Tentative Title: Zombie Hunter

         Well, hello there, my name’s Lexi. I’m a 25 year-old nurse. Registered nurse, to be exact. Well, there’s a few extra letters that ended up coming after my name when I got my license in the mail from the State of Pennsylvania, so my credentials read exactly “RN-CZH”. No one else that I know of possesses these letters after their RN... and the state tells me they made no mistake, so I have some fancy credential that I have no clue as to what it stands for. But, hell, I passed my boards in 75 questions and the more letters after your name, the better, so I’ll take whatever “CZH” stands for in a heartbeat.
         Anyway, I’m pretty content with being a nurse, although it wasn’t my first career choice. I wanted to be a writer, a horror writer a la Anne Rice to be exact. I proclaimed my life plan to my mother who, in turn, shot my career idea down and told me to “get a job with job security”. In response, (and after two years of milling around aimlessly at community college) I went off to nursing school, survived that pure insanity and got a license to practice in the lovely state of Pennsylvania after getting through the hazing ritual of nursing known as the NCLEX.
         Just from how I speak and my interests, you can tell I’m not exactly your average nurse. I’m a bit of an odd and nerdy chick. I used to be the poster child for the girl next door: long blonde hair and green eyes; that whole bit. But I cut all my hair off and dyed it dark red. I stand about 5 ft tall. My have pale skin. And although I used to look (and pretty much still act) like the girl next door, my interests never really were that. I’m obsessed with playing Rock Band, I have a fabulous and bluntly twisted sense of humor, I’m a night person, I enjoy rather dark macabre things (but I’m pretty darn upbeat), I’m fascinated with vampires (not that I believe in them or wish to be bitten, they’re just my favorite mythological creature. Werewolves are just too hairy… and zombies smell like maggots and have that whole rigor mortis thing going on) and, oh yeah, I adore Bettie Page. Of course I wear scrubs and wear minimal make-up while at work, outside of work I get my fashion advice from video games, vampire novels and pin-up girls… and I’m sporting some major tattoos, so you can only imagine how I look outside of the professional field. I’m just not a Cosmopolitan type of girl. I don’t go for the Abercrombie and Fitch jock type of guy. You get my gist?
         So, my parents are cool with their eccentric kid (Amen to that! Because, unfortunately, they decided to attempt to get me to conform to society with 14 years of Catholic school! No avail, mom and dad, I fought the system!). I have a pretty good life going on, even though there were some rough spots here and there. I bought a house, moved out of my parent’s house and now live with the coolest guy on the planet: my boyfriend Chris. He’s so awesome because he’s as just as weird and nerdy as I (although our eccentric and dorky interests are not exactly the same, we get along just as well anyway)… and possesses the exact type of dark and nerdy attractiveness I find in a man! He’s the blue raspberry in my Slurpee’s ice. I am eternally grateful that I found a man who isn’t obsessed with how large he can get his biceps (and then posing with them shirtless) and accepts my strange ass ways. I must say, I am truly happy.
         Anyway, now that I have told you the story of my life, I guess you might just want me to get with the program and start this story already. It all began on a typical Thursday night at work. I was finishing up my last med pass of the night on my floor (oh, yeah, did I mention I work in long term care? I never understood why I ended up destined to work with old people… since it wasn’t my ultimate nursing dream to work in geriatrics). Once finished with med pass, I went in before the end of my 3-11 shift to check on my hospice patient who, to put it bluntly, was knocking on heaven’s door. In the nursing world, when there are 10 minutes to the end of your shift, you just hope and pray that no one falls, codes, turns violently ill, has a new onset of diarrhea and vomiting and/or dies. So, I was hoping to whatever higher power was up there that Mr. George Davis, my hospice patient, would be still hanging on until 11 PM. I went in and, of course, he would die! I found no pulse and his chest ceased to rise and fall… and it was 10:55 PM. As sad as it was, all I could think was “Oh, shit, handling all the paperwork, phone calls and post mortem care on top of charting is going to leave me here until 3 AM. And I’m out of Mountain Dew and the coffee here sucks. George, could you have not waited until 11 PM to croak?!”.
