Everything would be better with zombies. Take my junior high school graduation. Everything would have been better if zombies had shuffled in to «Pomp and Circumstance.» They would have lurched into the gym, devoured the principal's brains, and shuffled out again.
There were no zombies at graduation. We walked in line. We took our seats. Living dead.
I've long suspected that I might be a zombie. If I were a zombie, how would I know? I study scary and not-scary movies. I read books. I play the relevant video games until my thumbs ache and my eyes grow tired and dry.
My best friend Lionel says that he would know. «You'd walk,» he says, and demonstrates, shambling gait and arms draped in the air. He lists left, which helps to make it work, but Lion's walked badly for a while now. He's not doing it for effect. «And you'd go 'Braaains!' and everyone would run away.»
Lion scowls and sits down beside me on the crumbly step. He picks at the grass growing up through the cracks. He would be out of luck, if it came to running from the zombies.