Post #2: Ten spooky writing prompts for Halloween. For this story I used Prompt #5: You’re turning into a zombie, but you believe it’s just the flu. Describe the process. I’m combining it with Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge #M492.
My story began after an evening out with friends. We enjoyed a night of singing and dancing to a band at the local community centre. The venue was easily at full capacity. For the entire night it was nearly impossible to move without rubbing up against someone. That must have been how I got the scratch on my arm. It was uncomfortable and starting to burn.
I was never one to exaggerate my symptoms. Whenever I felt sick, I always brushed it off as a minor inconvenience, certain that a good night’s rest or a hot cup of tea would do the trick. So, when the first signs of what I believed to be the flu began to rear their ugly heads, I was convinced it was nothing more than a passing virus.
First came the scratchy throat, a common ailment that can easily be overlooked. I dismissed it as a result of the changing weather, assuming it was a common cold. As the days wore on, my condition worsened, and so did my denial.
Soon, fatigue crept into my bones, entering like an unwelcome guest, sapping my energy with each passing hour. It felt as if a dense fog had settled over my mind, clouding my thoughts and slowing my movements. My once vibrant personality had turned dull, and nothing seemed to bring me joy anymore.
As the flu-like symptoms persisted, I began to notice some oddities. My skin had taken on an ashen pallor, a sickly shade that was a bit startling. Inspecting myself in the mirror I was met with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. My once lustrous hair appeared brittle and lifeless, falling out in clumps with each passing day. Still I refused to acknowledge the obvious. I continued my mantra that this was nothing more than a severe case of the flu. I was determined to soldier on despite my body’s protests. I was unable to fathom the possibility that I was slowly transforming into something out of a horror story.
The turning point came when I noticed a ravenous hunger gnawing at my insides, an insatiable craving that no amount of food could quell. I devoured everything in sight, my cravings extending beyond what any average person could consume. Raw meat, putrid fruits, I gorged on them all, my taste buds seemingly distorted by the illness coursing through my veins.
It was then that my reflection in the mirror revealed the undeniable truth. My eyes had taken on a vacant, glassy stare, a telltale sign of the monstrosity I had become. My teeth had elongated into menacing fangs, protruding from my once unassuming mouth. My nails had transformed into jagged claws, capable of inflicting untold damage. I was no longer human; I was a zombie. And yet, even in the face of this reality, It was getting harder to cling to my delusion. Deep within, I knew the truth. I was no longer the person I once was. I had become a creature of the night, a shell of my former self. And as I roamed the streets, hungering for flesh and blood, the realization had finally sunk in—I was no longer battling the flu, but an insidious transformation into the undead.
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