“I love zombie movies. They are my absolute favorite,” I say in any discussion about filmgoing, or when no one is conversing at all and I just want to talk about horror movies.

“Me too,” many will claim. But most never fail to disappoint me when they follow up with, “Like 28 Days Later. That was an awesome zombie movie.”

At this point I usually shake my head, throw my hands in the air, and say, “28 Days Later was not a zombie movie. It was a movie about infected people.”

Cue debate, and usually agree to disagree.

The misclassification of zombies by my peers distresses me.

I am fully aware that the dictionary definition of zombie is:

(in voodoo) the body of a dead person given the semblance of life, but mute and will-less, by a supernatural force, usually for some evil purpose.
(informal) a person whose behavior or responses are wooden, listless, or seemingly rote; automaton.

That considered, we can witness zombies in various films (in voodoo) as well as in our every day lives (informal). But zombies in cinema are traditionally people who have died and come back to life with only a hunger for human flesh. One could say that I am a conservative zombie lover; I prefer zombies to be slow and stupid. However, I will not discredit the zombie-ness of a reanimated corpse that feeds on the flesh of the living solely because it’s quick on its feet (see the Dawn of the Dead 2004 remake and the lovely new film Zombieland).

I am not denying that the oldest zombie film is actually White Zombie (1932), in which the dead did not feast on the living. However I am claiming that zombies were not properly identified until over 30 years later in George Romero’s 1968 black-and-white masterpiece, Night of the Living Dead. Romero brilliantly continued his Dead movies as a trilogy through 1985 (Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead). In 2005 he released the much anticipated Land of the Dead followed by Diary of the Dead in 2007. The latter films leave something to be desired, but they in no way deduct from Romero’s genius. His next film, Survival of the Dead is said to be coming out this year, but I have no knowledge of a specific release date.

Please note that although they were generally comedic, I am somewhat accepting of the Return of the Living Dead zombies. Maybe it is because of their tie to the Romero films.  Romero worked with John Russo for the original 1968 film. When they parted ways, Russo retained the rights to any titles featuring “Living Dead”. Hence why Romero’s sequel are all “...of the Dead”. Unfortunately, the Return of the Living Dead zombies only ate brains, which negates their true zombie status.

Also, cannibals are not zombies. Cannibals are simply people who eat people. Therefore, Cannibal Holocaust, though a fine film, is not a zombie movie. Additionally, the undead in Dead Snow do not qualify as zombies. They didn’t even eat people! Terribly disappointing, albeit I did enjoy the dismemberment scene.

So, back to 28 Days Later. Might I take this moment to mention that I actually enjoyed 28 Weeks Later more? The first twenty minutes alone were amazing, and the eye gouging scene was glorious. In any case, both of those films were delightful, but they were not zombie movies. They were about an infection, and the diseased people did not die in order to become contaminated. Additionally, they didn’t kill people to infect them, and they certainly didn’t devour human flesh as all real zombies do.

That’s right, I said real zombies. There is a separate but related debate that I find myself in:

“Why do people even need guns? Like, why would someone need an AK-47?” someone will ask.

“Because they want one, maybe they collect guns. People collect knives and swords. As long as they are responsible with it, who cares?,” I’ll reply. (This conversation also usually ends with me saying “Agree to disagree.”)

“Yeah, but some people aren’t responsible and they kill shopping malls full of innocent people. If there were no guns, then the world would be a better place,” my opponent declares.

“Yes, and if there were magical fairies flying around granting wishes, the world would be a better place too. But there are gun and there are no magical fairies,” I say with a sigh.

They won’t let it go. “But why? Why would someone need a gun?”

I know it’s a pointless debate. I don’t want to get into it with him/her about how fun the shooting range is, or how I collect shit that others would think foolish. So, I respond with what my brother told me years ago when I asked him why he needed so many guns.

“Think about it. You’re out camping. And then, a zombie attacks you. Wouldn’t you want a fucking gun?”

…

Jon’s bottom lip along with most of the skin below it had been bitten off after Molly’s third visit to the cages. Since then Molly had been back every day for a week, so she was getting used to the sight of his bloody teeth and exposed gums. It was a very skeletal look. Some days she would imagine he was fine and that a simple flesh-eating bacteria had consumed the bottom portion of his face. Only in reality Jon’s problem hadn’t been bacteria, it was zombies.

Fortunately for Molly’s obsession with Jon, PETZ had been founded before anyone had put a bullet in his head. PETZ, People for the Ethical Treatment of Zombies, consisted of a bunch of bleeding heart humanitarians who decided that the undead had a right to life. Molly considered these people to be fucking bat-shit crazy (to say the least), but as she stared into Jon’s dull, lifeless eyes that she loved so much, she decided to keep her opinions to herself. She was not a stupid girl – she even recognized her own insanity every night when she squeezed her size five hips through the rear window of the warehouse holding the cages.

