Author's note: this is my entry for the 2012 Lit Halloween contest. Please vote and leave comments if you have the time. All characters are fictional, and all fictional characters are over eighteen years of age. No Zombies were harmed in writing this story.

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Some people see Zombies as half dead, but I like to think of them as half alive. I guess you could say I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of girl. But why am I even telling you this, you're probably already dead.

It was Halloween night when it all began, at first everyone thought it was just a bunch of people dressed up in costumes. "Oh look, Flashmob Zombies," they said. "How cute, it's just like Thriller."

But when the Zombies started eating people, everyone started singing a different tune. "Oh my God! Zombies! Oh my God!" they ran around screaming.

Six months later and things have pretty much returned to normal. As normal as they can be, I guess. I could never understand what the big fuss was all about. It's not like in the movies, not at all. Zombies are, for the most, part pretty harmless.

What does it say about us, as a society, that we idolize Vampires and Werewolves, and then turn around and demonize Zombies like they're some kind of monsters. That's racist! How come there isn't an NAAZP or something? Poor Zombies, they didn't ask to be this way.

When you think about it, Zombies really aren't that much different from homeless people―they both wear dirty clothes, wander around in public, and are a bit smelly. Take away the cardboard signs and the rotting flesh, and you'd be hard pressed to tell them apart.

And let's be honest, there's really not that much to be afraid of when it comes to Zombies: they're incredibly slow―both of foot and of mind. You'd almost have to want to get caught to get bitten, but people still do.

Mom and dad are now Zombies, which I'm totally cool with 'cause I now have the house all to myself (Score it!). Sometimes I run into my mom when she's out wandering around trying to mack on human flesh. It can be a bit awkward, but also a bit funny because she went militant vegan on us about a year ago. (Have you ever eaten a soy dog? If you haven't, don't. It sucks ass).

But enough about then, let's talk about now. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, we were at the park, me and my dog Bieber, who was off somewhere chasing squirrels. I was sitting on a park bench, consumed by boredom when I saw him. "Mr. Martin! Frank!" I yelled out and waved at him.

He looked over at me and grunted. Zombies do that a lot―grunting that is. I was hoping that he might chase me around a bit (I could use a little cardio and certainly some drama), but no such luck. Zombie Frank ignored me and continued his slow march across the damp grass.

When he was alive, Frank used to live down the street from us. I had a huge crush on him ever since before I can remember. In middle school, I even befriended Britney, his stepdaughter (who is a total bitch by the way), just so I could be around him. Sadly, schoolgirl fantasies were never fulfilled―except in my mind and in my finger-stuffed panties.

Tall and handsome, Frank Martin always carried himself with a certain confidence that never failed to rev my motor. Even as a Zombie, he was still quite striking. Sure, his dreamy eyes were now a bit sunken, but in my mind that only made him look more distinguished. And yes, maybe his skin was now a purple-gray color, but it kinda reminded me of the MAC eyeshadow I used to wear back in highschool when I was Goth.

Out of instinct, boredom and frustration, I checked my iPhone. Still nothing. Why do I even still have this thing? I wondered. The last call I got on it was two months ago―it was from Joel, my on-again-mostly-off-again boyfriend.

"I'm surrounded by Zombies," he screamed through the phone into my ear. "They're going to eat me!"

"That happens sometimes," I replied, offering my support.

"Ah, shit!" Joel screamed like a little girl. "Fuck! No!"

"Bye bye, Joel. Thanks again for that Wal-Mart gift card you gave me for Valentine's Day. That was very romantic." Those were the last words he ever heard.

Shortly after that, I broke up with what was left of him. I haven't had contact with another human being since―everyone else has either skipped town or been converted.

Being the last person on earth really sucked I was beginning to realize. My thoughts and gaze drifted back to Zombie Frank. I looked at him and started wondering what being undead would be like. I studied his face and tried to figure out if he looked happy. It was hard to say, but I think it was fair to say he didn't look as miserable as I felt.

Fuck living! I finally decided. "Today, is a good day to un-die!" I yelled out to no one in particular (because really, there was no one to yell out to). I jumped up from the bench and made my way over to where Zombie Frank was marching. He was about fifteen feet away, heading right for me, when I stood my ground and offered myself up to him. Eyes closed, I waited for my impending death-slash-undeath. Game on, Bitches!

I waited and waited. Nothing. I opened my eyes, Zombie Frank was still a good ten feet away. I had seriously misjudged how slow these fuckers were. I scooted up to within three feet of him, closed my eyes, and tried again. (Don't ask me why I kept closing my eyes. I was just trying to be dramatic, I guess.)

Again, nothing. I opened my eyes and Zombie Frank was gone. Okay, well not really gone, he had just walked around me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I wondered. Now even dead guys are ignoring me. I was starting to get pissed.

I walked over and stood directly in front of him with my hands on my hips in a defiant pose. Again he tried to walk around me, but this time I blocked his path. Zombie Frank just stood there unsure of what to do next―we both did.

I looked him over and tried to figure out what was going on in his little Zombie mind. If his blank stare was any indication, it didn't appear to be much. I was beginning to have second thoughts about going Zombie. I don't know if I could ever take being that dumb. But then again, if you really are that dumb you probably don't even know or care, I finally decided.

Since the outbreak, I've learned quite a few things about Zombies. For example: most people don't know that Zombies sleep―they do, usually during the day. They also don't like cats or infomercials for some reason (two good ways to keep them from invading your house).

