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Sunday, October 12, 2014

My Zombie Run



There is no shame in being gotten by a zombie.  There is some shame in being gotten by the first zombie.  In the zombie run yesterday I was caught by the very first zombie I ran into.

It was a divided road, and there were two zombies on the right and one on the left.  Like the man in the poem, I took the road less traveled by.  I tried feinting right and then zagging left, but it made no difference.  I couldn't get around her, and she tore off one of my "flags," which indicated that I was dead, although I was still allowed to finish the race.

In retrospect, my error was allowing myself to become isolated from the other runners; if I'd stayed with the pack, I might've gotten by.  She couldn't have gotten all of us.  When you're facing a zombie, you need numbers on your side.  You don't have a chance if it's mano-a-zombie-o.

I am pleased to report, however, that having been "killed" bought out my inner nobility.  I saw myself as a sacrificial victim, offering himself to help save others.  I caught up with the pack of runners, and each time we ran into a herd of zombies, I'd shout "Yo, zombie, zombie, zombie!  Come and get me!  I ain't afraid of no zombies!"  The zombies, being highly susceptible to such taunts, would shuffle in my direction.  I do not know how many, if any, others I saved, but I am proud to know I made the effort.

Now, I am rethinking my plans for a zombie apocalypse.  First off, and I say this in a spirit of public helpfulness, if there is a zombie apocalypse, you probably need to steer clear of me.  If past experience is any guide, I will be the first to go.

You tell yourself you're ready if the zombies come, but you really aren't.

No one's ready for zombies.

1 comment:

  1. My strategy for a Zombie Apocalypse is the old drop to the ground in the fetal position and squeal pitifully: "Please don't eat me, Mr. Zombie!" That trick always works.

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