         I calmly left the room and notified my supervisor of the death and began all the phone calls and paperwork that comes with the death of a patient. Although inside I was pissed to no end that this dude died right at the end of my shift, I was polite and empathetic to the family of George Davis. Once they were in the room, something worse than a tragedy happening at the end of my shift occurred. Something I had never seen before: my dead patient… woke up!
         I ran into Mr. Davis’ room hearing all the commotion and screaming. I stood in the doorway and there Mr. Davis was: smelling absolutely horrid and moving sporadically and stiffly out of the bed. He didn’t speak any words, just expressed in cohesive grunts from his mouth. His eyes were wide open with a look that seemed to be a combination of fear and pure anger.
         “Oh, dear, you’ve come back!” Mr. Davis’s poor widow exclaimed in excitement and fear.
         “OK, dude, something weird is going on here and I most certainly am awake I haven’t started any new weird drugs. What the hell?” I thought with quick shocks sparking throughout my head.
         Suddenly, the room went into slow motion. Mr. Davis’s widow, in her attempt to embrace her disgusting and dead husband’s body, slowed down to a complete stop. Mr. Davis froze in a contorted position with his eyes wide open and blazing. Every bed sheet and hospital gown floated in mid-air. A deep male’s voice spoke.
         “YOUR TIME HAS COME. WELCOME TO YOUR FIRST MISSION, LEXI!”
         “What… the… fuck?!” I’m pretty sure I said this aloud.
         “Watch your language, Missy!” the deep male’s voice punished.
         “OK, geez, I’m sorry deep voice man. It’s just been a long crazy night and it’s getting even more insane. I’m awake and not under the influence of drugs, a dead man just came back to life and now everything in the room has been put on ‘pause’ and a dude with a deep voice, who I cannot see, is talking to me, knows my name and is telling me I’m on my first mission. What gives?” I explained.
         “Well, if you’d let me explain rather than cursing me out…” the male’s voice retorted.
         “OK, OK, I promise, I’ll shut up and let you talk. I’m all ears, deep voice man” I sighed.
         “Lexi, my name is Mr. Smith” the deep voice started.
         I snickered… unable to suppress my insane laughter.
         “And just what is so funny?!” the deep voice turned stern.
         “Really? Mr. Smith? OK, that’s like your name being John Q. Public. That’s not your real name, is it? And if it’s an alias, it’s a horrible one” I explained with uncontrollable laughter.
         “Yes, that is my real name. Now, stop mocking me and listen” deep voice man, or “Mr. Smith”, replied tersely.
         I bit my lower lip to calm my laughter and merely nodded to the invisible man.
         “As I was saying before, my name is Mr. Smith. It is my job to choose individuals from the pool of humanity to go into the craft of fighting those which are one of the biggest hidden dangers to humans: zombies. In my process, I choose these fighters from birth, after which I notify their parental units and lead them towards jobs in which they will most likely come into contact with zombies. Most of these careers include those in the medical field, funeral home workers, morticians, forensic workers and the like. Then, when the time is right, those chosen come into contact with zombies, I stop things… and, voila, we finally come to the moment we are experiencing now: the time I notify my zombie hunters of their destiny and give them all the necessary tools for zombie combat!” Mr. Smith spoke excitedly.
         “So, you’re like God? You planned my life for me? And that’s why my mom told me to get a real job and go into nursing? Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I have so many questions I can’t even think god-damn straight!” I strung phrases along erratically, running my fingers through my merlot hair.