Other things about them, however, remained a mystery―like sex. Do zombies still get their freak on? If not, then that would totally be a dealbreaker for me. More research was definitely needed.

I moved up into Zombie Frank's personal space, reached out and started rubbing his junk with my hand. He let out a grunt. Was that a normal everyday Zombie grunt? Or a do-me grunt? I needed to find out. I got down on my knees in front of him, undid his pants and pulled them down to his ankles, followed quickly by his boxers. Zombie or not, he had a nice cock. I took it in my hand and started stroking it, wondering if I could make it hard. It was cold to the touch, which was kinda weird, but otherwise it seemed like a normal cock (not that I'd seen that many of them in person―only Joel's, so shut up).

I jerked it harder, trying to bring it to life. It seemed to be working, it started growing in length and thickness. Okay, I'll admit it must have looked ridiculous, me on my knees in the park giving a handjob to a Zombie, but I didn't care, especially because it was Zombie Frank.

It was at this point that progress kinda ground to a halt. Zombie Frank was semi-hard, but wasn't getting any harder and my wrist was starting to ache. I looked around to see if anyone was watching (like there actually would be, right?), and then I took him into my mouth.

Yeah, I know it sounds kinda weird blowing an undead guy. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes a girl just needs to lower her standards―especially when she's the last girl left on Earth.

His cock started growing and getting harder in my mouth. God I love sucking cock, even if it is Zombie cock. I pulled off of him and yanked his crank for a while I caught my breath. "Does that feel good, Frankie?" I said, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"Urgh!" he grunted in reply, which I took for a yes.

I started sucking him again. Zombie Frank was now grunting a lot. In fact, he sounded a lot like my dearly departed Joel did when I used to go down on him. I started to wonder if Zombie Frank, like Joel, was about ready to blast one off. I started stroking his shaft with one hand and massaging his man marbles with the other, trying to coax him over the finish line.

I was really going to town on him when I felt his Zombie hand on the back of my head, trying to force me down on his cock. I gagged and pulled off of him, choking. "What the fuck, Frank?" I scolded him. "I thought you were a gentleman."

He stood there with a sad, confused look on his face (I get that look a lot from men for some reason). I know I shouldn't, but I felt sorry for him in a way. Then I looked back down at his sexlicious hard-on. (It would be a shame to let that go to waste, right?)

It had been two months now since Joel had been the featured item at the All You Can Eat Zombie Buffet, and I haven't had sex since (except for with myself, duh). I was beyond horny and I needed to get some of that Zombie cock up inside of me. Stripping off my panties, I hiked up my dress and got down on all fours in front of him in the soft grass. Looking back over my shoulder I said, "Fuck me, Frank!"

Zombie Frank cocked his head and looked down at me with that same confused look.

"Urgh," I grunted back at him (which is Zombie talk for "Fuck me, you big Zombie stud." At least that's what I was hoping it was).

And guess what? It worked. Zombie Frank knelt down behind me. I could feel the bulbous head of his Zombie cock press into my slick, silky slit. He was bigger than Joel and it took me awhile to get used to the thickness, but once I did I was in heaven. Zombie cock rocks! Don't knock it 'till you've tried it.

I tried to imagine it was Living Frank and not Zombie Frank that was now plowing into my pleasure (that's why I went for doggie-style so I wouldn't have to be reminded of his Zombieness). A girl's gotta dream, right.

We settled into a delicious rhythm―Frank thrusting into me, and me bucking back against him. I could feel the orgasm growing inside of me like a balloon getting ready to pop.

"Urgh! Urgh!" (Fuck me harder, Frank!) I grunted in Zomblish.

Either my Zomblish was a little rusty, or Zombie Frank's fuck dial only had one speed, because he kept on at the same slow methodical pace. If I was going to get off, it was going be on me (not that much different than with Joel really).

Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. So I reached between my legs and started petting the kitty, while I bucked back and forth against him as hard and fast as I could.

"Urgh! Urgh!" (I'm cumming, Frank!) I yelled out in Zombanese, as a massive orgasm rolled over me like a tsunami surging over a helpless third-world island.

I collapsed onto the ground and laid there recovering my breath and my senses. When I rolled over and looked back, Zombie Frank was still going at it―without a partner, it didn't seem to matter. It was a bit comical really, like watching guys "Air Guitar" when they're listening to rock music. Maybe "Air Fucking" will be the next big thing, who knows.

Jokes aside, I did feel sorry for him not getting off. Being on that side of the sex situation many times, I knew how it felt. But what more could I do. Maybe Zombies can only get off with other Zombies, or maybe they can't get off at all. Oh well, at least I got mine, I rationalized.

Zombie Frank's dick was still rock hard when I helped him to his feet. His erection, pointing out like some kind of sexual divining rod, seemed to be drawing him off to somewhere in the distance. He tried to take a step, tripped over his pants, which were still around his ankles, and immediately dick-planted himself into the soft turf. I knew I shouldn't, but I had to laugh.

I took off his pants and underwear before helping him to his feet. As soon as he was upright and unencumbered, Zombie Frank started wandering off again into the distance.

"What, no kiss or cuddle-time, Frankie?" I asked as he walked away. He didn't turn; he just kept walking. "Is that all I am to you, Frank? A quick fuck?" I yelled out with feigned indignation and then started laughing.