How Charming...

To Whoever Is Reading This, Probably Years In The Future...

      You'd think that you'd be used to odd things happening to you after getting drenched in murky toilet water on your first day back in High School. 

I honestly struggle to think where Alan and his gang of meatheads even got so much as to soak my body in it. They must've waded through dark sewers for hours on end, just for me. Alan and Co, I honestly feel honoured by the amount of pure effort and hard work you guys put into torturing me.

    You'd think you'd be used to the universe trying to screw you over after some bitch - another of Alan's groupies, whom I'm pretty sure is now snapped in half and being used as a sex toy - cut off all your hair in History class. Mind you my hair had been down to my waist then.

    But no one expected the Principal of Jerome Horwitz High School to turn into a rampaging, sex ravaged, grey-skinned zombie.

Complete with bloodshot eyes and equally grey...equipment. (The image of his genitalia is now burned into my brain.)

     Ms Mehan, the deputy of our school, had ordered every classroom to be situated under lockdown, demanded every student to hide under their desks with their phone and something that could easily be used as a weapon.

I, naturally, have brought my phone, of which I'm using to type this message up on, and a jumbo bag of Doritos.

     I don't care what anyone else says, when this Zombie Apocolypse comes, I won't be going around crying for someone to give me their food rations.

Don't think that I'm not scared. In fact, I'm petrified. My hands are shaking so much as I type this that I'm relying on autocorrect to fix the worst of my spelling errors. But growing up with bullies and abuse fanatics as parents, you learn to cope with the fear.

The police had been called, and after about 2 hours when, subsequently, nobody came, Mr Evans - our Math teacher since 4th grade - had started pacing around. We could all hear him, breathing heavily while his feet stomped and reminded us that he would be of no use to fight off any zombies whatsoever. All because he taught us Pythagoras' theorem not the Art of War.

      At first, I didn't think anything of his strange mutterings, only peeking a look occasionally to make sure his eyes hadn't rolled back into his bulbous head, or his skin hadn't peeled off to reveal grey velvet.

Even though he was still the same short, balding, beer-bellied man, I knew instantly that he was going insane. Mel, my one and only friend at the time, had stood up with both arms out int front of her, brandishing her Chemistry textbook. That girl was smart, that thing weighed more than the both of us combined.

     "Sir?" I remember the way her voice was trembling, the way her left wrist twitched slightly - a dead giveaway to the fear that she felt. "Sir, step away from the door."

I also remember the way her eyes widened in shock as the man she had made fun of for 4 years picked up his desk's chair and swung it, letting go and watching as the block of wood flew into her skull, shattering her head into tiny fragments. 

      I had watched as her brains oozed out, rolled down her pale, freckled face soaking her white shirt.  She was still so beautiful when she died. 

This zombie wasn't like any I'd ever seen on the Walking Dead. It didn't stumble over its own feet to get to the fresh brains in front of it, didn't moan loudly as it gripped her burgundy hair, fingers slipping through the cracks of her skull.

     This zombie didn't miss a beat as it slammed my best friend against a wall, tore off her shirt in a sex craving frenzy and started groping her.

This zombie wasn't like our Principal - who literally moaned 'brains' and had sex with that Alan's Group girl - and I had done nothing but watch, mouth open in a silent scream as I watched it tear into the girl I had loved as a sister for the past 5 years. God, tears are coating my phone scr- wait...what was that noiseaflehhfod--