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He didn't mean to get bit. Well, no one ever intends to be bitten by a zombie, but he was always so careful to avoid infection. He wore thick, long sleeves and pants even in the heat of summer. He scoped out places for hours before fully venturing into them, lest he be ambushed by a stray zombie or even a malicious human.
So while he should feel a deep despair about the loss of his life, the main emotion he felt was embarrassment. How embarrassing to be bitten by a zombie he didn't hear when he went out to pee in the middle of the night after spending months being so careful. How humiliating to have to walk back into his RV and tell his lover, Ten, that he was infected. How mortifying to put the burden of killing him on his boyfriend, making him take the life of who he loved most so he doesn't infect him next.
Ten carefully cleaned his wounded arm and handcuffed him to the bed, insisting they wait to see if he will actually turn or not before they resort to killing him. "Just promise you'll kill me if I do turn," he pleaded. Ten nodded solemnly.
Ten's careful treatment could not make him evade infection and within hours, he turned. Ten sobbed and put the barrel of the shotgun up to his forehead, finger shaking on the trigger. He couldn't pull it. "Fuck, I'm sorry!" Ten conceded before grabbing his things and running away.
He didn't expect to still have consciousness as a zombie. He thought of them as mindless abominations, aimlessly wandering the wasteland. Had every zombie they killed in their travels had thoughts? Feelings? A name… what is his name? Why has he already forgotten? In fact, he's forgotten most emotions. But the most recent emotion he felt still rings in his head — embarrassment.
Yes, embarrassment. When did he first feel embarrassment like this? He struggles to remember. Maybe his first kiss. It was with a girl, and she abruptly stopped them mid-kiss to say that he was using way too much tongue and it was weird. White-hot embarrassment seared across his whole body. He thought he was meant to use his tongue like the muscle it is, pressing down like a colored pencil to get the most pigment laid down.
Colored pencils. He remembers being an artist and making pieces with them. Ten would chastise him for buying art supplies worth hundreds of dollars, but he justified it by saying the quality difference was immense. He wanted his art to last forever, which required lightfastness. Lightfastness, he remembers, is how well a pigment holds up when exposed to light for extended periods of time.
He wonders what his lightfastness will be. Will his now-rotting body last for eternity in the sun like his expensive Caran d’Ache colored pencils, or will it fade and wither away like cheap Crayola pencils? While pondering this, he begins to feel another emotion, no — an instinct. Hunger.
Sharp pangs of hunger shoot through him and he realizes he needs to feed on something, someone. But he's chained to this stupid bed, trapped in an RV. Without a second thought, he begins to gnaw on his own arm, tearing through flesh and bone. Eventually with enough effort, he tears his arm off, leaving it hanging on the handcuff and freeing himself. Now he can hunt.
He eventually makes his way to the city, which city? He's not sure. He's not sure it matters either. What matters is that there's likely to be people hiding there and that means food. Something to satiate the painful hunger rippling through him. He felt no pain in ripping off his own limb, but the hunger hurts. A void that desperately needs to be filled.
While wandering, he stumbles through another pack of zombies searching for the same thing. He reads the name on one's Uniqlo uniform name tag. "Yangyang." Judging by the name tag and uniform, he was bitten during a work shift. The only thing worse than working retail could be dying while doing so.
They lock eyes and he wonders what he's thinking about. Does he think he's an idiot for losing his arm? Does he have family who miss him? A girlfriend, or boyfriend too? He begins to feel another emotion — sadness. He's sad thinking about Ten out there all by his lonesome, no longer having him to protect him.
He wonders how long it's been since he turned. Time doesn't feel the same when you're dead. Nights and days pass, but he has no calendar. No smartphone. It could have been days, weeks, or even months in the time it took him to reach the city after aimlessly walking through the forest.
He wonders if Ten has grown a beard without the vanity of daily maintenance. He always thought it was cute when Ten would get lazy and grow stubble. Ten hated his facial hair and always wanted to get it lasered off, but was worried about the pain. He's probably so stubbly and cute right now. And sad. And alone.
He walks along with the pack of zombies. Finding a weird, comforting sense of community and solidarity despite the inability to actually speak. He considers Yangyang a friend. Constantly following behind him in the pack, observing his movements and curious nature. He wonders if they'd be friends in their previous lives. All he knows is that he works retail, and he was always nice to retail workers. He resented people who would go into a store 10 minutes before closing and would never want to inconvenience them. He tries not to inconvenience him now.
Outside of Ten, the thing he misses the most is sleep. Zombies don't sleep. He remembers that he never dreamed, but still thought of sleep fondly. It was placid. A peaceful nothingness. He longed to feel that again — nothingness. Anything but this dull hunger.
Suddenly, he hears a scream. It's a mother and her child, who can't be more than five years old. Born into an apocalypse, what a pitiful fate. Sadness. He feels it again.
But the sadness doesn't stop him from joining the other zombies in chasing after them. The child stumbles on a curb and falls behind, her mother calling out for her to hurry. It's no use. Zombies aren't slow like they are in the movies, and one catches her now that she falters. Soon enough they swarm the little girl like flies on decaying fruit.
Yangyang bites directly into her neck, severing her carotid artery. The screaming stops and the child dies. He wonders if that was an act of mercy by Yangyang, putting her out of her misery. Or maybe it was just the closest piece of flesh to gnaw on. Only Yangyang knows, and he can't ask him later.
He gnaws on the girls leg, indulging in her sweet flesh, finally fulfilling some of the hunger that has plagued him. But then he's stopped short when he hears the blood-curdling scream of the mother. He's never heard anything like the wail of a mother whose lost her child, especially in such a brutal way.
She tries to push the zombies off her, but it's futile. She's already gone. Then, he feels another emotion — shame. Shame for killing and consuming a child to begin with, least of all in front of her poor mother.
Shame. When does he remember feeling shame before? He remembers the look of shame on Ten's face when he failed to kill him, condemning him to this fate of being undead. "Fuck, I'm sorry!" Ten said. "Fuck, I'm sorry!" he wishes he could say to this girl's mother, as though it would ease any of her pain. Fuck, he's sorry.
Shame. He can't picture her face, but he remember his mother's voice scolding him for having dessert before dinner. He was adorably chubby as a kid and she wanted him to lose weight. For shame.
While walking along the desolate streets with the other zombies, he strays from the group and finds himself drawn to a particular apartment building. He stumbles through debris and up the stairs, wondering if this was a mistake until — jackpot! A teenage girl, no, a meal.
She screams, startled, and runs off down the hall. But this is a futile endeavor for her as, despite his slowness, it is a dead end of apartment units in shambles. He meanders down the hall and turns into the last apartment to find Ten, with the girl cowering behind him as he wields the same shotgun. It must have served him well all this time.
Ten recognizes him despite the decay. "Kun?!" he exclaims in horror.
Kun — that's his name. Memories of its usage begin to flood back to him. A teacher mispronouncing it during roll call despite it only being 3 letters — embarrassment. His first boyfriend breaking up with him, 'Kun, we need to talk.' — sadness. His mother scolding him for forgetting to take the chicken out of the freezer and ruining dinner — shame. Ten moaning his name while wrapped in his arms — love.
Love. He remembers love, an emotion that outstretches time. He remembers loving Ten and Ten loving him back. He's felt cold for so long, but now he feels warm inside with memories of all they got to share. A life worth living and dying for.
Love. He sees it in Ten's eyes when he looks back at the child. A different kind of love, but love nevertheless. And so he understands when he pulls the trigger.
"I'm sorr—" BANG.
Finally, the nothingness of sleep.