Marvin Mall
You: Tall ,dark, and thin, your unkept black hair covering up a network of battlescars that could only come from a lifetime of service at the Malton Quick-e-Mart. You were wearing a beige overcoat on top of a black duster on top of a set of urban military encounter armor on top of a bulletproof vest on top of a white t-shirt covered by grape Tast-E-Freeze.
Me: Missing right arm, crushed skullcap, and torn clothes, eviscerated organs trailing behind me, my claws pressed against a old woman’s head.
You blew away a zombie child with a shotgun, looked in my direction, and then screamed that shooting me would somehow erase the miasma and darkness rotting your soul. I felt a spark then, a small feeling, a romantic connection that could only be satisfied by gutting your abdomen and tearing open your brain. We gazed into each other’s eyes, I blew you a gentle kiss, and then you called in the airstrike. As the bombs fell around me, I never imagined that I would meet such a tender, caring lover.
Call me.
Let’s reconnect.
Sexy.
St. Luke’s Hospital
You: Red, plaid shirt, tight jeans. You were with a group of friends, listening to some music as we broke through the lightly-barricaded front door. I would have slipped you my card, but I thought it would be rude to interrupt as the horde surrounded your friends and began to dismember them. You had such beautiful eyes and soft skin.
Please.
If you get this and have managed to stop the internal bleeding, then call me.
I still have your arm.
