My physical condition has been going down hill over the last few weeks. Lack of fresh water and a dwindling food supply have really put me at a disadvantage against the undead. Or maybe it evened out the playing field, ether way I have been getting sloppy, and rather carless as of late. It was because of this reason that I didn’t see the baker zombie until it was just about on top of me.

The creature was dressed as a chef of some kind, and it still carried a large shiny plate in its hand, like some type of serving tray. I like to imagine it had a birthday cake on it, but it would be absurd that the cake could still be in one piece at this point.

Anyway, it attacked me from behind as I made my way down a long flight of stairs in a small alleyway on the outskirts of town. I am not even sure how I didn’t see it or its shiny plate from the top of the steps. I have no explanation at this point to where it came from, but it was there, and it was inches from my face.

The creature was snapping its jaws viciously at me, but its own plate had created a barrier between us, and I was able to force it back onto the steps. I used my knee to wedge between us and pry myself out of its grasp. The creature suddenly released me causing me to slide down the steps and roll a few flights before coming to rest on a small landing.  My right knee was bent under my body at a weird angle, and when I tried to straighten it; I was awarded with a ghoulish popping sound. I bite down on my fist as I tried to restrain the scream inside me.

I slowly pulled myself to my feet, and turned to look up the steps. The creature had righted itself and began its slow decent towards me. I was neither strong enough, nor interested in continuing this fight.  So I made a hastily retreat down the steps. Or at least I went as fast as a malnourished, dehydrated person with a severely injured knee could go.

The constant air of sadness surrounding me has numbed my soul. I really thought that the beginnings of my mind’s slippage would take longer than a month, but it’s funny how things stick with you, especially things like visions of the bus stop kid. My tolerance for this life is continually tested, and, at times, continuing on is difficult.

This particular instance stuck out more than others. It is hard to look upon zombie children, but even worse is the zombie who retains its childish features. Masking the gore and lack of soul is the retaining of innocence and frailty. Lost in a sea of circumstances far beyond their control, their lives and very essences.

The bus stop kid was difficult to swallow. It just stood there, no matter how close I got, looking up and down the street. Still waiting for the bus, the “child” could not understand that it would never come. I could see no physical damage or hint as to how the child was infected; though, you could clearly see that it had taken part in feeding. Maybe, a poor soul like myself saw the child standing there and tried to help, only to be thanked by a sudden violent attack. Gnashing jaws, tearing and ripping, no chance.

I approached it slowly pulling out my weapon, steadying myself for what I would have to do. The child looked up at me, a saddened look on its face. It reached towards me, and whimpered a little as it grabbed onto its backpack.  “Its ok little one,” I said in a quiet tone, “The bus is almost here… It will all…be…OK…”

(BANG)