Read Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) for Free Online

the
businessman would’ve been in his nice warm chair, and nowhere near
as exhausted, a long time ago.

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    Reservation in the Desert
    Right after college, I volunteered at
a zombie reservation in the Arizona desert. So many zombies lined
up for our clinic every day, I didn’t know how we could help them
all. There were zombie mothers missing arms and therefore unable to
care for their babies. There were zombie children infested with
bugs and parasites. Some of them literally had bugs crawling under
their skin.
    We did what we could to help them, one at a
time. We removed larvae that had infested itself in their skin. We
gave them pesticides that wouldn’t hurt them, but that would kill
off the infestations in their bodies. We gave them prostheses and
rehabilitation.
    One day when we drove into town for supplies, we
were stopped on our way back by figures dressed in all black and
wearing black ski masks. From their smell, I assumed they were
zombies. If only we could help them! They ordered us to take
another side road, and promised death if we turned around.
    The road led us to an illegal zombie camp. There
was a demonstration going on, which had attracted a large crowd. We
got out of the truck to observe and listen in.
    The leader spoke of zombie rights and zombie
superiority. He showed how the zombies in their camp needed help
that they couldn’t get. While he spoke, I looked around at the
zombies standing with us. I wasn’t scared; I could see they needed
help.
    Being of healthy complexion and in possession of
all of our extremities, we stood out among the crowd. The speaker
came over to us and demanded to know who we were.
    “We’re aid workers,” I explained. “We have a
clinic a mile down the road.”
    “I have many men in these hills,” he gestured
around him, “that could use your help.”
    I thought for a minute. “I would love to help
them,” I said, “but I fear that our government won’t let me. If I
go to them in the hills, the authorities will shut our clinic
down.”
    “But,” I added, “EVERYONE is welcome at our
clinic, no questions asked.”
    The leader stepped aside a moment and exchanged
words with several other men. Then he came back to us and asked,
“Where is your clinic?”
    “It’s about a mile that way.” I pointed down the
road.
    “You should be attending to it soon. Thank you
for all your hard work. We appreciate it.” And they let us go on
our way.

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    Prophettown
    I
lived in a small town in Indiana during the Zombie Hunts. We were a
close knit town. The people who had been turned into zombies had
been prominent members of the community, and many of them still
were. We didn’t think of them as zombies, we thought of them as
neighbors.
    There was one family that had all been turned
into zombies. They hadn’t been very well off in life, and business
was now down in death. The father was a fine shoemaker, but it
didn’t always get them by. The mother started taking in tailoring
jobs to help supplement their income.
    They had seven kids, which included two sets of
twins. The oldest two children were the first set of twins, and
they often took odd jobs around town to help their family out. The
three middle kids helped their mom with the babies, the second set
of twins.
    With the bonds of family, they survived and were
able to make a living. The people in the town helped when they
could.
    One day the zombie hunters came to town. They
raided houses of suspected zombies, including the shoemaker’s
house. A neighbor tipped the family off before the mob got there,
and the oldest twins, both boys, got two of their younger sisters
out. The four of them escaped through the roof and jumped from
rooftop to rooftop to hide and escape.
    The father tried to escape the same way, but he
twisted his ankle on the first jump, and instead ran down to the
street. He was hit by a slowly passing truck, and the townsfolk
rushed him to the hospital.
    The