The Fucking Zombie Apocalypse by Bryan Smith

Author:Bryan Smith
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781941918623
Publisher: Grindhouse Press
Published: 2020-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

PART IV

CLARITY

SOME TIME PASSES. I SPEND most of it doped to the gills on anti-psychotics and, ironically, more out of my fucking mind than I ever really was before everything went to absolute fucking shit. Even in the midst of that druggy haze, I’m dimly aware of a significant amount of time elapsing. Many months. Maybe years.

This bugs me.

Not in a way that makes me overly agitated or keeps me preoccupied. It’s more of a low-key sense of, “Wow. I’ve kinda been here a while. That sucks.” But no one can sense this because for most of that time I show little in the way of discernible outward emotion, nor do I say much to the doctors and staff of the mental hospital, that dreary gray hell of a place where I’ve been stashed away and mostly forgotten. No one visits me. Not my fucking mother, nor any of my old drinking buddies. Like so many other things during that time, it’s hard to know the reasons why. No one will tell me. Maybe they died in the zombie uprising. Maybe they believe the official line about me being some kind of depraved and perverted murdering piece of fucking garbage.

Who the fuck knows?

Who the fuck even cares?

Not me, that’s for damn sure. I’m too much of a drooling, zonked-out lump of flesh to give much of a fuck about anything. I’m kind of like a goddamn zombie, actually, only without the unfortunate craving for warm human flesh. Then something unexpected happens.

The fog clears. I slowly become cognizant of not only my surroundings but also the basic fact of my continued existence on the mortal fucking plane. To clarify, this process takes a while. It ain’t as fucking simple as the time it takes to say “the fog clears”. The big reason is the drugs have turned me into such a useless lump of nothing. At some point indefinable through the haze, the orderlies stop administering the meds, the effect of which had basically been like having a fucking lobotomy minus the brain-scrambling needle to the frontal lobe. Except not at all like a lobotomy, because this shit is reversible. I’m barely aware of this reversing process happening, except after a bit I do realize I’m not getting jabbed with fucking needles quite so often, and at some gray point that ceases altogether.

Again, I have no idea why this delightful fucking development has come to pass. It takes a while longer yet for the drugs still in my system to lose their efficaciousness. That’s a big word I heard on TV once. Have only a dim idea of what the fuck it even means or if it applies to my particular situation, but it sort of sounds like it does, so there you go. You’re welcome, compadres. That’s what I’m here for, to augment your collective fucking vocabularies. Oh, there’s another one. Augment.

Say it with me now, “Aug . . . ment.”

It means . . .

Fuck, look it up. I can’t do everything.

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