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The Most Unreliable Account of a Small Town Zombie Apocalypse

Otherwise known as 'The Great Insect Takeover' of 2017. CHOSEN WORDS: HELL, MOTORCYCLE, FAN

By Karina ThyraPublished about a year ago 24 min read
The Most Unreliable Account of a Small Town Zombie Apocalypse
Photo by Ana Itonishvili on Unsplash

This is my account of the 'zombie' apocalypse. Also known as 'The Great Insect Takeover of 2017'.

This is one of those writings in which I don't exactly know where to begin, or how to end.

I just remember that at one point, my life was perfectly normal, and then it was hell. However, hell is relative. What is hell for me now may not be hellish for other people - just another day at work.

I distinctly remember how it was before this madness began. I was kneading what would be soft breakfast rolls in the morning. That was when the news flashed on the TV and within 72 hours, everything was chaotic. I thought it would be different for our town; when the dictator declared martial law long before my parents were born, this town was quiet and as lazy as can be, at least according to my grandmother. I call her mama, by the way just so we could avoid the confusion for later. Imagine my surprise when they panicked at the thought of a catastrophe hitting Southeast Asia. Deep down, I think Japan wanted to get back at the world for the events of WWII. But they had also developed a lot of bizarre inventions in the last fifty years, so it shouldn't have come as a shock to me when this happened. For some reason, I just thought that for an ironic twist of fate, this would start in Busan, South Korea.

By Charles Forerunner on Unsplash

But before everything else, let me tell you how life had been like for me long before the storm. I had a pit in my stomach; the sort of feeling quite like Shadow had felt in 'American Gods,' the novel by Neil Gaiman. He felt as though there was certain darkness looming over him; that was how I felt before the proverbial crap hit the fan, and I literally had to smell like a sewer to get away from everyone.

The thing was, I blamed it on my ever-increasing mood swings because I'm going through a phase of young adulthood and it's harder to keep my bitchy hormones in check no matter how hard I try. If no one has ever told you this, one of the reasons why girls turn into a she-wolf when the time of the month comes is this: it isn’t just hormones that make their minds seemingly filled with wrath and gluttony. It's because aside from pain, we do feel a certain discomfort from the waist down. Sometimes it is period cramps, sometimes this discomfort causes us to snap even with just a distinct and annoying sound of someone’s chewing; the discomfort where we wouldn't-take-shit-from-anyone sort.

The past few days, I feel like I'm experiencing the aftermath of a personal tragedy I have never fully confronted; therefore the past has come up to go bite me in the ass. I have not only become withdrawn from nearly everyone, but also I found it less appealing to do anything else productive. I didn’t find joy in watching TV series or chatting/exchanging barbs and insults with random strangers online like I used to. I desperately wanted to go out, but all my friends are busy with their theses, I'm short on cash because all the money I save is in the bank, and I was supposed to be doing something productive, but I couldn't bring myself to read all my online modules. I have simply grown apathetic. And then this happened. Now everything fell into place, and I needed to break free from the apathy and false bravado in which I had been cocooned.

As the universe would have it, an outbreak started in Japan, and now all my fears regarding certain insects have been confirmed and justified.

By Louis Reed on Unsplash

Do you remember those parasites that would mind-control other insects, turning them into hosts for their young and a source of food? No matter how much the insects resisted, the virus would eventually take over and gain full control of their motor actions. That's how it happened in a laboratory in Japan. I never got the full scope, nor was I fully in control of my thoughts when all the chaos unfolded, but it started in Japan and quickly spiraled out of control. Most people either got infected or died. It wasn't something that you could immediately identify. The symptoms were not as dramatic as what we see in zombie outbreak movies; that would be ridiculous. It wasn't an instantaneous process either. It began with headaches, and since those are common, most people would brush them off. Since humans can't afford to be complacent even for a few seconds, the virus spread rapidly, as it can be transmitted through saliva or bodily fluids. Honestly, it's disgusting.

By the time the crap hit the fan, the Japanese government couldn't handle their situation already, and because animals have become infected too, the epidemic became global. So far, situations have become terrible in most parts of the ASEAN regions. Where exactly would we go? NATO was helping to mitigate the situation, but what can they do when bodies have begun piling up and the things that didn’t die went on to infect others? I shudder to think of the things, so I just mostly didn't watch or listen to TV anymore. The town has become dreary. Transportation has begun to decrease, and congested roads have become frequent. People have become like insects, going to one place and then another when they found out that they couldn't exactly hide where they wanted to hide.

