Hi everyone, so I don’t have any more flash fiction for the moment – this is a piece of zombie fiction I wrote the other night. It’s basically a small part of what may become a zombie novella. I have written other parts already and the basic idea is it focusses on five very different characters who are all affected in different ways by a zombie apocalypse. Their stories then interweave because they meet each other to form a small group of survivors. Each character gets their own first-person chapter which outlines how the outbreak first affected them and how they’ve come to survive so far. I’ve already written a few of these so they may be published on here soon if I’m feeling brave enough.
(The character in this piece is obviously not going to become one of the main characters at any point – the title kind of gives away the reason for that, haha. Their story would probably be part of the introduction.)
Comments are very welcome, but please keep any criticism constructive, this is part of a work in progress 🙂
The Night I Died
The night I died everything that had once been calm and normal was gone. I remember feeling very claustrophobic, having a doctor or a nurse at every turn. I didn’t feel looked after. I felt imprisoned in my bed, never getting any better despite everything they tried. Early on they’d suggested I try an experimental drug, and thinking I might as well, I took it, but all that was noted was that it slightly slowed down my advancing symptoms.
Still, no one at the time really knew what symptoms to expect. I was one of the first, and very unlucky. One minute I lay there feeling confused and very feverish, and the next I closed my eyes, both exhausted and feeling awful, but I honestly didn’t feel like I was necessarily going to die.
No one knew that when I lost consciousness and seemed to be dead I would suddenly raise my head up but be…not myself.
I had died but not died. You’d think it was a medical miracle, but I had become what the surviving doctors in their notes called ‘aggressive’.
I was aggressively cannibalistic. I wasn’t me any more; I was acting like some wild animal who just wanted to bite anyone it could. I don’t think I even ate anyone. I just lashed out and bit for no reason except, I suppose, to spread the virus.
There was a violent struggle in which I snarled as I gladly tore flesh off people’s bones. Some of them tried to sedate me but I was not having any of it. I could not be restrained. Everyone in the room tried to stop me. Eventually they abandoned the private room, locked it, and moved some tables to form a barricade. I hammered at the door and growled at them.
They stood there, frozen, and watched me. I had become like an animal at a zoo. I found it very frustrating, all that food out there and I could not break out. It made no difference in the end. I was shut in there safely but I had already bitten eight people. Before long they too would be trying to bite their colleagues, friends, and family members.