Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-34823985-20180401075507

This is my first real attempt at a mini pasta. It's short so please just keep reading past the first sentence once you realize what this one is about. I know, I know, done to death, but I had fun writing this. "A fifth of Beethoven," by Walter Murphy and the Big Apple Band was playing in my head when I wrote this, lol. I hope you like it. -

When Greg imagined the coming of the zombie apocalypse (he figured it was only a matter of time) he saw it as a chance to be the hero he so wished to be. He'd collected all the tools and provisions he'd require; researched and learned all the survival skills he'd need to traverse the hardships the broken world would throw at him, and even practiced his machete moves on various melons and gourds until he had no doubt he could put the undead down swiftly. He even put together an outfit that was practical and in his own words, "Looked so damn cool." He reveled in the idea of people looking to him for answers and protection.

The picture in his head was glorious. He envisioned himself standing on the hood of a car as blood dripped off of his machete. A scantily clad, attractive, young woman clinging to his side as dozens of vanquished undead laid out before him in crumpled heaps. Men twice his size would come to him for help. He'd be a fair and respected leader ushering the frightened, lost, and unwashed into a new era. He'd protect the weak and innocent while stilling the hearts of evil, selfish men who sought to set themselves up as tyrants in the new world. Yep, Greg was sure that all he needed to demonstrate his worth to the world was for most of the human population to die off and turn into slow, shambling zombies.

Of course, visions of heroism were far from his thoughts when he was admitted to the hospital two days ago with a virulent new strain of flu that was sweeping the nation. Actually, all of Greg's thoughts and vital signs flat lined about thirty minutes ago. Greg's silly, unrealistic dreams of becoming a hero were dashed, but his visions of the world to come were not too far off the mark. It's eyes shot open as it sat up in bed and uttered a pretty damn good guttural impression of a pirate. A shocked orderly who was unzipping a body bag rushed to it's side. It grabbed the young man and took a big chunk out of his arm.

As it pulled the screaming orderly onto the bed and continued to snack on him, screaming broke out in another part of the hospital ward. It lost interest in the orderly once he stopped twitching and headed into the hall to chase down one of the many people rushing by his room. Two more like minded patients shuffled by as it stepped into the hall. It staggered into formation with them and so began dead Greg's new life as a flesh hungry dead guy. Isn't destiny a bitch? 