By Hobi industri on Unsplash

My grandmothers were the first to evacuate when the bus arrived to pick people up the night before. I could have joined them. I would have joined them, but I stayed behind when I saw that there was a pregnant woman and a kid who couldn't have been more than seven years old. They would have had nowhere to sit if I climbed in and took my rightful spot. The woman's husband stayed behind, and I witnessed their tearful embrace. The man thanked me when I decided to stay behind. I had a large and bulky backpack, and the three of us would never have fit inside the already overcrowded bus. Mama and my two grandaunts looked visibly angry as they watched our interaction, but I assured them that I would follow to the safe zone shortly.

Now, I can't help but feel like I didn't make the right choice. Could I really prioritize a child's safety over my own? I suppose I still have moral dilemmas, after all. In any case, it's too late to dwell on a decision I made based on my conscience or soul. There was just something about that kid. Deep down, I guess I had hoped that someone more physically capable would offer their seat for my young sibling as well.


In a spur-of-the-moment twist that caught me completely off-guard, our family was hit by the infected. I barely had time to process the unfolding events when those mutated zombie-like creatures reached our small town, despite it being separated by a sea from the city. No. But then, as I mentioned earlier, damn migratory animals. I suppose this is Mother Nature's way of saying, "Do you think you're superior to me? That I would allow you to treat me like garbage, you sorry bunch of bastards? Well, guess what, the Queen is back."

Or maybe I find that thought comforting because I have no idea what my future holds. Everything seems terrifying and undignified now. To die from being infected by the strain or to live and eventually succumb as a mindless vessel to a plague originating from an insect?

By Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Maybe humans weren't truly at the top of the food chain after all; perhaps it was those single or multi-celled organisms we call bacteria, and we never fully realized that until our deaths. I know there's a distinction between bacteria and viruses, but I hope you get the point.

As I rushed to grab my backpack filled with supplies, along with the semi-automatic rifle and other ammunition that I didn't know how to use properly, my uncle frantically told me to run or hide while he stayed behind to fight off the zombies. I guess he's reliving his glory days as a soldier, defending against the enemies of the government.

I sought refuge inside the old abandoned bathroom, located in a narrow corridor that connected to a small kitchen in the second house of our compound. It had mostly become a stockroom, and it was tricky to access due to the presence of large printing press materials. However, at least these blocks would serve as a barricade against zombies. Since the second building had a lesser tenant (hence the printing press items), it was a good and advantageous place to take cover. Luckily, there was still electricity and signal. It seemed the cell towers hadn't been severed just yet. Conveniently, I had a postpaid SIM card, already paid for a year in advance, as I had plans to go abroad for an internship before the year's end.

In my time of solitude, I began to reminisce about the meaning of life to me, once upon a time. Perhaps it would all amount to just one Kansas song, 'Dust in the Wind,' or maybe not. For the first time, the uncertainty of the matter truly terrified me. I opened the golden heart-shaped locket that my grand-aunt had given me before they left. It contained a picture of St. Rita of Cascia, the patron saint of the impossible. Heh.

By Dmitry Ratushny on Unsplash

First, I wondered how my parents were doing, along with my younger brother who was with them, and my older brother on the other side of the country for his studies. I had never truly expressed my appreciation for them, so I sent them all a message, hoping they would see it when they found sanctuary or if we managed to survive this ordeal.

The commotion had died down after about half an hour, but I couldn't leave just yet. I wouldn't leave. It didn't matter that it was already October and warm and humid like summer. If I were fully present in the moment, my heart would be pounding loudly in my chest, but I was too out of it. My mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts, not obsessing over my impending death, only thinking about others'. I checked my Facebook and saw that many people had marked themselves as 'safe' during the outbreak. It struck me as ironic how they could still post ridiculous statuses instead of focusing on saving themselves and preserving their batteries. I wondered how social media apps were still running in the dawn of the apocalypse. I would have posted something witty or sarcastic, trying to make light of the situation, like asking if the idiots who had wished for a zombie apocalypse were now thriving like Rick Grimes. I always found those individuals posting such memes as a feeble attempt at morbid humor to be foolish. However, I realized that posting gallows humor wouldn't make me any better than them. The last thing I wanted was for a group of nerds or geeks to resent me when, at this rate, there was strength in numbers. Besides, I wouldn't want them to hunt me down and unleash the nerd-pocalypse on me.

