THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES ( chapter 1 the thing about the apocalypse )

Here is the opening chapter of Zom Zom, presented as a frantic, first-person blog entry.

THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES

Post Title: Well, Gary Just Ate the Barista (And No, We Don’t Know Why)

Date: Tuesday, The End of the World ish?

Mood: Caffeinated and terrified.

Current Status: Hiding in a cleaning supply closet.

Hey guys, welcome back to the blog.

Usually, I write about artisanal cheeses and why my cat, Mister Whiskers, is a sociopath. Today, I’m pivoting. We are rebranding. The niche is now: Not Dying.

Here is the thing about the apocalypse. In the movies, there’s always a prologue. A scientist drops a beaker of green goo. A monkey bites a patient zero. A meteorite crashes into a cemetery. There is always a Reason.

We didn’t get a Reason. We didn’t even get a press release.

One minute, I was at The Daily Grind waiting for my oat milk latte, and the next minute, a guy in a moisture-wicking polo shirt—let’s call him Gary—decided that the barista’s jugular vein looked more appetizing than a croissant.

The "Incident"

It wasn't majestic. It wasn't cinematic. It was just... awkward.

Gary didn't groan, "Braaaaaains." He didn't scream. He just made this wet, rhythmic chewing noise. Zom. Zom. Zom. Like someone trying to eat peanut butter without opening their mouth.

The barista, poor guy, dropped the milk pitcher. It exploded everywhere. Steam hissed. And Gary? Gary just kept chewing on the guy's shoulder like it was a tough piece of jerky.

I stood there for a full ten seconds. My brain was buffering. I actually thought, “Wow, that is an incredibly aggressive HR violation.”

Then Gary looked up.

His eyes weren't glowing. They weren't white. They were just... empty. Like he was on a conference call that had gone on for three hours. And his mouth was red. Very, very red.

Why? Who Cares!

Everyone is screaming, "Is it a virus? Is it 5G? Is it the gluten?"

Here is my hot take: It doesn't matter!

While people were debating the socio-economic implications of the rage virus, Gary lunged at Mrs. Higgins, the lady who hoards the stevia packets. He took a chunk out of her arm, and within twelve seconds—I counted, I was frozen in fear—Mrs. Higgins was making the sound.

Zom. Zom. Zom.

It’s catchy, in the worst possible way. Hence the name. I’m calling them Zom Zoms. It sounds cute. It helps with the panic attacks.

The Escape

I wish I could tell you I grabbed a fire axe and went full hero mode. I did not. I grabbed my laptop (it’s expensive!) and I ran.

I ran past the muffins. I ran past the screaming customers. I saw a guy trying to fight off a Zom Zom with a wet floor sign. It wasn't working. The Zom Zom just chewed the plastic.

Now I’m in the janitorial closet of the office building next door. I have 14% battery, a half-eaten scone, and a bottle of industrial-strength bleach.

Here is what we know:

• They are fast (think: aggressive power-walkers).

• They make the Zom Zom noise.

• They are very hungry.

Here is what we don’t know:

• Why is this happening?

• How to stop them.

• If Mister Whiskers is okay (he’s probably leading them, honestly).

If you are reading this, stay inside. Lock your doors. And if you hear a wet chewing sound, for the love of god, don’t turn around to see if it’s just someone eating a peach.

It’s not a peach. It’s never a peach.

Update coming soon. Assuming Gary doesn’t find the key.

COMMENTS (3)

SoccerMom44: Is this real?? I thought it was a flash mob! My neighbor is eating my rhododendrons!

SurvivalSteve: I TOLD YOU. I TOLD EVERYONE. NOBODY LISTENED TO STEVE. WHO HAS THE BUNKER NOW, LINDA?

Gary's Wife: Has anyone seen Gary? He’s late for dinner.