Occassional gross warning, this is a Zombie roleplay afterall

There will be ick warnings if there is anything in the post :)

Hello! Please don't post if you're not apart of the RP :)

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Theme: 50 years into zombie apocalypse

Setting: Idk a city probably.

"Ughhhh." My eyes open sluggishly, everything I saw swam in and out of focus before settling. Things were still a bit blurry but I could see well enough.

Everything feels so cold, like a chill to the bone type of cold. I bring my hands to my shoulders, a simple enough task if it didnt feel like sandbags were tied to my wrists. Slowly my numb fingers clasp over thin, bony arms.

I run my heavy hands over my body. Just to make sure I'm all there, I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing. My hands run over my eyelids, my lips. When my fingers run over my nose, they feel nothing. Nothing but a gaping hole. Shit.

I struggle to stand to no avail. All I can do is dart my eyes around the barren landscape and loll my head around stupidly. My eyes catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure glowing in the morning dawn. They close enough for me to touch, and I reach out one thin hand out towards them.

Only, I had no hand. It was entirely missing. From the elbow down there was nothing but gnawed wrangled flesh and half-chewed bone. My eyes widen in surprise, and I feel my chest start to constrict. It's almost like crying, but there's no tears. I try to scream but any sound that comes out sounds slow and gutteral. Almost as if I'm drowning in my own words.

The morning air was crisp and cold. Stanley walked through the abandoned city, all alone. Being alone was dangerous, but he didn't care. He preferred it that way. His parents, who had conceived him during the apocalypse, refused to let him go out on his own. They cared for his safety, but Stanley grew annoyed and hateful. This hate would unfortunately be the cause of their deaths. As just a few months ago, Stanley had murdered his own parents, waited for them to turn just so he could kill them a second time.

Being born into the apocalypse made life hard as a child. Having to grow up learning how to fight for your life every single day. Rarely ever being able to sleep because you were scared that you would wake up and see a walking corpse sinking its rotting teeth into your flesh. Growing up like this could definitely mess with your head... and it for sure messed with Stanley's. And it showed.

His silky black hair was messy, his eyes were a sea green-blue color, but his right eye had been gauged out, so it was swollen, bruised, and bloodied. His skin was pale and covered his scars. He wore a gas mask over the lower half of his face in order to breathe properly in certain locations. He had some weapons on him, but his main weapon of choice was a baseball bat with nails stuck through it. He liked beating his victims... not making it quick.

Stanley had been zoning off until he heard some noises from nearby. Sounded like another zombie. So, Stanley gripped the handle of the bat, before approaching the noise. He was lazy with his footsteps, since he didn't care if he was too loud. Attracting nearby zombies always gave him some action to say the least. He walked on until he saw the zombie, and he tilted his head as he examined it.

(Dude that whole thing was such an "oh shit" moment i loved it)

This is a little bit icky, skip over the 2nd paragraph if you don't want to read it

All I can do is sit there crying in anguish. Watching the gnarled flesh tremble with the rest of my body. I try to stand again to run away, but my knees give out from under me and I collapse onto the sleeping figure beside me.

The other body gives out no sound and I wince upon hearing the squelch of old flesh and bone. My face is inches away from theirs. My eyes widen in horror. Paper-thin skin stretched around their sunken-in, yellowed, and lifeless eyes.

I nearly let out another scream. Clutching my one good hand to my mouth, I stumble back to the grassy imprint that grew around my body before I had awoken. Sobs choke out the little oxygen that flows into my lungs.

And then, something is rustling in the bushes, I could hear tentative footsteps shift under the gravel and dirt. The sound came from behind me and I turn around too late.

By that time, the large looming figure had crept up three, maybe four feet close to me. The sobs and gasps for air start again as I stare into the fiery hatred and glee in their cold eyes.

"Pleaasee. Dooon't. Hurt meeee." My words came out slow and slurred, and barely decipherable.

(Lol. Sorry if this one seems short, I couldn't think of anything else to add ;;)

Stanley was a bit taken aback. Did the corpse just speak? That was strange. Usually the zombies weren't able to speak. All their vocal cords could do was make noises. This didn't scare him, though. If anything, he was just curious, now. He stepped closer to the corpse, until he was just close enough to touch them.

First, he used his foot to nudge them, scrunching his nose at the stench that lingered in the air. He could remember the days were the smells would make him sick to his stomach. Nowadays he was so used it. He then used his bat to nudge the body more. This may seem rude to others, but he was just that type of person. "So... are you alive, or dead?" He asked, wondering if the zombie could understand him. If it could speak, it should be able to, right? "I haven't heard any of you dead folks speak like that." He added. His voice was deep and smooth, but it had some angered emotions behind it. Which was nothing unusual for him. He always sounded angry or annoyed.

(No you're totally good lol. its probably gonna be short responses for a bit since dialogue and all that lol)

I wince, anticipating the blunt blow of a bat that would come striking down upon my head. But it never comes. Instead, the looming creature crouches down closer to my face and kicks me with its foot. They begin to poke and prod me with their bat like I'm some fucking lab rat.

"Whaaat. Theee Fu- glahck!" my words got cut off by my tongue blocking the back of my throat, "Fuuck. Aree you dooingg?" My speaking seems to have improved at the least. My voice still sounded dead and dry though.

A shadow of horror envelopes me, dead?

"Deeadd? I'm noot deadd," speaking was getting more difficult, I would soon be out of breath, "I'mmm livingg."

Stanley narrows his eyes as the zombie continues to speak. This was very strange. Growing up, he was never told about any zombies that could speak. So, he would have to guess that this wasn't exactly normal.

"Well you look dead." Stanley replied. He sniffed the air softly, grimacing. "Smell dead too." He added, before stepping away from them. "Yet you can speak. Well... kind of. You sound like shit to be honest." He said, starting to walk in a circle around them as he studied them carefully.

"Now, the question is... do I go ahead and put you out of your misery, or walk away and let someone else take care of you? You may not think you're dead, but anyone else who comes walking by is going to think otherwise." Stanley stated, curious if they could still make decisions like a living human.

(I'm gonna cut it out with the long words so it's easier to read so just pretend he's talking really slow lol )

I pause for a long time. Not blinking, not moving, probably not even breathing. Everything comes crashing down at once. I have no fucking clue where or who I am and my arm is missing. But I can't be dead, there's no way. It must be some sort of misunderstanding.

As the other human talks I begin to back away, their bat twirling in their hands makes me far too nervous. It makes me sick in my stomach. Or well it should. "No.. no no!" I shout with fervor, "Please, please don't kill me. I'm not dead! I can't be dead!" My breath becomes labored as I continued talking and my voice strains to choke out the last few words, my lungs crave for oxygen.

"I'm alive! I swear... I can't be dead. Please. Take pity."