Once again, I sat and waited. After a while, I must have fallen asleep without realizing it. When I woke up, drenched in sweat, my wristwatch showed that it was 5:30 in the afternoon. I tried to stand up slowly, my legs aching from being crouched for too long.

"Kitty?" my uncle's voice called out. "Are you there?!"

He knocked using the secret code.

"Yes," I called out. "I'm here."

"Pack your things and open the door."

I hesitated. I didn't want to leave. "Aren't we going to search for other survivors?"

"Yes, that's why we need to open the door and get out. A government vehicle is scouting the town. We'll leave at seven."

Finally, I relented. I didn't want to leave the safety of the bathroom and the house, but we couldn't stay any longer because our security had been compromised.


A whole day had passed before I finally had the opportunity to take a nice, long shower. I washed and scrubbed away all the grime, dirt, blood, and the sickeningly pungent smell of sewer water until my skin turned red and threatened to bleed. The zombies emitted a putrid odor, similar to that of rotten eggs or sulfur. It was so strong and intolerable that when the bus to safety didn't arrive, we waited at home wearing disposable masks, which we had to cover in soot. The functioning radio stations announced that anyone who was still alive and listening would have to make their way to the given coordinates on their own.

As my uncle and I walked downtown early that morning, we encountered the man whose child I had given up my seat for. He rescued us from an attack by zombified canines. He introduced himself as Manuel Navarro, and my uncle mentioned that he was a distant relative of ours. Manuel owned a tricycle, which he confessed to having stolen from the tricycle association. It was a reserve tricycle, and he no longer had any moral qualms about it. He explained, "A week before the panic, I knew I had to secure this. It was the right decision."

Manuel drove us to a nearby safe haven, a transient place where he had been staying for almost two days. He assured us that the place hadn't been compromised yet, and he kept a close watch on the security cameras, just in case the zombies were nearby.

There were three other individuals at the transient place: Dean and Dimitri, a young queer newlywed couple, and Edna, a firefighter. They were good people who had been staying at the transient place as long as Manuel had. However, I couldn't bring myself to engage in conversation with anyone. We all contemplated our existence, searching for reasons to keep going, even discussing the possibility of ending our lives with poisoned whiskey. In a moment of reflection, I inwardly giggled at the couple's names, Dean and Dimitri, which reminded me of characters from the show Supernatural, played by Jensen Ackles and a variant of Misha Collins' real name. Even in the midst of the apocalypse, I found joy in coincidences like this. I made a mental note to mention it to them when the time was right.

As I stood under the shower that night, my mind wandered back to simpler times when my biggest concern was finding someone to pay for writing and reviewing 500-word book summaries. In those moments, I questioned whether this whole ordeal was just a dream, a way for me to escape my responsibilities and navigate the challenges of being a teenager. But each time I looked in the mirror, the surreal reality hit me, dispelling any notion of it being a mere illusion. I half expected to wake up from a coma and realize that I had been penning this narrative in my dreams, hoping that publishing it would help my family cover the burdensome hospital bills. Unfortunately, this was my harsh reality. Although I had grown tougher over the past few weeks, there were still moments of doubt, where I questioned my existence and the authenticity of this world. It felt like navigating uncharted territory, grappling with things beyond the grasp of my mind. While my thoughts tried to convince me that the apparent zombie apocalypse was all in my head, the experiences I faced contradicted that notion. As the water cascaded down my face, providing a fleeting sense of solace, my mind drifted back to a time when I believed I possessed the only rational mind in my predominantly female household. Growing up amidst women had its advantages over an environment fueled by testosterone, but it also had its drawbacks. Women could become boisterous and argumentative, and being caught in the crossfire was far from desirable.

I had two siblings, both boys, and although I used to believe that I was the sharpest tool in the shed, my sense of self-importance evaporated as people transformed into zombie-like creatures. Suicide had crossed my mind, but my pride and rationality discouraged such thoughts. Once this nightmare subsided, I was certain that countless teens like me would yearn for recognition and validation for their survival efforts, pouring their experiences into journals chronicling this dystopian era. If Anne Frank's diary could be published as a testament to the hidden records during Hitler's reign, the books that would emerge from our generation would capture the era of insects and zombies—a time that united people in the face of a common threat, where our irrational fears pushed us to desperate measures to stay alive.


