After the Zombies Came: Day 8


Eric had holed up in his parents’ basement since news of rising corpses first scrolled across the bottom of his television screen. He’d bolted up from his yellow beanbag chair and run upstairs to his parents’ room, rooting out the shotgun and shells from the walk-in closet. He’d tossed cans and dry goods down the stairs to his basement bachelor pad to avoid wasting time, so impending the zombie threat. He’d bolted the basement door, screwed it tight with plywood blocking, then waited with the shotgun resting on the back of an old bentwood chair like a machine gun perched on a tripod.

For a day Eric sat vigilant, anticipating footfalls above and the slow creak of wooden joists as the zombie horde destroyed the rooms above him. He imagined their avante-garde pounding at the basement door hungry for the taste of brains. For a day he smoked cigarettes and waited, but the zombies did not come.

On the second day Eric returned to his beanbag chair and watched the news coverage but he soon grew bored of carnage shot with telephoto lens. He slid his palm over an electromagnetic switch, activating the sleek video game system, and fought electronic zombies. He soon grew bored of simulated carnage so he loaded another disc into the console. A series of hands signing the international gestures for ‘rock,’ ‘paper,’ and ‘scissors’ spiraled across the television, then a lineup of bikini-clad Japanese dissolved onto the pixels, forming a high-definition menu of opponents. Eric picked the third girl from the left, the one with pigtails, Saisho wa Guu!, they chanted in synchronization. She took her top off when his scissors sliced her paper. The simulacrum licked her own nipple when he threw paper to the video game’s rock.

Eric fell asleep in his yellow beanbag chair, the shotgun a few steps from his hands.

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