         “Yeah, I’m kind of like God in that sense. And, oh yeah, you would’ve been a great writer. I’m glad I gave you that talent, but how many writers run into dead people? It just wouldn’t have worked with my plan. I apologize, but, hey, look you have job security and good money! And you really are a fabulous nurse… and look at the cool job you have now: zombie hunter!” Mr. Smith apparently noticed the frown growing on my lips about the sacrificing my dreams of writing for nursing. He seemed to begin to attempt to cheer me up by showing me the glamour of nursing and zombie hunting.
         I couldn’t say anything to Mr. Smith, AKA: God. I was too shocked, disappointed and, quite frankly, annoyed at this guy.
         “OK, so moving along here, I can tell you what your credentials stand for now! RN-CZH stands for “Registered Nurse-Certified Zombie Hunter”. Pretty cool, huh? You’re a certified zombie hunter!” Mr. Smith continued awkwardly.
         “Um, yeah, OK” I feigned my excitement about being an RN-CZH.
         “You know, I made a deal with The National Council of the State Boards of Nursing to add special questions for the CZH certification. You know those 15 experimental questions in the exam? You know how in nursing school they tell you those are “test” questions to use in future NCLEX exams? Nope, not the case! Those ridiculous questions are included for those taking the RN-CZH test!” Mr. Smith just kept boasting about my RN-CZH position. 
         “OK, whatever you say. Now, what kind of tools are you giving me?” I just said to move Mr. Smith along.
         “Oh, you’ll love it. I will supply you with the most necessary equipment: combat gear, including weapons and a uniform, a special cellular phone that has unlimited everything and can get service anywhere, an endless supply of caffeine in for forms of Diet Mountain Dew and Irish Cream coffee and Wawa gift cards for gas and food on the run when you need it. I know all your favorite things, Lexi… and I customize all the necessary equipment to each of my zombie hunters based on their likes and dislikes, including uniforms” Mr. Smith explained.
         “Hum, so there are perks here…”, then I got an idea, “you know, my dude really likes Mountain Dew and Irish Cream coffee too, can I share?” hey, it was worth a shot at asking being that I could save money by getting free Mountain Dew, Irish Cream coffee and gas.
         “No, the Mountain Dew and Irish Cream is for combat only, as well as the Wawa gift cards. No sharing for non-zombie hunters” Mr. Smith answered.
         “OK, I get it, so when do I get to see this uniform and my weapons? You know I went to Catholic school, so the very idea of a uniform makes me want to puke, but if you must” I sighed.
         “You’ll see it all right now… and I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised”
         Suddenly a mysterious sapphire blue beam from overhead focused on me and clothing magically materialized on my body as my scrubs disintegrated off of me. My nursing clogs were replaced with black fishnets and 5 inch stiletto heeled patent knee-high boots. Even my undergarments seemed to disappear and turn into something else. I noticed they weren’t exactly the most comfortable bra and panties either. My boobs felt as if I were getting some strange bilateral mammogram… I was wearing a new kind of torture device of a push-up bra. And my underwear? Some kind of lacy thing that I felt was a yeast infection waiting to happen to my lady areas. There was some sort of heavy rifle slung across my back. It was rather cumbersome, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
         “Take a look at your uniform. I took as much as I could from Bettie Page, video games and vampire books for you” Mr. Smith spoke as he turned me towards the mirror in my patient’s bathroom.
         Holy shit! I had heavy black eyeliner across my eyes and dark red lipstick on my lips with my dark red hair tied back into little pigtails. I was wearing a tight, black corset-style tank top with tons of cleavage showing and, I swear to God, my cup size seemed to grow two sizes larger due to that torture push-up bra. My bottom half was dressed in a black fake patent leather super short mini-skirt with a studded belt attached to the waist. My stiletto 5 inch heeled knee-high patent leather boots and fishnets finished off the look. And across my chest was the strap to my rifle. The strap matched my studded belt exactly. The rifle across my back was huge, about ¼ of my petite size. I looked like a hot, sexy, dark video game character… like Laura Croft! It looked awesome, but, hell, this outfit was more practical for a fetish party than for some kind of combat.