The six of us spent the next two days making bullets and other tools. Edna, the firefighter, had a soldier for a father, and her grandfather was a former rebel. They both taught her everything she knows about ammo and how to make it. Most of Edna’s belongings consisted of practical items, although I was surprised that she only had dried food as if she were going on a hiking trip. She did tell me that was her intention - to get away from this town for a while. But when she had already packed everything she needed, she heard the news. So instead of just spending her vacation as planned, she packed more items as if she were going to war. I suppose this is what war looks like. While we were camping in the transient, we didn't eat like champions; we ate very little but occasionally drowned our sorrows with alcohol because what else were we supposed to do?

By YesMore Content on Unsplash

At night, we could hear the walking mutations on the street. They also come out during the daytime, but we don’t expose ourselves to shoot them for kicks. All of us had guns except for the couple, whose intention was just to go island hopping here - tough luck for them. Fortunately, my uncle had an extra gun - a M1911A1 - and Edna had one too. We attach silencers to our guns when we go out. During the night, when I spot zombies in the street, I shoot them with my uncle’s sniper rifle. It was initially difficult to aim, but when these zombies go to the trash cans to find food, they become vulnerable. I only shoot a zombie when it's alone. Although I still struggle to accept that this is the new reality, shooting them gives me a thrill. It sends a certain kick through my veins, gives me goosebumps, and fills me with exhilaration. I guess this is how psychopaths feel when they kill. Over time, the initial thrill and goosebumps from the first kill fade away, but the exhilaration of the hunt remains.

Before all of this happened, my friends and people who know me assumed that my wildest fantasies included being an evil overlord, learning sorcery, or capturing a vampire and having it turn me into an immortal. I must confess, ever since I played Red Alert at the age of 9, I did dream of becoming a spy and taking over the world. Those aspirations still hold a certain allure if the opportunity were to arise. However, deep down, my wildest and most hidden fantasy was to kill without restraint, remorse, or consequence. I had no desire to harm those who wouldn't hurt me, but there was a warrior inside me yearning to conquer enemies as warriors did in the days of conquering foreign lands (which is considered bad) or defending their garrisons from foreign fleets (sort of good?). It's undeniably barbaric, I admit, but similar to how Dean Winchester felt when he was in monster-heaven (Purgatory), the act of defending oneself and constantly being on guard felt pure. Slashing and shooting without needing to ask questions later because you already knew the answers.

By Dave Weatherall on Unsplash

The safe zone, as mentioned on the (still operating) radio stations, was in Oriental, on the other side of the mountain. We could go there by van, but we haven't managed to hijack one yet. We haven't scoped out the town either. It's fairly small, and traveling by car or van wouldn't be practical. We don't know how congested the roads are or whether it would be better to continue on foot. Dean, Dimitri, and Manuel are scouting the town for suitable motorcycles that we can use for our journey.

Our town used to have a population of 100,000. Due to the rapid spread of the virus, we don't know how many of those people have turned into zombies, are in the safe zone, or are dead. Honestly, I would prefer it if half the town were dead rather than being zombies. I don't even understand why we still want to go to the safe zone. San Jose is sufficient, and in all honesty, I don't believe that zombies are like sharks, always moving forward. The lack of helicopters makes me think that maybe the six of us are among the few remaining people in the province or on the island. It's not impossible, considering the entire Metropolitan area could be swarming with zombies or deceased individuals. They can't exactly swim across the ocean just to get here. But Manuel and the other adults are determined to go to the safe zone in Oriental. Despite my half-hearted protests, I wouldn't want to be left alone in a ghost town to fend for myself.


Manuel, Dean, and Dimitri rode around town to find the motorbikes we would need for the journey. They encountered a group of zombies downtown but didn't pay them any attention since they had doused their protective gear with sewer perfume. That's what keeps the zombies at bay. If you smelled like them – rotting, sulfuric, basically a walking stench machine – they wouldn't mind you at all. Just like insects, the infected are also vulnerable to pesticides.

