MAN MEAT by Angela Sargenti

A tasty soujourn into the land of knitters and critters with the inimitable words of Angie Sargenti.

Man Meat

I guess I’m man meat now.

Yeah, me.

Can you believe it?

Well, let me tell you how it all went down.

There I was just walking down the street, not bothering a soul, when this weird-looking guy came up to me. Well, I never watch the news, so how was I supposed to know?

How was I supposed to know about the outbreak?

I never was too smart, I guess, nor too good-looking, but I do kind of like this new look of mine.

Gives me character.

And what the hell?

I didn’t need that damned ear anyhow.

Hurt like a mother, though, having it off like that. And I would’ve thought a person would bleed to death just from that, but no.

I didn’t even go deaf on that side.

Just makes it harder to figure out where the sounds are coming from, is all.

So there I am just standing there, my hand over the gaping hole in the side of my head. I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me while he chews up my ear. And he probably would’ve come after me again if he wasn’t so busy trying to figure out what to do about my earring.

He couldn’t chew it, I guess.

The post kept getting stuck in his gums.

Damnedest thing I ever saw, except for my ear hanging out of his mouth.

It finally occurred to me maybe I ought to start running or something. Then I remembered about the knitting needles I had in my bag.

See, I was on my way to this knitting class I was taking. Me and a lot of other overweight, homely girls, and a couple of old ladies, too.

Hell, wasn’t like any of us was getting laid any time soon, so what else was there to do? And if that zombie bastard didn’t like the earring post in his gums, he sure as shitwouldn’t like what I did next.

It was real fun, though.

Satisfying, if you know what I mean.

And by the way?

All those crappy old Hollywood movies?

They’re right.

You can kill them if you can wipe out their brains.

I tried ramming them knitting needles down his throat a few times, but he still moved and flopped around, so I gave him a few jabs in the eyes, figuring at least I could slow him down some if I blinded him.

Slowed him down, my ass.

Dropped him is what I did.

I looked around, but I didn’t see any more of them in the street, so I figured maybe it was a good time to take it on the toes and forget about that knitting class for the day.

When I got there, I turned on the TV.

Yep.

There it was, on all the major channels. The usual bone-headed nonsense.

I swear, this government can’t find its ass with both hands.

I started feeling kind of funny and all, but the bleeding petered out, so I had me a good look in the mirror.

“That’s gonna to leave a mark,” I told my reflection.

It don’t hurt a lick, though.

At least, not after that initial blast of pain, and even that’s nothing to be scared of. I mean, I broke my ankle once (that’s what I get for trying to prance around in high heels) and that hurt way more than this.

I am gonna wash this dried blood off me, though. No sense getting it all over my furniture. And maybe after that I’ll go pour me a nice big glass of whiskey and call it a day.

Makes me wonder, though.

Do zombies have sex?

I mean, they’re ugly as hell, so they can’t be too picky, can they?

All I have to do now is get past their stinking breath and I’ll be in business.

Man meat.

Can you believe it?

Someone finally wants me, for chrissakes.

Yeah, me.

Nice.

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Bio: Angie is the author of the zombie blog After Old Joe, and is currently working on her next novel. She's penned dozens of erotic and horror stories and has written for Leo DeGraunce, Every Night Erotica, Oysters & Chocolate, For The Girls, and others. Her most recent work, “Snow White,” was published in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 under her pen name, AR Shannon. You can find her zombie blog at www.afteroldjoe.wordpress.com and her erotica website at http://angiesargenti.blogspot.com/. She also invites followers on twitter, @angiesargenti