Diary of a Country Zombie

By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Meredith_Loring]Meredith Loring
Today is a clean, crisp beautiful fall day. The brilliant orange and scarlet leaves are hanging like apples against a singingly blue sky. Along the roadways, bales of hay are bound up and dotting the pastoral green hillsides like giant frosted mini-wheats as a crow sails silently overhead in the tremulous breeze. The scent of cider wafts my way from the press where the farmer and his sons are busy pressing apples they gathered from the ground. In every respect but one, it is a perfect day. The one lousy thing about today is that I haven't eaten anything in weeks.
My last meal was a hapless grocery store clerk who came out the back door of the giant retail food outlet to put the trash into the high-security dumpster. Luckily for me, he neglected to check the premises first, and as he leaned in to wrestle the lock on the boat-sized trash trailer and deposit the day's half-stale bakery items, I nabbed him from behind. I only had to "chase" him for a few feet, since he kept falling and staring up at me with that woebegone sort of admiration my future meals often give. The odd thing is, I don't think he even knew I was a zombie. He kept saying "paper or plastic, paper or plastic." I think I may need to jazz up my attire.
I am a country zombie, and too bad for me, but country zombies don't often get to the city. Sure, we can take relaxing walks around the lake, engage in an evening of fishing, loll about in the sun and count birds and what not, smelling the gently billowing winds and picking flowers, but who thinks that's important when there isn't anything to put into the old gullet? Here I am, marooned in this putrid barnyard like a scarecrow stuck in a field of mud. I can only get to town when The Farm Guy doesn't notice me sliding into the back of his produce truck. If he catches me, its pretty much a no-win situation, cuz he holds up that terrible silver cross thing and tries to make me look at it.
It's not like I don't try. I leave voice mails; I put a signature line on my emails; but none of these things actually help me to secure a place at the table. All I want is to "get a head." Is that so much to ask? I even practice conservation. Only humanoids who stumble when they try to run away are selected for consumption. But the problem is, even when I do get to town, my zombie attire isn't the best. I admit it. As I said, that last guy didn't even know I was a zombie. In between "paper or plastic, paper or plastic," he kept saying "You'll have to go around front, Ma'am." I guess I just don't look zombie-like enough. But it's hard to get blood-stained panty hose and artificial stick-on cuts and wounds when you live ten miles from anywhere without web service. So here I am, sitting here in this ramshackle shed, wishing I were out on the town right now. I should have stopped in at the Zombie Costume Warehouse on my last trip to town and accessorized or gotten some new makeup. Oh well, there's always next time.
The author is a well-known zombie fan who has helped thousands of humanoids to appreciate zombie humor and even find their own voice as a zombie. For more zombie fun and to see a hilarious, award-winning film short and tips on zombie costume ideas, visit the [http://zombiecostumewarehouse.com]Zombie Costume Warehouse and make sure YOU are ready to be a good zombie this Halloween.
Article Source: [http://EzineArticles.com/?Diary-of-a-Country-Zombie&id=6525164] Diary of a Country Zombie