Writing Wednesday: All Be Acting Like Zombies At The Mall

Gerald was a zombie who liked to go shopping in town on Saturday mornings just like everybody else. Unlike everybody else, he didn’t feel the need to run the opposite way screaming when he came across another shopper. He did think this was rather rude behaviour. He thought it was so rude that it actually made him hungry.

He walked into shops and people ran out of the doors. Often the shop assistant would stay behind the desk, but they sat and shook, like a severed limb stuck on a chainsaw. They were afraid. What could they be afraid of? Gerald only wanted to buy some new boots. He was tired of dragging his feet around as they were. Unfortunately it had been a long while since Gerald had last bought any footwear and so he had forgotten his shoe size. He tried to ask the assistant in the aisle if she would mind measuring his feet, but when he approached her, arms stretched out to grab her attention, she screamed and ran through the little door that said ‘Staff Only’. So Gerald turned to the young man at the counter, but he screamed something too and backed against the wall.

This made Gerald upset. How was he supposed to get any boots now? He reasoned that he may as well just buy a pair that looked good and hope for the best. So he shuffled down the aisles looking for a decent man’s boot. There were cowboy boots and hiking boots, army boots and farming boots. It took Gerald a while to decide, all the while groaning with indecision.Eventually he found a pair of cheap imitation Doc Martins. He had always figured why pay full price for a label when they all seem to fall apart sooner or later anyway? And actually, he liked that look. He took those to the counter.

The young man there still hadn’t moved. He pressed up against the wall, his eyes shimmering like two goldfish bowls on the back of a pick up truck on a drive through the sunny hills. Gerald missed driving. He dropped the boots on the counter and tried to communicate in gestures that these were the boots he wanted, since no one seemed to listen to his words. However, this seemed to be the last straw for the counter assistant; he kicked away from the counter and cowered in the corner screaming and blubbering to himself about his mummy. Gerald sighed, which spooked the assistant into squealing further.

Well, if no one was going to help him, Gerald was going to help himself! He picked up the boots again and walked out of the store. As he passed through the doorway, a wailing sound came from somewhere above. Gerald looked up, but couldn’t see anything that might make such a noise. It hurt his ears. He staggered onwards, boots in hand, away from the noise, the store and the unhelpful assistants.

However, not far away a man in blue obstructed him. The man had a tiny gun. He  pointed it at Gerald. The man in blue shouted something. Gerald couldn’t believe it. He was only shopping, and everyone had been so damn unhelpful! He tried to explain to the man in blue and mistakenly stepped closer in his desperation to communicate. The man in blue stepped away and a bang followed. The gun had gone off. Gerald lurched as the bullet hit his decaying flesh.

What was wrong with the world? Now he was getting shot for going shopping. That really was it. Gerald wouldn’t stand for any more ridiculous behaviour.

Despite the fact that the man in blue kept shooting Gerald, most rudely, in the chest and thereabouts, Gerald took great effort to eat the disgusting man. It was a task and a half because he was so large, but Gerald made a point of doing his job well. Then he headed for home with his new boots, and he ate everyone he saw on the way home too. There was a man on a motorbike who was putting his helmet on, a young couple walking in the park, an old lady with her dog (the dog left hairs in Gerald’s teeth) and as he neared his street Gerald encountered a class of schoolchildren and their teacher on a school trip. Gerald, who was quite full by this point, let them go with a long howl to speed their departure. Then he lumbered down the road and into his dilapidated home.

He lurched to the kitchen, putting his bag on the dining table, and put the kettle on for a nice cuppa. While he waited for it to boil he took to trying on the new boots, and if he wasn’t an undead monkey’s uncle. The boots were a size too small! He’d have to go back in the morning to exchange them. He’d be hungry again by then.


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