by TW Brown
Love Zombie
40
Dear Santa:
This whole zombie apocalypse thing just isn't working out like I thought it would. Humans are getting smarter and harder to catch. There are way fewer of them than there used to be and more zombies than ever competing for the scraps of humanity that remain. How's a girl supposed to get a bite these days?
I need tools, Santa! Tools to help me catch, kill and consume!
Let's start with a little perfume. The biggest problem with human hunting is getting close enough to actually wrap my rotten little hands around them. Unfortunately zombies, even those with excellent hygiene, have a very distinct and unpleasant smell. Humans get one whiff of my rancid zombie body odor and they bug out. Perfume might help mask that scent a little. How about something in the Red or Dead line? That's my favorite.
Now I know clothes are usually a terrible gift idea for Christmas, but mine could really use an upgrade. I've been wearing the same outfit for three years. Yep, you read right. Three years. Before the zombie apocalypse I would rather have died than gone out in public like this. Now I just don't care that everything has faded to the same ugly shade of gray or that the tatters that remain bag off my bony frame. But humans care. There was a time right after I turned that I could pass for an injured human until I was right upon my prey. Today they can spot me coming from a mile away just by these rags I'm wearing. Please, Santa, leave me some new clothes under the tree this year. Size 6.
A helmet would also be nice. With the perfume and the clothes I'll have a better chance of getting close to a human, but most left living today are alive because they have a lot of fight in them. And it seems like they all know to go straight for the head. It wouldn't take much force and my head would pop like meaty red melon. A helmet would provide at least some protection during those critical few seconds before the kill.
One more thing, Santa. I used to have perfect teeth. They were white. They were straight. And most importantly, they were great at ripping, tearing, chomping and gnawing. The past three years have taken their toll on my teeth. I don't have half as many as I used to and what I have left is as rotten as the rest of me. At this rate, I have maybe another year before I'm gumming my meals. I need dentures, Santa, and denture cream, too.
On a side note, the cookies and milk will no longer be in their normal place on the end table next to the fireplace. I've redecorated since your last delivery and my living room has a grungy minimalist look to it that is more appropriate for life post-apocalypse. But if you step just outside the kitchen door and to your left, you'll find your usual tray of green and red sprinkle sugar cookies positioned directly under a festive holiday deadfall. It's not dangerous at all.
Catch ya on Christmas Eve!
Zombie Renee
41
Dear Mr Claus,
I am writing to you on behalf of my son, Eddie. There are two reasons I’m the one who’s composing this letter. Firstly he’s not too hot on writing because of his little deformity, and secondly due to me working permanent nightshift it’s hard to pick something up for him myself.
He has recently started work as a hairdresser, not my first choice as I’d have much preferred him to partner up with me in the boiler rooms. But alas he spent his youth away from with his estranged mother and is going his own way. Good for him, there’s not much future in my game anyway.
I’d much appreciate it if you could give him an industrial hairdryer, preferably the type that’s portable so hopefully he can ply his trade for himself. I’d love to give him a boost in setting up his own business.
Many thanks
Frederick Krueger
42
