop that part of your body off? We've all felt it, don't lie.
But why wasn't it too painful to bear? I guess I should let you in on my little secret.
Zombification, that's how. Don't even remember how I was turned, or, rather, who turned me. But how did I survive that head-squish? I know you noticed that first paragraph was in the past tense. Well, you see, hm... here. Let me put it this way. Zombies deteriorate. They fall apart over time. And time is something I am more than acquainted with. Now... I can see you trying to picture me: flesh rotting, puss oozing from my diseased sores... well, you're pretty close. And now for the kicker--zombie brains aren't the only things that decay; their brains do too. Mine was almost gone and I could barely function. The boot that'd crushed me belonged to a man who'd attempted to shoot me down, but I got the better of him until he threw me to the ground and lifted his foot. It didn't take much force for him to do it; just his body weight. But everything went clear the moment it began to crack beneath his body and the crave for his brain was overpowering. I was angry; I was in a frenzy.
My hands twisted up above me and wrapped around his ankle, snapping it and hearing him howl. He fell to the ground as I pressed a hand against my bald skull, trying to get it to stay together. At least he made it easier for me, I thought as I sneered, blood dripping past the stitches lining the crown of my head. I felt the red liquid, acrid and old, dripping past my gnarled teeth and dripping from my chin. The man whimpered and tried to get away, groaning from the pain in his ankle as I stalked forward, wiping the red from my fragile, pale skin.
"Brains," I spat, my wit finally out of my grasp as the beast took me over.
The man found himself trapped against a wall and covered his face with his hands. "No, please--please, spare me! Don't eat me."
I laughed, blood spewing from my body as I released my skull and tore at the stitches around my crown with my razor-sharp nails. "Brains."
"Please, don't eat me," he begged.
"I won't eat you," I said, kneeling down beside him and wiping a cold finger against his plump cheek. "I just need your brain."
So push came to shove and here I am. Now, I know what you're thinking: But your speech was so limited. How could you have possibly told this story with such eloquence and sophistication, if I might add?
It's simple. I just needed a new brain.
I'd like to tell you that crunch was of an apple, of a pear, maybe a cucumber. But, sadly, it was a human skull being crushed beneath the weight of a very heavy, very muddy boot. Mine. To say it hurt would be an understatement, and to say it was excruciating would be a little dramatic. So what was it?
To be honest, it felt like a freaking paper cut. Yeah. An annoying little pain that makes you feel like you want to chop that part of your body off? We've all felt it, don't lie.
But why wasn't it too painful to bear? I guess I should let you in on my little secret.
Zombification, that's how. Don't even remember how I was turned, or, rather, who turned me. But how did I survive that head-squish? I know you noticed that first paragraph was in the past tense. Well, you see, hm... here. Let me put it this way. Zombies deteriorate. They fall apart over time. And time is something I am more than acquainted with. Now... I can see you trying to picture me: flesh rotting, puss oozing from my diseased sores... well, you're pretty close. And now for the kicker--zombie brains aren't the only things that decay; their brains do too. Mine was almost gone and I could barely function. The boot that'd crushed me belonged to a man who'd attempted to shoot me down, but I got the better of him until he threw me to the ground and lifted his foot. It didn't take much force for him to do it; just his body weight. But everything went clear the moment it began to crack beneath his body and the crave for his brain was overpowering. I was angry; I was in a frenzy.
My hands twisted up above me and wrapped around his ankle, snapping it and hearing him howl. He fell to the ground as I pressed a hand against my bald skull, trying to get it to stay together. At least he made it easier for me, I thought as I sneered, blood dripping past the stitches lining the crown of my head. I felt the red liquid, acrid and old, dripping past my gnarled teeth and dripping from my chin. The man whimpered and tried to get away, groaning from the pain in his ankle as I stalked forward, wiping the red from my fragile, pale skin.
"Brains," I spat, my wit finally out of my grasp as the beast took me over.
The man found himself trapped against a wall and covered his face with his hands. "No, please--please, spare me! Don't eat me."
I laughed, blood spewing from my body as I released my skull and tore at the stitches around my crown with my razor-sharp nails. "Brains."
"Please, don't eat me," he begged.
"I won't eat you," I said, kneeling down beside him and wiping a cold finger against his plump cheek. "I just need your brain."
So push came to shove and here I am. Now, I know what you're thinking: But your speech was so limited. How could you have possibly told this story with such eloquence and sophistication, if I might add?
It's simple. I just needed a new brain.
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