In fact, she also noted how deranged she was for telling the walking corpse that she was in love with him, something she could never do when he was alive. Molly never knew how Jon felt about her, but she was certain there had been chemistry between them. They gravitated towards each other. “It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” was the cliché that repeated in her head. (Of course, this was preferable to the time she worked at a corporate office and the stalls in the ladies’ room proudly displayed signs that read “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be neat and clean the seat.” She hated those signs, and she hated that for months after she quit, every time she used a restroom the words came to mind. As if she wouldn’t clean her own piss off the toilet seat if it found it’s way there while she squatted.)

Following three weeks of routine secret zombie visiting, Molly was shocked when after her entrance through window she ran into another living human. They encountered each other in the hallway leading up to the cages.

“Uh, can I help you?” he asked.

“No, I, uh…” Think! she told herself. What’s a good excuse for being in the PETZ warehouse after dark when no one else is usually there? Fuck.

“Nice dress,” he commented.

She was wearing her favorite blue dress. She liked to look nice for Jon. Just like when he was alive, she always liked to look nice for him. “Thanks,” she replied. “I’m just here visiting, um, an old friend. I just…”

To her relief, he interrupted her. “I’m Matt,” he said.

He’s cute, she thought, very cute. Not cute like Jon, but in a different way. Taller for sure, and those eyes… She felt like she could trust Matt’s eyes. She never felt that way about Jon’s eyes. Maybe that’s why she never told him how she felt when he was alive. How her heart would undulate in her chest every time she saw him. How she wanted to make him happy. How she was a different person when he smiled at her. That she would carry the world on her back for him at his request, and that she would wage war on anyone who hurt him.

“…so it really makes no difference to me,” Matt was saying. She had missed everything he said while lost in thought. “You just do your thing, and I’ll –“

Right then a bottle of wine that she had smuggled in fell from its ripped paper bag and shattered on the ground between them.

“Shit shit shit!” she burst out as she reached down to pick up the glass. “Fuck! I cut myself.” Blood dripped down her forearm from the palm of her hand.

He took her uninjured hand in his. It was warm. “Come on,” he instructed her as he led her to the first aid kit.

Molly didn’t see Jon that night. It turned out that Matt had a bottle of Jameson stashed in his office, and although the first three shots were meant to dull the pain of the cut on her hand, the rest of the bottle went down easily for both of them. They found that they shared a love of Irish whiskey, among other things. So many other things that they talked until the sun came up.

This became Molly’s new nightly tradition. Matt was hired as the night watchman for Jon’s PETZ location. It seems the daytime staff starting suspecting nighttime intruders after finding two empty bottles of wine in the break room garbage can one morning and a tube of red lipstick by the cages another morning.

Four weeks went by before Matt told Molly that he was in love with her. She felt the same way, and so she told him. She never thought she could feel that way and actually have those feelings reciprocated so effortlessly.

It was a Tuesday when he told her that he loved her. It was on this same Tuesday that she was wearing her favorite blue dress, the one she wore the night they met. It was also this same Tuesday when the old, rusted lock on Jon’s cage fell to the floor.

All Molly remembers of that fateful night is feeling Matt tense up as she kissed him. As she opened her eyes she saw that Matt’s eyes were wide with shock, and she felt a warm liquid soak her hand that was affectionately placed on his neck, just below his left ear. Blood.

As Matt’s body collapsed in front of her, she saw Jon. His bottom teeth and exposed gums were covered with Matt’s blood. Jon immediately knelt at Matt’s side and bit into his neck. Molly screamed and scanned the room for a weapon. It seemed that only a second went by when she looked back down at the horrific scene to see Matt’s neck had been completely devoured, his head separated from his body.

She ran out of the front door. Her car was parked on the street. Another car sped by followed by a police car with its lights flashing. She was disoriented. She had Matt’s blood on her hands, and some on her blue dress.

Somehow she managed to get into her car and start the engine. As she drove away she saw Jon’s undead body stumble out of the warehouse. She was off-track, she was falling, and she was confused. And then the thought came – “It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all”. At that moment she realized the inaccuracy of the saying. It was a half-truth. She knew it was better to have loved and been loved back and lost than to have never loved at all.

In other news, Tim challenged me to write a short story. “A story, not an essay. Fiction,” he said.

“I have trouble believing anything is 100% fiction,” I told him.

“Very true,” he replied. “So write a story; that’s my challenge. Something short…” and he began to list the requirements. They were as follows: 1,000 words, a zombie or two, a heroine in a blue dress, the word “undulate”, love, a car chase, and the realization of some great life lesson.

I finished it today. It came to 1,176 words. After some editing, I may post it.

So, things are going quite well. I’m trying not to let it make me nervous.