The Cursed Girl and the Cat and the Apocalypse

17 June 2019


Time to implement the plan! Dude, get the car, the maps, I know we’re starting out in suburbs but I swear to God we’ll make it to the mountains, we fucking have to.

No no no no no shit no! I swear there aren’t even this many people living in Coburg, let alone dead—fuck shit get away from that window already. We’ll try the back lane.

Are they flowing from the city like fucking peak hour? I shouldn’t have rented on a main road.


If only we’d heard sooner, honey, I’m sorry, or maybe if I’d got my motorbike license and had armour for some reason, and some shield for you, I don’t know, there must have been a way. But unless these zombies are the kind that get bored and sleep, we’re done. We can’t leave this house, not more than a few metres anyway, without getting bit, and even if this fort would hold I was planning to get groceries on Tuesday so we won’t last too long on this stuff.

At least there’s still some Tim Tams left, though. Guess we’ve gotta count our blessings.


Hey Dude, that get-to-know-you question about what you’d eat for your last meal is finally gonna come in handy! Though I don’t have the mangoes and ice cream and liquor and cheese that I had in mind. I don’t even have cocoa for brownies. I wish I could just hop down to the supermarket. It’s only a block and a half, maybe when we run out of wine I’ll give it a try, hey? I mean what else is there to do? And I’m sorry that I went vego, I never intended to force you the same, but we’re low on your food. Honestly pumpkin is pretty meaty, you might like it.


It’s times like this when I’m glad that I screenshot recipes rather than bookmarking them, or we would’ve eaten the chickpeas in a fucking salad. It’s not a habit that was aimed at post-apocalypse post-internet cooking, but look how things turned out. When any meal might be our last, we totally deserve falafels, don’t we?

Mmm. I’m glad you’re with me, baby. Even now you help me fight my demons, or I might’ve just taken my chance with zombie-assisted suicide on that first day.


You know what I fucking hate? The noise of them. They might be dumb and weak as shit but they sound like a hundred clumsy orgasms moaning and shuffling at the windows like that. And they’re blocking the sun to my herbs on the sill.

Ooh, but hey, speaking of orgasms, you know what was a blessing? Don’t give me that look, we have to count our blessings. So yeah, I’m gonna say it. That I bit the bullet and bought that vibe the other week! Maybe I should get a taste of my future, give myself a ‘little death’, ay? Okay, go sulk in the corner, you’re just jealous. I’m gonna go check if it still has batteries.


Fuckkk I’m so over stale bread! You must be over stale biscuits and veggie scraps, I guess. Do you have a headache? I have a headache. Do you even get headaches? I haven’t eaten enough protein, that’s the problem. I know I’m a cheapo with a diet normally dominated by rice and pasta, but not to this extent.

We’re even out of peanut butter! Stale toast with margarine isn’t really a breakfast. I’m a big breakfast kinda girl, like you.

Plus I’ve run out of books. This is getting shitter by the day.


Do you want it to end? We could both give in, but I need your consent. Why can’t you give it in some clear way? Please. I couldn’t give up myself and let you die, but I can’t kill you first unless you make it really clear.

Even then, I might not have the guts, but I’ll try. I promised I’d do my best to be good to you, remember? When you were a grumpy boy in the shelter and I was a sad girl in need of company and I picked you?


Hmm? What’s up, Dude?

God, it’s barely dawn, what’s got into you? Can’t I even sleep in after the apocalypse? What’s that noise?

Oh, fuck. It sounds like they’re inside, I think, I don’t know which room though, fuck. Thanks for getting me up, I love you. You’re my best buddy til the end, ay?

Well we’d know if they were upstairs, and I think they’d manage the stairs, so they must be in the laundry or toilet down there, I guess. S’pose one of the windows finally caved. Well, let’s put a cupboard against the door and see how long it lasts. I’m not going to hide here without even a cup of tea, are you? Our end might be nigh, but since we’ve got this far, let’s get some breakfast.

Toast or—fuck! You quiet shit! I’ll close this—door—if it—fucking—kills me—Ha! That bitch could’ve reached me just then but you distracted it, Dude! FUCK—NO! YOU CAN’T HAVE DUDE!!


We’re leaving this room today, man, I’m really fricking hungry and you must be too. So we have to figure out what exactly the deal is, and figure out a way to shield you. Hey, baby, stop thanking me, I know you would’ve done the same. Right? Hmm. Would you? You are a selfish boy, but I love you. Anyways, I didn’t die, so it was kinda just a symbolic gesture. I didn’t have to follow through.

But back to the issue at hand: they are outside
that door. And we are going downstairs to get toast. More than toast. I’m going to cook those last lentils too. Yesterday was still a reminder to appreciate every minute. But I’m getting off track again.

What do we know? That they’re outside that door. That they will try to eat you. That I would rather die first than watch that. And the weird part—that they don’t seem to want to eat me.

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