How I Met Barbara The Zombie Hunter
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point that the zombie turned outrageous. It thrashed about and lashed its head forward over and over.
Barbara got up from doing pushups and stood next to me, breathless. She said that now was my moment of power, and that whatever I was going to do I had better do it fast. She also stated officially that I was putting her in heat. Barbara put her first finger to my forehead and I was instantly excited, sexually.
I had visions of future fun times.
The tongue, slowly, reached out and touched my face. I was thoroughly appalled! My scissors cut through it like an abused sock. The creature gave no hint of pain. Its mouth shot forth gore and Barbara put her hands over my face to shield it from the blood shower.
With our sample, I inquired if we were now going home with the zombie.
Barbara said shut up.
It wasn’t my place to make such decisions, and just to teach me a lesson, she killed the zombie by putting 7 stakes through its mouth and said that we were going to go hunting & hiking some more up the tall mountain to spite me.
I said, “Thank you, ma’am, may I have another?”
She ripped my shirt off and coughed into it.
Fifteen.
Barbara had her arm around me as she slept. The crickets wouldn’t stop their incessant singing. I wanted to go out and eat the crickets and then spit out the crickets so I could see them cry.
Sometimes I thought I had a cricket in my ear and I’d stick my finger in there and search for it. But I didn’t have a cricket in my ear. The only thing I had in my ear was paranoia. Barbara wasn’t snoring. Was she unconsciously hallucinating merry dreams? I brushed aside her bangs. Was she dreaming of happy kisses and wanton wishes?
I wanted to kiss her. It had been so long since I kissed someone – meaning a girl. But Barbara was different. She was a woman. And she loved me – I knew she did. I could feel it in my heart and her love was warm in my belly and it felt so good.
I didn’t want to be lonely anymore – wanted to get my ex out of my mind.
Many nights I found myself crying, hoping for a miracle. But none ever came.
Maybe tonight would be different.
Would it be wrong if I leaned in and kissed her? Would it be as bad as kissing a college drunkard? I searched my backpack and took out a tube of watermelon lip-gloss and put some on, licking my lips.
I held my breath…and kissed Barbara on the mouth.
She didn’t wake up.
Her lips were cold.
I felt guilty. Jesus’ juice, what have I done!? What is this disturbing sensation in my stomach??! Why am I malfunctioning? I don’t want to be cursed…
I went outside and paced back and forth under the moon. Three pinecones were on the grass. I squatted before them and arranged them in a row. I had to make sure that each one was straight. This went on for a good hour. What is the matter with me? Why can’t I just let things be? Why can’t I stop scratching myself? Why can’t I stop eating weird things, like cereal with ice cream and orange juice? Why can’t I stop worrying about tiny things? Why do I turn the stove off and on repeatedly? Why can’t I hold a relationship? Why am I a bad boyfriend? Why are my friends always mad at me? Why am I so skinny? Why am I so ugly? Why does God have to be so mad all the time?
My legs gave in from squatting so much that I fell back.
…The moon was full…
…Beautiful…
I inhaled, held it, and then exhaled.
It was all in my head. All in my head. I had to learn self-control. I had to stop indulging without thinking first. And I hate thinking. I believe that it kills the imagination – slaughters the right side of the brain.
I felt something standing behind me.
Barbara’s shadow was standing in the tent – or rather, because our tent was quite tiny, Barbara’s shadow was hunched over.
Was she searching for something?
Was she okay?
I got up, smiling, and pulled back the plastic flap.
IT WAS A ZOMBIE!
And it was about to eat Barbara.
I screamed in a rising, high-pitched voice, “Barbara, zombie time!” and she woke up, jumping to her feet and doing a spinning kick, hitting the zombie woman in the chest, sending it sailing through the tent. The entire structure crumpled.
We both swam through the sea of plastic and rolled around on the dirt, leaping to our feet and striking a karate pose.
The zombie woman was enjoying nudity.
She was obese, but the fat stopped exactly at the hips. Her legs…dear God…her legs were as thin as pool sticks. The sight of her at the same time concerned me and revolted me. I kept imagining hairs in my mouth. It was maddening, I tell you!
