Flesheaters and Bloodsuckers Anonymous: A Dark Humor Read Online Free Page B

that much. 
                After all, when the
zombies the military had been experimenting on in the 1980s got loose and
started running amuck, the only fix they found was to burn them all to ashes. 
Even then Harold always wondered.  Were those people still trapped in the
ashes?  Once a zombie, always a zombie, even when you had completely decayed
away.  He feared it and sent a silent word of thanks that at least he hadn’t
become a zomb.          
                Donald wandered
towards the group’s center.  “As some of you may know, I was once like you.” 
Harold grinned at that.  Right, if Donald ever felt the urge for a little human
snack then he was definitely going to make a complete recovery.  “I was once a
vampire.  I sucked blood.”
                The mention of
blood reminded Harold of his hunger again.  Mister lip sucker next to him even
got distracted from giving death stares and paid more attention.  When you were
a vampire it was hard not to notice when someone said blood.  Kind of how the
word “boobs” made a guy suddenly pay more attention.  A word like that also
made you focus more on those in the room who had boobs or blood, which included
pretty much everyone, but Donald remained the only one with fresh, clean blood
and walking around the room got Donald’s blood flowing.  Harold could hear it
rushing through Donald’s veins.  Even the pumping of his heart increased,
bite-me, bite-me, bite-me, it taunted. 
                “Yes, I drank
blood and lived on my fellow man.  It was a horrible, mean existence, running
in fear, hiding from the light.  I couldn’t die, but I couldn’t live either.  Until
one day,” Donald held up a finger and turned to look everyone in the eyes or
eye.
                “One day I had an
epiphany.  I didn’t have to live this way.  I had accepted the stigma and
preconceived notions of mainstream society.  Everything we know about the living
undead, about ourselves, we’ve been taught by scary myths and legends that
portray us this way.” 
                And medical
science, Harold thought.
                Donald allowed
the group to absorb those words.  “I changed.  I stopped drinking blood.  I
started to seek out the light and the way to being human was shown to me.  All
I had to do was wean myself of the behavior which led me to my former bereft
state.”  Donald went back to the group of zombies and laid his hand on the
shoulder of the zombie who admitted to turning a woman in the grocery store. 
                “It wasn’t easy. 
I fell off the wagon several times.  I still had emotional scars and mental
blocks, old ways of thinking hindered me.  It took hard work, but eventually I
became the man you see before you today.”
                Everyone broke
out into applause again.  Even the coterie of group members once so attentive
to Harold was now entirely focused on Donald.  Harold could see the wolf man’s
tail wagging so hard, patches of fur came off of it in droves.  This Donald guy
was good. 
                Quietly, but loud
enough for Harold’s ears could pick it up, the slug muttered if Donald was what
they would all turn into, it would much rather stay a back-biting, bloodsucking
larva of a slug.  A couple of others in the group turned to glare at it. 
                The rest of the
meeting consisted of others complaining about stress or hunger, problems with
the whole “becoming normal” thing, and a few failed attempts to get back in
touch with family members.  Donald was trying to set up a meeting where
everyone brought in a family member or friend for a monitored conversation
about how problems caused by bloodsucking and flesheating affected their
relationships.  Few of them were turning up familial support.  Most of the
group members were infected long enough their families were also dead or