Errrgggh!

Last night I was thinking of zombies. I had a pretty good idea for a story/novel, nothing innovative, I'm sure (but then, I'm not current on my zombie literature, so I don't really know yet). I'd like to write something first person, intimate, about the woes of a zombie in a world of pink, fleshy types. I don't know the premise as to why he'd be a zombie and those around him would be unaffected, but hey, it's a work in progress. I remember when keeping my hair out of my face was the thing. I had a habit of tossing my head back like a horse trying to keep her mane out of her eyes. If I were to do that now, my neck might snap. Like I have any reason to anyway--I struggle to keep the hair plastered down to the puss and scabs. One week I lost an eyebrow, a whole eyebrow! I was rummaging through a dumpster and lifted my head out of it too suddenly, lost my balance and raked my face from ear to scalp. That's just it. Pinks don't realize how hard it is keeping your footing when you don't have the blood pressure to even think straight. They laugh when I shuffle. They make fun of me for holding my arms out at my sides or in front of me to break my fall. Every fall takes another layer of turf with it. I saw one old gray a while back that had his elbow hacked open to the bone. Didn't even phase him, but I could tell his bicep was about to just slough off. I don't know. It's just (oddly) amusing to me to think like a zombie. Maybe it's Halloween coming. Maybe it's the way I feel as I roam the halls at work. Maybe it's the people that populate too many seats in classes.