Her legs reminded me of my entire image.
I was staring at myself.
I turned to Barbara.
“Dear, Barbara, shall thou do me but one favor?”
She picked up a tree branch and kicked it in half, producing a sharp end.
“Commandeth.”
I picked up the other end of the stick.
“ACTION!”
“Yarrrrrghhhh!”
We charged the beast and ran our stakes through its eyes and then ran away screaming so as not to get blood on our clean clothes.
Minutes later we ran back screaming to find the zombie dead, standing in a pool of its own filth with the stakes still in its eyes.
We looked at each other…
…and kissed.
Sixteen.
We chopped the zombie into tiny bits and buried her with our portable bags of concrete. Barbara didn’t touch me when we slept that night. It had taken us four hours to reset the tent. I assumed that she was just tired, but when I asked her if she was tired, she responded with, “No, I’m not tired, I just don’t want to touch you. Now go to sleep, Janeen.”
“Raym.”
“That’s what I said. Goodnight, my lady.”
At first I thought she was just joking, or possibly dreaming. I even giggled for a while. But when she didn’t giggle back, I realized then that she wasn’t joking and probably really did wish my name was Janeen. Or worse…that I was someone else entirely.
I remember seeing a picture of Toshiba in her photo album. The name on the bottom of the picture read, Janeen Toshiba, Rest In Peace.
That night I had a dream. I was falling…then I was flying…then I was standing in something wet. There were dead things inside. There were tongues that slipped between my toes and gave birth to tiny baby tongues that dug into the pores of my skin.
When I opened my eyes, I was on my side, staring at the shadows of swaying tree branches on the tent wall. It sounded like the ocean.
Something cold was at my neck, licking.
It was Barbara. She was flirting with me. I didn’t want to turn around. I enjoyed her lips at my neck. I closed my eyes and rolled over yawning, pretending to be asleep. I wanted to hold her, but I was too afraid that she’d stop if she knew that I was really awake.
I decided to pretend that I was having a nightmare and tried to touch her stomach – possibly even pull her down next to me and hold onto her as if I was also dreaming of sweet lovemaking. Would she rape me in my sleep? One would hope so.
I yawned again and blindly reached out for her stomach.
My hand shot into something cool and wet.
I felt around.
It seemed like my hand was in an open bag of cold spaghetti. And it smelt like Barbara hadn’t changed her socks in quite some time.
Then she screamed something.
“Why am I a fool?!”
Did she suddenly feel guilty for touching me in my sleep? I laughed and sat up hugging her, opening my eyes.
Oh god it was the head of the obese zombie tasting my FACE!
It was smiling. My hand was in its severed belly.
Squatting, I leapfrogged through the tent, mumbling loudly as the whole place fell around me. Barbara wrapped me in the tent and picked me up and threw me to safety against a tree.
The head was silent as it sailed.
I nodded to Barbara in respect.
She-was-a-maz-ing.
The zombie belly was burned.
“This here be zombie country, ma’am,” I whispered to myself as she walked off into the bushes. “This here be zombie country and ye be the farmer who farms. My wanton body is your lustful tractor. Amen.”
Seventeen.
In the morning, I smelt something cooking. I got out and stretched and saw that Barbara had created a tiny fire and was boiling a tiny pot. I walked over, rubbing my stomach to signal that I was hungry.
She said that she was boiling the zombie’s shoulder. On hearing this, I instantly regurgitated onto my shirt for a 2nd time. Barbara threw her head back and laughed, and then threw her head forward and snarled. She stirred the pot with a tree branch that I can only assume to have been cleaned.
Barbara explained that the human body needed food to run.
“It is exactly like being an automobile that needs gasoline. We are cars that eat meat. That is the best analogy you shall ever hear. And today we shall eat that of a zombie – for this be walking dead meat!”
“I shall not put it into my mouth. It shall never go past these luscious lips. No!”
I felt dizzy then, slapping my palms against the sides of my head. Barbara laughed out loud and slapped her thighs.
“O’ stink child! O’ stink child of mine! I reckon the body you currently possess is low on “gas”. Har har har! O’ stink child.