I'm going to die.
No, I'm going to change into them. I should probably write this down directly, quickly, and to the point. In about an hour I will cease to be Ryan, English major at Lander University in Greenwood SC, and I will start my life anew as a zombie. Yea, an undead corpse that stumbles around all day searching for human flesh. I will be nameless just one undead among thousands.
Which is exactly why I'm writing this letter on this stack of blank receipts. I'm holed up in The Dixie, a local burger joint. Ironically, I always thought the old-timey and weathered neon sign out front would make a perfect apocalypse backdrop. Now, I'm not so sure. It flickers constantly, illuminating the gyrating bodies of the dead like some twisted disco party. This hovel will be my resting place, or my stomping ground, depending on how you view the situation.
If you find this letter, watch out. It won't be me this letter is me, or what's left of me, Ryan. Mor