Innaugural Groan: A voice from beyond the grave

Dead? No. Not quite. But I almost was - and am. I am a Zombie, after all. But what does that mean? Besides the terrible skin, the jaundiced eyes, the dull insatiable ache of hunger, and a shall we say 'unique' nervous system - What does it really mean to be a Zombie?

Thats a question I hope to answer. There's alot of hatred out there, for my kind. For Alters, and especially for Zombies. For any other cultural group, it would be unthinkable to publically declare them a menace the way zombies are. To activly and openly plot efficient ways to kill them, to discuss a so called 'Zombie Apocolypse' and willfully perpetuate stereotypes - hatred and racism like that isn't tolerated in polite society.

Unless of course, it's directed at those of us who are different. Those of us who aren't exactly human.

Those of us who are zombies.

There are countless hate-groups and private militia's dedicated to our destruction. Each and every day we're bombarded with images in television, movies, books, and other forms of popular culture depicting zombified citizens as an unthinking force of nature, a swarm of flesh eating locusts, a sign of the apocolypse itself.

This is the kind of hate-speech we, the Altered community are up against. Twisted thinking that justifys our demise via bullet to the head, saturated into every aspect of culture, based on the irrational fear that some day we'll rise up and eat people's brains.

Well I'll tell you now, I never ate any man (who didn't have it coming). I've never taken a wrench to someones head to crack open their skull to get at the succulent protien and nutrient rich brains that lay hidden within like ambrosia - except, you know, that one time in Kansas.

I say to you today - Zombies are here. They live amongst you. They are not your enemy. If you prick us, do we not bleed (eventually)? If you cut off our hands, do we not groan in dismay and eventually regrow another one? If you wound us, do we not cry? Of course we do. Unless our eyes have fallen out. Then we'll probably just cry on the inside. But trust me, there will be crying of some sort.

My name is Alfred Zeddington. I am a groan from the dark, a gnarled claw reaching down into the disturbed grave of Zombie America to uplift my brothers and sisters from the feotid topsoil. I'm here to help bring all people, living and dead, together in peaceful harmony.

Brains,
A. Zeddington