I. The esteemed Professor Erring. Wish to regale you with my successful adventures – hijinks if you will- regarding the outbreak of animated deceased that occurred lately in Racoon city.
Though many thought this to be a mere case of the sniffles. I. An Intellectual. Knew better.
My first act of defense – neigh, unselfish heroism, was when a stumbling, coughing deceased human shambled towards me. Ever vigilant to danger I lifted my crossbow and took aim between the monstrosities eyes.
‘Stop! Stop!’ cried my assistant Alfred (I’ve since renamed Alfred to ‘the Coward’ based on his spineless attitude and refusal to commit to the necessary).
‘Tis not an Undead’ cried the Coward. ‘Tis an invalid that has just left the medical centre! It is flu season, such persons require compassionate assistance, not projectile Weaponry!’
As if proving my point (and of course, the Coward wrong) a second undead slowly appeared out of the said medical building. A funny coincidence that it too, was carefully walking (as if shambling). This one was using a zimmer frame. My god! I thought! They’re learning!
I again took aim with my crossbow.
A high pitched scream erupted to my left. ‘Don’t hurt my mother!’
Ah I thought smugly. This is how the zombies win. It’s the humanity within us that keeps us from accepting the truth of the matter. I turn to the screaming woman and with the cool confidence of a man guaranteed to not have sex I say:
‘She’s not you mother anymo….’.
My words were stopped by a loud crack emanating from my Jaw.
Above me (as I was now laying on my back, face skyward), a man in a police uniform stood clutching a baton.
‘Jesus christ.’ he said with an authoritative voice. ‘Who carries a crossbow around?’
Once more the peasants show their ignorance, as this police officer used the name of Jesus. I mentally laugh through my audible crying, as I. An Intellectual. Know that you cannot prove such things as Jesus, and this man’s logic is flawed. Just as you cannot prove the Flying Spaghetti Monster doesn’t exist.
It was of vital importance that I communicate my superior intellect and knowledge of logical fallacies by stating how you cannot disprove the flying spaghetti monster.
‘Spaggfetii, bow..monster…zombie…mother….help….’ I say with pride.
Confused, the police officer bends over to collect my weapon. At that moment I see the walking corpses closing in and in my last heroic piece of energy (and just before losing consciousness), I pull the trigger.
Then quickly regain conscious as the bolt fires directly into my foot. The next few moments aren’t clear. Apparently due to blood loss. But I am sure of the following (before consciousness left me):
Similar to how Leonitis of the brave 300 gave his final scream. I Professor Erring. Intellectual. Man of Reason and LOGIC. Gave my final roar!
I awake 3 days later. A hero. Handcuffed to a hospital bed. The reports say that the two ‘zombies’ were just ill folk leaving a clinic, and upon encountering my disfigured visage, and eruption of blood from my foot, fainted.
But tis just a cover up. Clearly the bolt entered, then exited my foot, and skewered both zombies kneecaps causing them to topple. Twas my plan all along.
Greatness is rarely appreciated during the lifetime of an individual. But my musings will serve me well when this mortal coil leaves this earth.
Yours, with honesty,