I start my shift,

as the sun clocks out.

It does not wish to see my misery.

Adorned with obligatory skirt

and rebellious alligator sandals.

A sleek black braid

keeps my shoulder company.

Les Gitanes in my apron pocket,

waiting for me.

“Come in! Now!”

Lucian scolds,

his hands waving over his head

The café is a pot of activity.

I clear away dishes, wipe tables,

and sometimes I serve coffee.

Bangs and spills,

Clatters and drops,

The sounds of my nightmare

a perpetual clamor.

My fingers itch for a smoke.

Is it break time yet?

Outside of the café,

smoke curls and caresses my face.

My feet take turns holding their weight.

Then, leaning against the back wall, I watch.

Face after face streams by,

as if they were on a conveyor belt,

identical and indistinguishable from the other.

“Marie-Jean!” my name

in a booming voice. I sigh.

Five minutes are up.

Still, I watch

chairs scraping pavement as customers depart.

Would they take me with them?

I wonder every day.

Another shout from within,

I sigh deeper.

Stepping into the pot again,

I think,

is it break time yet?

When you were an undersized whelp, 

the mere sight of your mug caused my brain to hurt,

crammed with gooey emotions. 

When I first encountered you, 

I saw your appearance to be pure, but then

you showed your true colors;

the dark peeking through the light.

The sight of you even harder to bear.

Like a weed, you grew,

And with each month that you squatted in my home,

you stole a thing I valued.

Years of cleaning up after you,

as you leave trails of hair and discards from couch to yard.

My back is starting to protest.

I don't know how many more seasons it can take,

though many more would not be unwelcome.

If you last only sixteen years or so,

then I would not be unhappy.

To not see your long face at the window,

Watching for me, would be traumatic.

To not have to fend off your filthy paws would be devastating.

You are a messy and destructive hairy beast,

but you are my Prince Luka.

Dear Diary...or To Whom It May Concern (whatever),

I found this book in the old lady's room, on her disgustingly tacky gold painted nightstand (no offense lady). I don't usually write in diaries or journals, whatever you call them, but after what I've seen today...I figure I may not last much longer and I guess I don't want to disappear without anyone knowing what happened to me. I hope that I do survive though, so we'll call this entry Day One of the Zombies. Yep, you read that right. Zombies. Not the slow and decaying undead of horror movies past. Not the disgusting post-humans who are too stupid for anyone to fear. I'm talking about infectious cannibals who can move as fast as their uninfected counterparts and whose primary goal in life seems to be to kill and eat humans. Let me start from the beginning…

Today appeared to start like any other. I woke up to the daily routine of Sharon, my roommate, burning eggs in the skillet and smoking out our tiny apartment because she was outside on the balcony working on her third cigarette of the morning and arguing with someone (probably her mother) on her cell. Like always, I turned off the burner, scraped the charred eggs into one of our mismatched ceramic bowls and set the dish in the microwave to wait for her, before I dressed for work. I work—or worked—at my cousin's hardware store, stocking and running the register. I hope Lou is okay. I hope he's alive, but I doubt it. Lou is at least 300-pounds, and I can't help but imagine him stumbling in his often-untied boots (they hurt his swollen feet) as he tries to run from some poor infected schmuck trying to catch an all-you-can-eat buffet like my cousin. Anyway, I was walking to the bus stop to wait for the 8:30 bus to take me into town when I heard a strange hacking sound coming from around the corner. Assuming it was someone with horrible allergies, I continued around the corner and encountered a scene worse than any nightmare. That hacking sound? It was coming from an old lady sprawled on the red-stained sidewalk surrounded by a mob of people. Her throat was torn open, but I could tell she was still struggling to breathe. Her screams were those hacking sounds I had heard. If that wasn't terrifying enough, I suddenly realized what the mob was doing. These people or these things were taking hurried, squelching bites out of her flesh, eating her. Some of her limbs were already detached (a leg was currently being gnawed on several feet away). I was frozen, there on the sidewalk between the bus stop and the Zombie mob. Frozen, until one of them or a new one altogether, I don't know, gripped my arm with unnerving strength. I screamed and jerked away. I ran as hard and as fast as I could force my body to go. I took the path that was immediate to my right. It was either that or run through the mob. The stepping stones led to this white colonial home with glistening columns holding up the roof of the porch. The stately abode turned out to be the old woman's house. Luckily for me, she had left her front door unlocked. I suppose she was just trying to check her mailbox at the end of the walk when the infected attacked her. I slammed the door behind me and turned the bolt. I was almost too afraid to look through the peephole, but I did. The creature that had grabbed me must have decided I wasn't worth the effort, at least not with the lady already laying there for the taking. I muttered a quick prayer that she was dead, for her sake. After I made sure all the doors and windows in the home were locked, I found the lady's bedroom (where I am now) and turned on the television. The sudden outbreak was all over the news, and the news was on every channel. A state of emergency declared. Yeah, no shit! I couldn't reach Lou, Sharon, or anyone else on the phone. The lady doesn't have any weapons in her home, not that I can find anyway. So, I grabbed all of the knives from the kitchen and retreated to her room. The news was suggesting it is some blood-borne disease spread by mosquitoes, brought over from Africa. How cliché! Why does every dangerous epidemic stem from Africa? They're probably making it up as they go. They probably have no idea what's going on. About mid-afternoon, the television went blank. Well, not blank, but that irritating emergency alert screen with scrolling text that is often accompanied by an annoying siren came on and stayed. That's probably not a good sign. So, here I am at the end of Day One, hiding in the home of a lady I saw eaten only hours ago and hoping it will all be over by the time I am brave enough to venture outside. I wonder if the 8:30 bus ever came.