American Zombie

[Ryan’s Note: This was a story I originally wrote in 2016, after the presidential election. The prompt was, “Write a short story from the perspective of a zombie.”]

They were bad. We are good. They wanted to invade our land and destroy our way of life. That’s why we had to come here and get them first. We had to hit them when they least expected it, and that’s the only reason they all seemed so innocent; eating dinner, spending time with their families, kicking around the soccer ball. Given the chance, they surely would have dropped their forks and knives, picked up their assault rifles and cut us all down.

He told us they were coming to pillage our lands, to assault us, to take our livelihood. He screamed at us about all the vile things that were in store if we failed to act. He repeated his proclamations over and over, until they were ingrained in us. Eventually there was no truth but His truth.

It was three years ago that He took over, amid the elation of a few and the bewilderment of many. The scorn of the many was loud and fierce at first. They yelled that presses would have no freedom, rights would be ignored, and the gap between the haves and the have-nots would continue to grow. The scorn only lasted a few months. It wasn’t long before the yelling stopped, it seemed. Anyone who spoke against Him was silenced and denounced. Dissenters were “weak,” “cowards,” and couldn’t understand the threat we were up against. They should be beaten in the streets. “Fed to the dogs,” was a phrase He liked to yell over and over. The propaganda train was full steam ahead.

Early on, I was little more than a spectator. I supported Him. Life had been hard at the time. He promised change, He promised to make things great again. I thought this was all part of the plan. Over time I became more and more hooked. He was like a drug. As I continued to absorb His rhetoric, the enchantment clouded my judgment. It continued that way until I offered myself and served. As an able-bodied human being ready to defend freedom, it was my civic duty.

But now I see a lifeless little hand, attached to a lifeless skinny arm, attached to a lifeless tiny body. I can’t even tell if it’s a little boy or a little girl anymore. I don’t think he or she had an AK-47 hiding behind the bed. I simply think he or she was getting ready to sit down for dinner with parents before I came barging in, M4 in hand, finger on the trigger.

I am beginning to think everything He told us was a lie. Maybe He stroked our egos, fed us what we wanted to eat, until we loved Him so much we swooned at the thought of serving His great purpose.

But I think now that purpose was false.

They weren’t bad. And we aren’t good. But it’s too late. We’re already here and it’s just too late for anything else.