My Zombie Apocalypse

John and Kitten and ZOMBIES by ~KittyDarklore on deviantART

Extensive planning has been done.  Packing and unlacking, repacking, depacking, setting-on-fire-and-cackl-ing.  I am ready for the zombie apocalyplse.  This is the moment I've been waiting for.  I shoulder my pack bodily across my back and tighten the straps so that they fit just right over my thick jacket and various weapons.  On my hip, my favorite knife- the USMC Ka-bar's black blade safely hidden behind the tough leather sheath.  Perhaps my left hand reflexively checks to make sure it is still there.  It's blade is long enough that it gives me a comfortable amount of space between my scrawny arm and an undead maw should I need to use it.  My hair is tied up and tucked away behind a bandana- I know I should have lopped it off, should it become a convinient handle for one of the walking dead to drag me screaming to my doom, but I haven't yet.  My secret vanity will be the death of me.  My steps feel different because of the weight of the great combat boots I've got pulling them down, something that I'm sure I'll be getting used to, like it or not. 

I don't know where I am.  The background of this scene shifts amorphously from one thing to the next:  a ruined building, a boarded up house, a road in the desert, a snowed in cabin in the middle of nowhere, outside an abandoned police station, on a hill while the city behind me smolders in ruins. 

Then, from out of the maisma of changing settings, the one constant emerges; the undead, the zed, dead-heads, the natives.  Welcome to the end of the world. 
--
Just kidding.  It's just another normal day like everything else and I'm sitting here, doing non-badass things like staring emptily at the computer and finishing 'typing drills.'  But like it says at the top of this damn blog thing, this is about anything that's on my mind, which does include zombies at least once a day.  The frequency of these zombie daydreams increases exponentially with how bored I am, and right now I am very, very bored.

I did the picture you see above probably about a year ago.  Obviously I am Kitty, because I was too lazy to even bother changing the name much, and the man, John, is the thin cardboard cutout of a token companion that often appears in my zombie apocalypse, because when you're driving like hell down a deserted highway , someone else has to fire the guns. 
What we see up there in that little tableau is the easier of all the elaborate fantasies I construct to keep my brain from atrophying and leaking out my ears.  It's the simplest one; no mention of survivors, either Dying to Live style friendlies, or whatever those cannibal people were in The Road (Not quite a zombie book, but it more than makes up for the that in soul-crushing depression.  What I'm saying is, the book should come with it's own set of razor blades in the back, because that's how sad it is.)   There's not even fast zombies, nuclear fallout, or vengeful demons from hell.  It is the basis for all of the other things that I could have possibly wanted to add in.  And it's managed to kill about 20 minutes of Word Processing, so that's wonderful.