When the trio acquired what they needed, they mentioned that they "set those bastards on fire." The zombie apocalypse isn't as bad as portrayed in The Walking Dead or 28 Days Later. If this Armageddon were to wipe out a significant portion of the population, it would be because once infected, zombies have a short lifespan. It's not like a virus created by wasps or worms that can live long enough in a human host. We lack the biological requirements necessary to serve as a cocoon for an insect, or at least I hope so. That's why, similar to the outbreak of Ebola in 2014, corpses have to be burned. We can't be too sure.

By Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

The problem was, when zomples (zombified people, as I began to call them), were dying, a swarm of flies would also feed on them. I think the lack of sanitary disposal of the corpses would contribute to the further spread of the virus. I wonder how long it would take for the authorities to even notice this. I wonder if they truly care or if half the country is so damned already that this part of the 7,641 islands has been forgotten from the map. It's a good thing, I suppose, that flies only have a lifespan of 28 days. But for good measure, we wear protective gear and carry flamethrowers when we go out to torch some corpses. We just can't leave the little town worse than a massive graveyard. At least none of the mass graves I've seen in pictures have a swarm of flies in them.

Even though this wasn't the biblical apocalypse that I and many others were expecting, we certainly encountered a disgusting plague. It started with the insects. At least the water hasn't turned red yet.

By Daniel Klein on Unsplash

We left town before the end of the week. My uncle had finally contacted his old pals at Crame, informing them about our situation and our discoveries regarding the burning of corpses.

"Of course, we know that the city is in worse condition, and every day is an uphill battle," I overheard my uncle say. "We waited for three days for the uninfected to evacuate, and then we purged the city with flamethrowers, as decreed by the President. We thought everyone in your town was either evacuated or dead."

He mentioned that they would send a helicopter before the end of the week. It was good to have connections.

As they continued talking, I listened in on their conversation, thanks to the loudspeaker. In a way, they were right. Although I solemnly believe that humans are capable of committing acts that would make them worse than a newborn Antichrist, it is still possible to reason with people. That's why we have peace talks, treaties, and all that jazz, just to maintain whatever semblance of peace we have achieved. Even though, in reality, most world leaders couldn't wait for an opportunity to slice each other's throats. If they didn't contemplate it outright, their faces certainly looked like they were brewing something horrendous during forums. Uncle Nate and his buddies were right that this zombie apocalypse was far worse than fighting known threats to the nation. It's not like dealing with something straight out of an Eli Roth movie or what have you. In this case, the very citizens they should have been protecting are being killed because they have turned into zomples. If we were to disregard the fact that these zombies were once human, I can only imagine how horrifying it would be for some people to witness the necessity of burning down their own houses, infrastructures, and even causing damage to priceless architecture.


When I was a young girl, I dreamt of attending military school. It wasn't because I came from a long line of military folks. I was partly inspired by the movie starring Hilary Duff – Cadet Kelly. As a growing kid, I found it fun to crawl in the mud wearing a fatigue uniform or climb a wooden wall, and then show up to a fancy school party with my mud-covered uniform, accidentally smudging it onto the tough, sophisticated garrison leader who made my life miserable. But as I grew up, I no longer found crawling under barbed wires and mud to be enjoyable. Mostly because mud tends to have insects in it, and the thought of insects now makes my skin crawl. However, I still have the desire to climb high walls. The dream of serving my country has always been in the back of my mind. Even though I detest the laxness we all exhibit during CAT and ROTC, I have always promised myself that one day I would give back to this country. Perhaps it ties in with my wildest fantasy of vanquishing enemies without moral inhibitions.

By Specna Arms on Unsplash

We are now traveling to the location where the helicopter that will take us to the safe zone is waiting. The six of us are comfortably sitting inside a military van. While we were all joking around, Uncle Nate mentioned something about locking a mate's fridge because the latter ate all his bacon strips back in camp, and we all laughed.

At one point, I even complimented the star-crossed pairing of Dean and Dimitri. They realized what I was hinting at, and they too laughed. The others who don't watch Supernatural just scratched their heads and continued telling tales from the military camp.

Finally, when we reached our destination, two helicopters were waiting for us. We expressed our gratitude to the soldiers and wished them safety. Dean, Dimitri, and Manuel boarded one helicopter together, while Uncle Nate, Edna, and I took the other. Since I didn't know when we would see each other again, I hugged the three people with whom I had been sharing a house for the past month. They are some of the best people I have ever known. It's strange how I might never have taken notice of them in any other circumstance. Perhaps I wouldn't have willingly given up my seat for Manuel's child if it weren't for the apocalypse and just a regular day of travel.