         “OK, Mr. Smith, AKA: God, I thought that Christians were supposed to be modest! And how the hell do you expect me to go into zombie combat with this fetish outfit on? Am I going to make them all gawk to death with my sexy body? That’s just using me for my body, Mr. Smith, and I don’t think that’s cool. And what the hell is with this damn bra and panties?!” I was screaming now, feeling very much like a feminist in a rally.
         “OK, OK, Lexi, you can fight in this outfit. Honestly, you’ll be able to. The combat uniform gives you the power to do so. You just need to get that power to sink in with a few wearings and then you’ll be as comfortable in it as you are in your scrubs and sneakers. And I just need to keep my zombie hunters looking good, hence the rather risqué outfits. About the bra, it’s a bra from the future: the Super Wonder Bra. It increases bust size by two cup sizes and gives you cleavage to die for. It’s scheduled to come out in fall of 2012. I bring it to you today to wear because I can. I think it looks good on you, my little zombie hunter” Mr. Smith spoke quickly trying to calm a raging woman down.
         He never addressed the panties, but I didn’t want him to give me anymore useless explanations about my goth stripper “uniform”. I was kind of interested in moving along to my weapon anyway.
         “So, what’s up with this gun here?” I asked, moving the large, cold, shiny rifle to the front of my body.
         “Ah, you’ll like this. You were always a huge fan of guns for a girl. I remember that’s why you asked for a Super Soaker one year for Christmas. I still have the memory of you standing on your parents back porch in your church dress shooting it into the back yard. Ah, you were adorable. You grew up so fast…” Mr. Smith trailed off.
         “Enough with the nostalgia, idiot!” I thought frustratingly.
         “OK, back to the rifle. It’s the Emerald 5000, named so for its emerald gemstone-infused laser beam. Its laser beam possesses the power to freeze zombies, thus making them easier to shoot. Zombies, although horribly contorted in their movement, are pretty fast and can throw a punch or two… not to mention they tend to enjoy exuding really nasty projectile flesh-burning vomit… hence the need to freeze them. As for the bullets, a normal bullet will not kill a zombie. You need a special bullet coated with a zombie killing poison. And, this is the best part: unlimited ammo! Automatic loading and you never run out! No stopping to reload your gun or shooting blanks! Cool, huh? Took me years to perfect the Emerald 5000! And it’s yours, my dear!” Mr. Smith began to boast again, but I didn’t care. It really was a kick ass gun.
         “Sweet! Unlimited ammo is just as awesome as unlimited texting! Like, I remember when I played Left 4 Dead on X-Box and it pissed me off so much when I ran out of ammo and had to use a damn frying pan to kill zombies. I mean, hell, what would I use in real life? A med cart? A cigarette lighter from my purse? This rifle kicks ass!” OK, so maybe I was getting a bit too excited about the gun here, but at least I felt safe with it. And I felt like a strong woman with it. At least Mr. Smith wasn’t sexist and giving me a girly gun to fight off zombies… or, worse yet, a frying pan.
         “Yes, yes, I recall that night with the X-Box and the video game and the frying pan”, Mr. Smith seemed to feign remembering all of that, “So, my pretty little zombie hunter Lexi, are you ready?”
         I nodded confidently.
         Mr. Smith unfroze the scene with my nod. Mrs. Davis was still trying to embrace her dead, spasmodically moving and incoherently moaning zombie husband. He seemed to remind me of a zombie having a weird seizure. I aimed the gun with a feeling of anger throughout my body, pressed the emerald-jeweled button on the Emerald 5000. A lovely dark greenish-blue laser beam shot out from the rifle and, awesomely, froze Mr. Davis’s zombie body in mid-air. And then I hit the trigger like crazy, shooting multiple poison dipped bullets at my enemy. The entire room looked and sounded like a fireworks display. I heard Mr. Smith cheering “That’s my girl!” in the background somewhere.
