City of Love, Zombies

by Former Intern Andy

Ed. note: while jasmine is off getting drunk after TAKING THE BAR, she's rounded up some forces to keep the readers happy while she's gone. enjoy! Bar is OVER! it was long. i keep thinking of issues i should have put in my essays, but there's no point in beating myself up over it now. the days were gruesome, but now, i drink. i'll be back in a couple of days! ciao!

This is a true story. It's a story about a guy named Andy, a girl named Jasmine, and how they met one spring afternoon in New York. Love was in the air, and all over the city romance was blooming. Blooming like a beautiful May flower, that's beauty pales in comparison to the illustrious Jasmine. It was an unseasonably warm spring day, the streets burning with the desires of so many lovers.

And then the zombies came.

Ugh, those zombies, let me tell you. Remember those zombies, Jasmine? We met — Jasmine and I, not the zombies — in front of the Time Warner building at Columbus Circle, a roadway named after the famous explorer. Fred Circle. Hmm? Who did you think I meant? What?

Anyway, she recognized me by the mohawk, or faux-hawk (as she didn't hesitate to point out), I told her to look for. She was short, but I could tell she was a scrapper, and if, say, the city was suddenly inundated with flesh-eating zombies, I was quite sure she'd be kicking living-dead ass right beside me. Ah, true love.

We each introduced ourselves. She shook my hand, then paused to look over her shoulder. Like something was amiss. She turned back with a breathtaking smile. "How are you?" she said enthusiastically. "I'm well," I said.

NOTE TO READER:
I may or may not have said, "I'm well." I'm always a lot smoother in the past than I am in the present. It's quite possible that I was not the suave Andy you all believe me to be. She also may have said, "You're cute; let's go make out," but I have a sneaking suspicion that she didn't. And I have a sneaking suspicion that we didn't make out. Mostly because we didn't. See, the way memories work is....


We walked into Whole Foods which was located in the lower level of the Time Warner building, or, as it would come to be called in the future, "That place where all those zombies started showing up and eating people." I had never been to Whole Foods and she gave me a hard time about it, but it in a cute, flirtatious sort of jabbing. We held hands and walked to check out line. I had General Tsao's chicken, and I believe she had the same. Everything seemed right with the world.

Clearly, there was some kind of fever in the air. We both felt it in our hearts. But I guess we were lucky. Because everyone around us clearly felt it in their disfigured faces, in their limp walks, and in their flawed vocal cords. And then moans. Moans like the ones I imagine to be present whilst making sweet love to the goddess-like Jasmine.

And then I realized. I hated General Tsao's chicken. And also, we were surrounded by zombies.

I was proven correct. She was a scrapper. We fought well side by side. Something just clicked. And clicked. And clicked. And clicked. And clicked. And then reloaded. I think it was her pump-action shotgun. You would imagine someone her size being thrown off by the kick-back, but she merely leaned in sadistically, one-handing the beast of a weapon, not even flinching when the zombie innards were splattered upon us. I won't lie to you: sex was being had with our eyes.

She was wearing a dazzling outfit — minus the zombie bits — and her body was something to behold. A work of art that would have made Michelangelo give up, saying, "Why waste time attempting to sculpt perfection when I can spend time viewing God's already perfect creation?"

Head shot. Head shot. Head shot.

We stood back to back, and I could feel her sweat mix with mine. I felt like taking her right then and there, zombies or no zombies. But since there were zombies, I figured it best to probably wait it out.

We made our way out into Fred Circle's Columbus Circle. The scope of the situation had finally hit us. We were soul mates. Surely, what we were both feeling couldn't be a simple crush. This was something more. Something bigger. We weren't "Whole Foods full of zombies" in love. We were more like "city full of zombies" in love.

So, the city was full of zombies. And we were turning left and right, unloading hot lead into the living-dead flesh. Hot like the passion that could be felt pulsating in the space around us.

We both ran toward Central Park, I with my Magnum and her with the pump-action. Like the gentleman my mother brought me up to be, I opened the closest gate into the park for her. She smiled sweetly, and then shot a zombie in the crotch, screaming profanity at it. And when it fell to its knees, she handed me her gun, and then crushed the zombies head with her bare hands, taunting it mercilessly in the process.

I used my own shirt to wipe the blood off her pump-action. I handed it to her. She didn't realize that I had wiped it off, and I overlooked the fact that she had just crushed a zombie's head with her hands. I felt like I had just sold my skateboard to buy her new law books and she sold her reading glasses to buy me a skateboard ramp. We both smiled, giggled and then embraced each other tightly. We felt a pitter-patter that vibrated in each of our chests. Our hearts were all a-flutter.

And also a helicopter, flying over head! We rushed into a large clearing in the park, waving our hands wildly, zombies close behind us. The pilot saw us and dropped a ladder down. Jasmine took a running leap and grabbed it and began to climb. The ladder swung too far for me to reach it in time, and the zombies were closing fast. With a lump in my throat, I signaled for the pilot to lift her away. Even with the chopper so near, I heard the breaking of her heart.

Though it could have been twigs. The ground was pretty littered with twigs.

I was eaten by a zombie soon after. So, given that new information, this is all written quite well, considering I'm a zombie. Right? I mean, what zombie says, "romance was blooming," "love was in the air"? How many zombies talk like that? None zombies, that's how many.

Actually, I'm just kidding. I found another clearing in Central Park and was picked up before the zombies could get me. When I climb into the compartment, Jasmine smiled her beautiful smile, gently tapped the cushion next to her, and said, "I saved you a seat."

We totally made out most of the helicopter ride.

Until we realized that the helicopter pilot was also a zombie. I mean, come on, who thinks a zombie will know how to operate a helicopter? A bus or a car, maybe. But a helicopter? We're talking X, Y, and Z axes here. Anyway, Jasmine made short work of zombie-pilot's death, and then flew the helicopter herself until we reached safety.

I love this girl. This girl named Jasmine.