The end

They are everywhere and they just keep coming. Women, children and dogs too-covered in rot and other disgusting bloody things. Indescribable in the least, to make you understand. Sometimes I think the bowels of hell were opened up and spilled out an unlimited supply of the living dead. The end of the world is here, now and I am safe for so far. But there is always an end to everything. Months have passed with no television, no radio signals. I have no electricity and I have stolen every candle from the houses in my neighborhood. I am not a thief and even though I know they are all dead, when I break their doors down I feel like I am intruding.

 

All the animals are infected as well. The only dog I can hear barking is the relentless zombie pit that wanders around the neighborhood. Each day, his barks get stranger and stranger. I think his vocal cords are wearing out. They all wear out eventually but then there are more. It's like a damn Zombie factory. Maybe they will all just walk until they fall apart-or until I get them.

I scribble on my note pad these details, I love to write. I always wrote these silly little horror stories and this is my next book. I remember the old zombie movies and how much I loved them. Yes, I am grateful for their education on the subject. I will write a better Zombie story, with better details. Why not, I have nothing else to live for at this time.

I am here, alone, in a little white farmhouse in Newton Mississippi. Somehow it is not as therapeutic as I thought to have time to myself. My hands shake and I break another pencil lead. "Dammit!"
I am covered with mud from head to toe and lying in my bed reminiscing with a broken pencil. I saw on some of those movies, that mud can help with alot of things--cover heat signals, keep you cooler and keep the insects away. My air went out long ago, along with the electricity. Things have become third world to me and pests are trying to get in. I may be losing my mind. Wow, what a joke that was.
At night, I can hear their moans, a lonely hungry call of trickery, that is what it is. Up and down the little dirt road by my house, they walk, trying to see if they missed any victims. I have eaten the last can of Vienna sausages and I will have to go out again today. I hate going out, but this time it's for different reasons. I have never been a social person after all.

And there is so much to do around here anyway. When I don't have to go out, I lift weights. Several weeks ago, I even took a chance and brought my husband's heavy bag in from the porch. Unfortunately, I think I ruined it when I stabbed it a couple times. I just lost my cool is all. You know being holed up for months isn't easy with all those demons and ghosts holed up with you. Those children who call you in the middle of the night and those ghostly arms that wrap around you in your bed. It's just never quite so lonely as you would think.

I have all my guns now. It took some time to get them all in the house. Several were being stored in our storage building down the hill. But I managed. I always manage. I have a couple of Nine millimeters, a 357 Magnum, 4 Rifles, 5 shotguns(including a double barrel) and a 45. Even when I felt strong one day, I checked in my son's room for his old baseball bats. I can't go in there again, so I boarded up his doorway.

You know, I have no plans for the future, except maybe to kill as many of those maggot infested creeps as I can. My heart is vengeance through and through. All I do now is live to survive, so that I can hate them more and maybe I can tell my story. Everyone, after all, wants to tell a story at some point.

I am different now. I used to be a prim and proper little lady back when. Back when my husband, three kids and I were able to enjoy the southern weather and each other. But those thieves from hell took that from me. They devoured all that was left of my sanity I think. But I am hungry now.
I drag the knife across my arm leaving my 150Th mark since the Apocalypse. Down my left arm is a work of bloody and scarred art symbolizing my dissension. It is beautiful to me. It is the only beauty I see in a world of nothing.

Pulling the boards from my doorway and peering outside, I grip my gun.

"Here I come boys. I want your brains too--all over the dirt."