The Zombies Invade.

The sun was bright in the sky, the flowers were in bloom. I might have thought it was a beautiful evening under normal circumstances, however today was different.

The Zombies were invading.

You have to see this to believe it. People running, bleeding, screaming, begging for their lives, while the zombies hurl a plethora of stupid questions at their victims. Pure madness.

It all started earlier, when I clocked in for work. I was hoping for a slow work day. And it seemed as if the fates would grant me my fervent wish, at first. I did nothing for the first hour or so, because I hated my job, and couldn't be inconvenienced by physical labor.

More customers coming in. Lots of them.

Nothing to do. Nothing I wanted to do, anyway.

I twiddled my thumbs for a bit, and quickly became bored. I tried counting the number of holes in the ceiling tiles. I got to 1,237 before giving up.

That's when it happened. I remember the time. It was 18:27. A customer standing next to the “Out of Order” sign hanging on the bathroom door asked the question that would change my life forever.

“Is this here bathroom out 'o ordah?” he asked. I stared blankly, dumbfounded. Then bile started rising in my throat, and fear gripped every cell of my being. I wanted to run, but couldn't. The zombie loomed, moving ever closer to his prey.

“AHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed, unable to take it anymore. I grabbed the gun I always kept underneath my shirt, inside my jeans, and shot the zombie in the head.

“EVERYONE RUN! THE ZOMBIES ARE COMING!” I screamed as loud as I could. It was pandemonium. Customers and employees becoming one blur, becoming one screaming, running mob.

“How much does this here soda cawst?” another zombie drawled, standing next to the huge billboard displaying the price of the soda. “Die! Die! Die!” I screamed, shooting him several times in the chest. He toppled over, a confused look on his face, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Which was probably true. I've dealt with zombies before. They don't understand anything.

I dropped down to one knee, and examined the contents of his pockets. He had $1.84 in quarters, nickels and pennies. I tossed it aside, because I didn't need $1.84 in quarters, nickels and pennies. What kind of asshole pays with quarters, nickels and pennies? What I needed was a name. But the zombie didn't carry any form of personal identification.

I ran down the aisles, trying to avoid panicked employees and uninfected customers. I was their only hope for survival. I couldn't let myself get trampled. I needed to find the Zombie Overlord. I darted down the electronics section, hoping to avoid being spotted by a zombie drone, but to no avail. “What does this here thing do? Is it compatible with my compooter?” he drooled. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” I screamed.

I ran for the zombie. Time slowed to a crawl. I reached forward, grabbing for his head, my fingers finding purchase, and rammed the zombie's skull into the wall behind him. Bone shattered, and brain tissue coated my face. It was the Je'Na'R Ik Pow'ir taking over. I was a zombie killing machine.

SPLATT!

THUNK!

BAM!

I was on a roll. Nothing could stop me once the Je'Na'R Ik Pow'ir took control. It could be a blessing, or a curse. The latter sentence was a tautology. I heard sirens.

I ran toward the door, relieved that assistance had arrived. There were just too many zombies for me to kill on my own. I would eventually succumb to exhaustion. “Why is everyone screamin' fer? What's hap'nin'?” another zombie asked. I kicked him in the groin, knocked him to the floor, and stomped his head repeatedly into the concrete floor. “Now I have to buy another pair of shoes!” I screamed as loud as I could. I wanted every zombie in the store to know I was angry, and that they would be dealt with harshly when I found them. Nothing can escape the wrath of the Je'Na'R Ik Pow'ir.

“Officer, thank the stars you're here! There's a bunch of---”

“DROP YOUR WEAPON! NOW!” the officer yelled.

“But--” I stammered.

“DROP YOUR WEAPON!”

I did the only thing I could at that point. I grabbed my Teleportation Stone and activated it, using the ancient mantra written on the back of the stone. I was going somewhere safe.

* * *

“Time for your meds, Jacob,” Bob the Part-Time Behavioral Attendant said. The patient glared at Bob. The patient was not happy at all. The patient spit at Bob the Part-Time Behavioral Attendant.

“You're so naïve, Bob!” The patient yelled. “You seem to be blissfully unaware of what's going on out there! The Zombies have taken control of our government! They've taken control of everything! And you just sit there, reading your dumb magazines, watching your stupid TV shows! I hope they get you, Bob! I hope they get you!” The patient ended his tirade, hurling excrement at Bob, the Part-Time Behavioral Attendant.

“All available staff! All available staff!” Bob yelled. The patient knew what was coming next, but he didn't care. In fact, he always looked forward to the Thorazine injections. They took his mind off of the madness in the world. It let him escape. It calmed him.

The needle loomed, moving ever closer to its prey.