I'm walking. It's dark... light? Maybe. It's all the same empty streets to me. I pass one of the zombies, the other zombies, and I just leave 'em be, let them go about their business; do they see me? How many days have I avoided them simply by being insignificant? People have it wrong. You only get chased when you act like you're too good to die. Easy meals don't interest them. I waited. I waited on my knees for them. I was ready... I am ready. I saw them take everyone else, one by one, all of my friends were taken, hunted down, made one of them. They screamed when they were caught, but after the screaming, somewhere after all the pain, there was something else. There was a sort of mindless contentment to them. They weren't dead, they'd just become animals, no longer concerned with trivial things like religion and science. They hunt, they fuck, and they fight. They're animals, and I was ready. I am ready.
I'm walking, but I know where I'm going. I'm going to the starting line of a race I'm not intending to win. I have to give them what they want; make my sacrifice to their alter. I'm not nervous. I'm ready. They're looking at me now, they're curious. I am almost there, my hundred meter dash, my Olympic games, my gold medal. I'll scream for them, I'll make it real for them, but I'm not scared, I'm ready. I can see it, I can see my marker now, and I can hear the gun fire, the crowd cheering me on. This is it.
They look away. I drop.