Ever since I can remember, my mom's always told me to eat my meat. There's only one problem -- I hate meat. I’ve always been a vegetarian, and my whole family thinks that so odd. For the first few years, I didn’t mind sneaking around to strangers houses. When they saw me rummaging through their kitchens, they’d freak and try to pull a gun on me. Then, when they noticed I was munching on their carrots or celery, they’d laugh. They’d fucking laugh! What’s so funny? I hate joining in on the cacophony that is family mealtime.

But, I guess it is really odd. I’m just different. I hate being different. I suppose I’ll just learn to love meat. It can't be all that bad, right? And, as I sit here and chew thoughtfully on my supper of raw flesh, I chuckle to myself.

After all, who’s ever heard of a zombie that hates meat?