         “Die you son-of-a-bitch, mother fu-“ I started screaming as I shot and saw blood spewing from the zombie body. Glad I froze the zombie and fired shots then, for he (um, it maybe?) was getting ready to puke some of that noxious flesh-burning vomit on everyone. I noted that he started making that dry-heaving noise every nurse knows about.
         “Missy, remember what I said about language?!” Mr. Smith cut me off before I could finish the –cker in my fu-.
         “I’m a big girl, Mr. Smith. I can use curse words. And what’s the deal? You dress me up as the gothic slut and I can’t throw around any f-bombs?” I asked, annoyed.
         “It’s just not classy for a lady to be using those words. I know the outfit is a bit sexy, but I don’t want to make you out to be completely trashy. Please, try to control your vulgar language” Mr. Smith explained.
         I rolled my eyes at him. Thank God Mr. Smith ignored it.
         “On another note, you did a wonderful job on your first assignment. Bravo. You were truly born to be a zombie hunter. I’ll give you a ring for the next one on your unlimited cellular phone. For now, you may go home” Mr. Smith explained.
         I looked around for my scrubs and nursing clogs so that I could change and get out of this joint. I saw nothing. All that was in the room was Mrs. Davis looking horribly confused and Mr. Davis’s zombie body bleeding and smoking in the white sheets.
         “Um, Mr. Smith, where are my scrubs?” I asked sheepishly.
         “At your house. I had them cleaned and beamed them back to your place. Wasn’t that nice of me?” Mr. Smith replied.
         “No, idiot! You expect me to leave this frigging nursing home and walk to my car at 4 AM looking like Dracula’s hooker?!” I was now fuming with Mr. Smith. I came to the conclusion that if he really were God, God must be pretty damn stupid.
         “OK, OK, I’m sorry, but you’ll be OK. Take a back way out of the facility so no one will see you leave… and I’ll be here hovering above you as you walk to your car. If anyone attacks you, I’ll protect you. Remember, I’m like God, so I can do those sorts of things” Mr. Smith responded.
         So, I did exactly what he said and made it out to my car and home alive… and arrived dying to talk to Chris about my night, calm down so I could get some sleep… and take off this damn fetish outfit-uniform thing.
         I arrived at my house around 4:30 AM. I opened the door quietly and made my way into the kitchen. I was starving, so I poured myself a bowl of Rice Krispies and chowed down. I sat exhaustedly at the dimly lit kitchen table and listened to my bowl of cereal’s snap-crackle-and-pop, trying to forget all of the mayhem that had just occurred earlier in the evening. I finished my cereal and, unfortunately, Mr. Snap-Crackle-and-Pop could not clear my head of all that had occurred.
         So, I made my way upstairs to annoy Chris. Maybe he’d be awake. Usually he tries to stay awake to see me when I come home and then we have a rad cuddle session. Unfortunately, I probably had come home way too late and he probably was asleep already. I went into the room and there Chris was, in bed sleeping with the lights on. Part of me wanted to let him sleep because he looked so peaceful… but the evil part of me won and I just HAD to wake him up.
         I went over to Chris’s slumbering head and gently stroked his raven hair.
         “Chris, babe, I’m home… I had a bad night at work… OK, I’m home from work, babe, and I have a fetish outfit on… and I have a bra from the future on that make’s my boobs unnaturally large… and uncomfortable panties that are giving me a huge wedgie, so you know they’ve gotta be sexy…” I spoke softly. Hey, maybe mentioning my hot outfit instead of my bad night at work would get him awake.
         “Damn it, Chris, hot, sexy girlfriend is home from work!” I frustratingly whispered into his ear.
         Chris, my wonderful boyfriend, continued to snore covered up in our black bed sheets. OK, plan B, the jumping-on-the-bed and singing annoyingly method. That usually works. I climbed up on the bed, whore boots and all, and began jumping up and down singing extremely loudly “Wake up Chris! Wake up for me! I have a hot outfit on! Come on and wake up for meeeee!”.
