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Word count: 50k+ Smiling zombie happy to be done!

Well, it’s all over. Finished yesterday afternoon with a 2000+ word sprint to the end. Still some story to write, and I really don’t know how to finish it in a satisfactory manner. Really feel like Ak and Zach could wander off into the sunset together with a “To be continued…” title on the screen.

November is done (almost.) For once, the November Curse seems to have been thwarted (knock on wood.) Got through the month without disaster befalling me or anybody I know (I think — if I’m forgetting any disasters, I apologize….)

Thanks to who provided all the zombification of the photos.

Always appreciate the people who ask about the story and word counts and generally pretend to be interested in the ridiculous stuff I come up with. And to everyone whose IP address shows up in the stats page.

Much gratitude to Erica for support & daily inspiration & the zombie chicken and zombiegotyerkitten.

Here’s one last excerpt, from waaaay back in the beginning pages. Feels like a good wrapper on the blog for the year, even if I end up throwing the whole wrapper away.

Cheers. And thanks. And…..braaaaaains.

Here is how my days go: First of all, I’ve lost all track of time, so the concept of “days” is a little iffy. Being a Z — undead; life challenged; reanimated corpse; whatever — means no more sleeping. We’re beyond the need for that, which is nice in some ways, because I’m getting so much more done than I ever did before. Ever want a few more hours in your day? I’ve got them! But you know, staying up all the time gets a little tiresome. A lot tiresome. In order to keep sane, though, I try to break up the days a bit. You know, keep each one from running into the next. I fake a sleep cycle — just an hour or two staring at a blank wall or I’ll just lie down in what used to be a Taco Bell and count the holes in the ceiling tiles (4,983). Anything to give my mind a bit of a break, keep from thinking about the utter shit hole that the planet has become. I’d kill for some electricity here — all those pretty gadgets, video games, all wrapped up nice. I guess they’d had some generators going here for a while; the former tenants had set up a couple consoles and giant TVs. Looks like they had a some game tournaments and whatnot. The leader boards are still posted. It’s nice to think they had a few moments of fun before the unholy swarm of undead ended their pathetic lives. If that sounds bitter, it’s because I am — I never got a chance to play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 6 and it looked like a good time. I wonder if they bothered with the zombie mode at all.
There’s really not a whole shitload to do here. You’d think, what with it being a shopping mall that it’d just be a playground of fun times, but those that came before took care of all that, made sure there was not much for little old me to take pleasure in. Their final fuck you to the zombies that ruined their lives. Well, hell, I guess I deserved it, even if I didn’t personally gouge any of their eyes out, or eat their livers or whatever. I still felt some personal responsibility. Not like I lead the horde to their doorstep, those guys are unleadable, unherdable, I told you that. And not like I could have stopped them, they’re pretty unstoppable, I mean that’s how they made their name, you know? Once they get that whiff of smoothie, it’s on, there’s no stopping until the last one of you is dead and eaten. You know it’s true. I’m not sure what would have happened if I’d tried to get in their way. Like I said, they pretty much just ignore me, or tolerate me, or whatever, and I can tell you exactly how effective me standing on a soap box, yelping something about peace and love, moving along, leaving these nice people be would have been. They’d have just gone about their business. So, I play in what’s left of the mall, mostly staying in the food court, sometimes going to The Gap to pick through the clearance items, seeing if there’s something left that fits me.But look, I know this is all real interesting to you — how Zach Graves got to Woodfield Mall, what he does with his time, what he’s doing right now, scratching away at his notebook, hoping his pens don’t run out of ink, waiting for someone to come find him, and end his miserable life, or save it, or whatever, it’s all the same. No, I know you’re all wondering how it all came to this. How did the idea of people getting sick, dying, and then coming back from the dead become commonplace? How did society fall apart? How did it all go down?

Well, hold your damn horses. I’m getting to it.