I'm in a morgue. Of all the places in Aquan, I never expected to wake up in a morgue. My memory's scrambled, too: I honestly can't remember my parents. Or much of anything past a year ago. My head's killing me. There's a big, black matted mess in the middle of my beautiful, black hair.
    I stand up off the slab, and my head throbs like—like--round banging thing that you hit with a stick. Can't remember the name of it. I put my right hand to my head, to try to stop the throbbing. When I pull my hand away, scabs and rotting flesh come with it. I'm horrified. I run to the mirror to my left. What I see isn't the face I came in here with, I'm sure of it. The left of my face is still beautiful, young, looking for all the world like I have my life ahead of me. The right: it's a triumph of some terrible illness. It looks just like those darn zombie movies my Daddy used to fall asleep to after slaving away at his menial job. I'm breathing heavier, now, and some guttural sound I can't control is coming from somewhere deep inside me. It sounds kinda like a constipated lawnmower. I can feel the growth itching its way over my face, one slight movement at a time. It's like someone taking a branch and raking it gingerly, tenderly over your face. Not enough to hurt, just enough to irritate the hell outta you.
    There's a newspaper at my feet. Its headline tells me that there was a zombie outbreak, ten years ago, and it wiped out much of the planet, that now they found a cure. There's no more zombies.
    Except me. What am I to do, when I'm barely alive and mostly dying and I won't stand a chance out there? No one will listen to me. Still, not trying means only dying, and my Daddy didn't raise a quitter. Time to look around this morgue and see if I can make a disguise. We'll just see if a zombie girl can't make it in this world, yet.