         No success. Chris didn’t even flinch. All right, time for the big guns: the body slam. This HAS to work in his coma-like sleep session. Still in my complete outfit, I jumped three or four times to gain up enough ammunition to hit Chris hard enough to get him awake… and cause a mild bruise at worst in the injury department. After my fourth jump, I twisted my body sideways and aimed my airborne body towards Chris’s slumbering one, looking much like a horrible female professional wrestler. My body crashed into his and, a ha, success!
         “Ouch, damn it, what the fuck?!” Chris exclaimed groggily.
         “Good morning sunshine!” I said in an overly-perky voice.
         “Don’t you know I have a normal person’s job and I work a 9 to 5? It’s 4 in the morning!” Chris was obviously annoyed.
         “Yeah, I’m sorry babe, you don’t like working during the day. You’re a night person like me” I spoke, sweet as sugar.
         “Aw, it’s OK. I can’t totally stay mad at you. I hate my 9 to 5. So, what’s… holy shit, woman! What… happened… with… everything… your… boobs… are… wow…” Chris rolled over mid-sentence and seemed to obviously be speechless with my zombie hunter look.
         “It’s a bra from the future for the boobs. And this outfit is a uniform. It’s been a long and crazy night, Chris. I’ll tell you the whole story. And, please, promise you won’t think I’m crazy as hell” I explained.
         “Okey doke. I’ll listen!” Chris responded nonchalantly as he rolled onto his back and starred at the ceiling.
         I was obviously annoyed with his lack of interest and seriousness in my situation, but I figured that at least he was up and had his ears somewhat open to what I had to say, so I started speaking anyway.          
         “So, it all started when one of my patients died 10 minutes before my shift ended and then they seemed to come back to life…” I started.
         “You mean like when they do that thing where they stop breathing for, like, a minute and then all of a sudden they start back up again? And you’re really happy that they start back up again because you’re like ‘oh, well thank God not on my shift!’” Chris cut me off, obviously mocking me.
         “Chris, shut the hell up!” I scolded.
         “You know I love it when you’re angry and with that outfit it just completes that dominatrix thing” Chris responded with a sensual smile.
         “Christopher! It’s not the time for rough sex! It’s never the time for rough sex. Remember how we swore that off when I told you that I didn’t like stopping in the middle of it to perform first aid on you? It’s just darn annoying to bandage your whiny ass up in the middle of pleasure” I replied annoyingly.
         “OK, fine, keep talking” Chris sighed.
         “So, my patient came back to life as the living dead… and then this God-like leader, who I can’t see, tells me that it’s now my mission to be a zombie hunter. That’s apparently why it has been my destiny to be a nurse and work with old people. And then this guy gave me this cool outfit and gun and other things needed to hunt zombies… and then I killed my first one” I explained as quickly (and probably as incoherently) as possible.
         All was silent. No one moved. God, I was totally wishing this bizarre silence would be broken with something. I know I sounded crazy to Chris… but, hell, maybe he might believe me.
         “Babe, have you started taking Effexor again?” Chris questioned slowly.
         “No! My depression’s under control with Cymbalta! And I don’t get any weird side effects from that!” I raised my voice.
         “It’s just that… when you took Effexor, you saw weird things. This whole zombie thing seems like an Effexor moment to me” Chris explained.
         “Christopher!” it was all I could yell at him in this moment.
         “Look, babe, why don’t we both have some cuddle time and then get some sleep? Just get some sleep and either forget this whole thing or talk about it in the morning. We’ll both feel better, OK?” Chris was quite calm with me yelling at him in the middle of the night. I guess he might just be used to it.
         I took his offer. I was quite tired and I do like cuddling. And we both drifted off to sleep in a rad cuddle session with each other.