The ironic thing was that when he was alive, Fred had been the strictest of all vegans. His parents had been hippies and most of his life had been spent being raised by wacked out way outs in one commune or another. For most zombies, there was always a moment when they were still alive and they begin to feel the brain hunger, the need to consume the sweet, sweet, hot salty jelly, to crack open the fresh unspoiled head and gobble up the yummy contents like their mouth only existed for that purpose. Fred had been bitten three days earlier by a woman dressed in a hotel robe and not much else and when he first felt the hunger, he tried to think of it as a delicious walnut, aching to be scooped out and crunched up. As the first brain passed his fast decomposing lips, a tiny portion of his human mind screamed into the endless paralysis of his body about how it wasn’t even organic.