"Adios!" we all shouted at each other and waved.

The roads weren't as congested as we had thought, but from up in the air, tricycles and other small vehicles looked as if they were trapped in their positions forever, or at least until the authorities could move them. The Pandurucan bridge still hadn't been fixed, which isn't all that surprising considering that this town lacked three fundamental things to truly be called a town: bookshops (or public libraries), competent politicians, and intelligent voters. Now that I think of it, the last two would make this a great town, but only if we were even considered a town at all, since we had no libraries or bookshops.

I haven't seen or heard any worldwide news in nearly a month. I have almost forgotten about my parents and siblings. Here's hoping that they are alive and well, and that we will see each other again when I wake up from this horrendous nightmare in my hospital bed, or when humans have reestablished their dominance against Mother Nature, and the foundations of our society have been rebuilt.


By Diego PH on Unsplash

It's my first time riding in a helicopter. I'm sitting on Edna's right side. Her mouth is quirked into a timid smile, clearly admiring the sights. To her left is Uncle Nate, taking a nap since he stayed up all night with Dean, guarding the transient. Even though it's silent, it's not the bad kind of silence. No words need to be spoken in moments like this; we don't have to engage in awkward chitchat just because we're grasping at the remnants of social etiquette and norms. Nobody ever talks about how worldwide authorities handle crises like this, not in the zombie movies I've seen. Maybe I haven't seen enough zombie movies to know if they've depicted a plot where world leaders try not to panic as everyone they've ever known, stolen from, or served turns into hosts for parasites before slowly imploding and becoming fly food. It hurts my head just trying to think about the future of over 7 billion people in the world. It's highly unlikely that the infected would cross the oceans or fly planes, or for flies to travel the world. Theoretically, even though the zombie apocalypse would be a case-by-case basis, and each case would be isolated, I can't help but wonder about the aftermath: when all the corpses have been burned, towns and cities reduced to skeletons and ashes. But what if more people have been infected? In any case, I know I couldn't live in a supposed safe zone – an isolated town that supposedly offers cleanliness and survival on rations, with subpar sanitation. Maybe the past month has made me more cynical and selfish than I already am. I clear my throat.

"Excuse me, sir?" I asked the helicopter pilot, whose name was Ferdinand Flores.

"Yes, young girl?" he replied, his voice more chipper than what was appropriate given the situation. Perhaps he needed someone to talk to. Oh, how tragedy changes us.

I pondered on my desire to validate my existence through heroic deeds, seeking a sense of self-fulfillment. Yet, I also yearned for a peaceful life. I contemplated my future for a good five seconds before speaking. "I don't think I want to go to the safe zone. Is there any way I could help clean the towns?"

"We can discuss it when we reach the safe zone," he said.

His co-pilot, Avery Santillan, a young woman, chimed in. "Wouldn't you want to reunite with your family?"

"Well," I began, contemplating how to express the scattered whereabouts of my family across the globe. "My brother is in the Bicol region, my parents and younger brother are in Thailand, and my grandmothers are in the safe zone, wherever that may be. I'm uncertain if we'll have a reunion. None of us anticipated that flights would be canceled when everything went to hell. Moreover, I doubt they would be allowed to travel back here given the situation. Authorities would advise us to stay put, but the lack of discipline and patience is what led us to this situation, ma'am."

After that, we fell into silence. As I reflected on my words, I couldn't believe they had escaped my lips. Edna shifted in her seat, offering me a slight smile with sad eyes. It was either out of pity or a realization that I was speaking the truth. We had silently acknowledged these harsh realities, yet avoided speaking them aloud, perhaps out of misplaced sensitivity and respect.

"The last stop for all of us will be the safe zone. If you're willing to undergo training, there's a military zone there. We'll need all the help we can get," Pilot Flores said.

I nodded, expressing my gratitude. "Thank you," I replied, my thoughts already focused on how I would style my hair once I had it cut into a cropped pixie. In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, personal grooming had taken a backseat, but now that the opportunity arose, I couldn't help but think about it. Despite the world ending, I still had moments of superficiality. I suppose some things never change.

"I've found my calling," I shared with Uncle Nate as he woke up.

Young AdultShort StorySci FiSatireMysteryHumorHorrorAdventure

About the Creator

Karina Thyra

Fangirl of sorts.

Twitter: @ArianaGsparks

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