To say Jim was odd would be a bit like calling the kettle black. Jim was no more odd than you or I. His oddness just came out in public, while we quietly slip into insanity alone.
If you knew Jim, you would say there was something missing. And you would be quite right. Because as of right now, Jim is shambling through the cubicles of his old job searching for a meal. Searching for a human meal. Cowering underneath a desk. Squatting in a bathroom stall. Dangling out a window wondering if dropping would be a better alternative to being eaten alive. If the universe had any sense of justice, the person cowering would be his asshole of a boss, the person in the stall would be his office nemesis, and the one dangling out the window would be an ex girlfriend. But it doesn't. These are just hapless victims who were not cruel enough to escape while the getting was good.
Jim groaned and groped at a brisk shuffle, eager to find food when a computer monitor ended his hunt. The person, Jim's friend Harold, sighed and peeked over the walls of his cubicle. He took a moment to think about the odds a zombie would be munching someone in one of the other work spaces. He stomped the heel of his shoe deep into the back of Jim's head and stained his slacks with blood. He muttered something about everyone's horoscope saying, "Today the world will end. Good luck!" As he muttered he grabbed his umbrella, hoping it would work well enough to allow him to get away should another mindless mass come his way. He stormed towards the stairs.
Janine was a happy go lucky tween. She had perfect grades and an athletic figure. Despite these societal worthy advantages, she was still eaten alive and turned into a rotting flesh bag. Her end came slowly as she chased her screaming and crying mother through the house. At first it was shoes, pillows, cushions, baskets, and small objects flung into her body and face. Her mother, Margarite, gradually moved onto throwing or placing larger objects in between them. Stools, chairs, coffee tables. Then stumbled into the garage and found a shovel. The young girl slowly garbled her way towards Margarite.
If you knew Jim, you would say there was something missing. And you would be quite right. Because as of right now, Jim is shambling through the cubicles of his old job searching for a meal. Searching for a human meal. Cowering underneath a desk. Squatting in a bathroom stall. Dangling out a window wondering if dropping would be a better alternative to being eaten alive. If the universe had any sense of justice, the person cowering would be his asshole of a boss, the person in the stall would be his office nemesis, and the one dangling out the window would be an ex girlfriend. But it doesn't. These are just hapless victims who were not cruel enough to escape while the getting was good.
Jim groaned and groped at a brisk shuffle, eager to find food when a computer monitor ended his hunt. The person, Jim's friend Harold, sighed and peeked over the walls of his cubicle. He took a moment to think about the odds a zombie would be munching someone in one of the other work spaces. He stomped the heel of his shoe deep into the back of Jim's head and stained his slacks with blood. He muttered something about everyone's horoscope saying, "Today the world will end. Good luck!" As he muttered he grabbed his umbrella, hoping it would work well enough to allow him to get away should another mindless mass come his way. He stormed towards the stairs.
Janine was a happy go lucky tween. She had perfect grades and an athletic figure. Despite these societal worthy advantages, she was still eaten alive and turned into a rotting flesh bag. Her end came slowly as she chased her screaming and crying mother through the house. At first it was shoes, pillows, cushions, baskets, and small objects flung into her body and face. Her mother, Margarite, gradually moved onto throwing or placing larger objects in between them. Stools, chairs, coffee tables. Then stumbled into the garage and found a shovel. The young girl slowly garbled her way towards Margarite.
