The best part of Halloween is when you finally get that costume all put together and you think, “Hey. Maybe life wouldn’t be so bad as a [insert costume here].” The thought won’t be too jarring if you are to spend tomorrow as a doctor or a cowboy or a vacuum cleaner salesman, but if you have decided to stray into the dark corners of the human mind, you may be in for a shock.
At least I was. I spent yesterday evening dressing up in jeans and a flannel, rolling around in the dirt. I spent this morning kneeling in the front yard wearing the same filthy get-up, splattering blood all over my clothes. This evening I did a dry run with my makeup, trying to figure out what sort of colors and blends will best achieve the effect I’m looking for.
Tomorrow I am not Dane. Tomorrow I get to be an undead zombie trucker. I shacked up with this one girl while passing through a Nevada town. When her husband found out he shot her in the face and ambushed me on my way out of the county. I thought he was a simply a motorist stranded in the middle of the desert so I stepped down to lend him a hand, but he beat the snot out of me and buried me alive. And stole my truck.
Well, that wasn’t the end of it. If you’re gonna kill a man, I always say, make sure you finish the job. Thirty days later my rotten self rose from its shallow grave, undead and starving for the flesh of the living. Now I roam the night, feasting and hunting, hunting for the man who stole my mortality. And my truck.
So then I ask myself, why not go all the way? You’re already kneeling in the front yard, covered in blood and grunting. Why not just become a zombie and start eating people? It’s a strange thought process, as though I have already absorbed enough of the character that making the jump to real life wouldn’t be difficult at all.
Then again, constantly eating people would just become such a hassle. Humans are fast and can be kind of nasty when being eaten alive. I would always have to hunt my own food, seeing as how you can’t just walk into a grocery store and order a couple pounds of human. Restaraunts don’t serve zombie-friendly dishes, so I would never get a chance to dine out.
Yeah. Come to think of it, being a career zombie would be a huge pain. Until the world accepts zombies for who they are, and makes it easier for them to live out their lives peacefully, I’ll be keeping my own zombification as a hobby.