Eating is not pleasant business. I hate it. I hate the screams they make when you first bite into them, because I don't like pain. I don't like hurting people, but this is the world now. This is what we do.

This is what I do.

We push deeper into the city than usual. The only scents I pick up are dust and rust. The Living that were once unsheltered in the streets are becoming scarcer. They are leaving their fortress in the center of the city less frequently, which makes tracking down a meal even harder. I suspect the fortress, the giant baseball stadium, is becoming more self-sufficient. I imagine there are grown pastures filled with vegetables, and gardens planted in the dugouts.

It takes most of the afternoon, but by a nearby high school, we sense pray. We smell that bright and strong life scent that electrifies our bodies. There are a lot of them, and they're close. Sam looks at me, and then glances over our small group, then back at me. "Too....many", he grunts.

"Eat", I insist.

Sam shakes his head. "No."

"Eat."

The rest of the group is undecided. Some of them sniff warily, but there are others who stand by me in agreement. They groan and drool and snap their teeth.

"Lets....go." I turn and start making my way toward the aroma filled high school. Sam catches up and walks beside me, watching me with an uneasy grimace.

It's hard to navigate the zigzagging halls, and the inclines make it a challenge to even walk, but the scent is overpowering. After a thorough search of the first floor, we climb the flight of stairs to the second level. I start to hear them; chattering around and talking to each other in those melodious so streams of words. Living speech has always been an appreciation of mine. Sam just thinks it's a sick fetish.

As we approach the sound, some of us start groaning loader, as the hunger becomes more urgent. The Living behind the door ahead hears us and sends out an alarm. I can hear their guns cocking in panic, but that only makes us proceed in haste. We get through the door and we lunge at them.

The room is lightened by the pulsing flares of gunfire, and the room begins to smell of fresh blood with a hint of adrenaline. The attack is somehow working our favor, and I take it these Living aren't seasoned veterans. They smell young, teenagers, mostly.

Their leader seems to be an older kid with a slender frame, standing on a desk barking commands to his untrained pups. He leans protectively over a small figure crouched down below him, firing blindly into the dark.

I sneak up across the room and grab the boy's boots. I pull his feet out from under him, causing him to dive head first into the linoleum floor, cracking his skull on impact.

Perfect.

I pounce on him and bite through his neck, while my fingers work on prying through the crack on his skull to open. I want his brain. Usually, I would leave the brain alone; letting the magic of my bite bring the boy back from the dead. But, here's the thing. The brain is the best part, not because of the taste, but for about thirty seconds I have memories. Flashes of carnivals, perfume, music....life. Eating it makes me feel not alive but...a little less dead.

The boys head opens in a matter of seconds and I can see his brain pulsing inside. I take a deep, ravenous bite and---

I am Adam Crawford, a ten-year-old boy growing up in the flourishing streets of Essex. There are new threats here, but im at the airport with my parents on our way to America. There we don't have to worry about it---

It's my birthday, and I'm eating a slice of cake. Mom and Dad are here. I'm so excited, I take an oversized bite and the frosting clogs up my airways. I choke it back up and my parent's laugh---

I am seventeen, and I've moved further in, away from the coastlines. I'm at school, listening to a lecture about outdoor survival and trying not to glance at the beautiful boy sitting next to me. He has perfectly coiffed, chestnut hair, porcelain skins, and blue eyes that dance around with private amusement. When class ends, I catch him in the halls and say, "Hello."

"Hello", he parrots back.

"I'm new here."

"I know."

"My name's Adam."

He chuckles softly and peers up through his long lashes.

"I know. I'm Kurt."

He smiles. His eyes glitter.

He says---

"Adam", Kurt moans in my ear as I trail kisses down his throat. He twines his fingers into mine and I kiss him deep. I pull back to look him in the eyes.

"Do you want to....um...?" I breathe.

He smiles and closes his eyes and says, "Yes."

With that I crush him against me, and I want to be not just inside him but everything around him. I want out bodies to melt and fuse together, and I want our cells to braid together like living thread---

I am now older and wiser as I ride my motorcycle down a forgotten highway to the high school. We're in need of more medical supplies, so I formed a group from the stadium as back up. Kurt is on the seat behind me, his arms clutching my chest, his legs wrapped around mine. He insisted on coming on the mission, claiming he was fully prepared to handle himself in an attack. I know he isn't, but I can protect him. I can keep him safe, no matter what---

I feel the cold linoleum under my hands. Gun shots are still being fired as I stand up and look around. I've never been reeled in too deep in a vision before. The sting of tears burns my eyes, but my ducts dried up weeks ago. This is the first time I've ever felt pain since I died.

I hear a scream nearby and I turn. It's him. He's here. Kurt is here, older now, his baby fat melting away leaving chiseled lines and finer poise. He's huddled up in the corner now, unarmed, and screaming as Sam creeps toward him.

I shove Sam aside and snarl, "No...Mine."

He grits his teeth and is about to proceed forward when he catches wind of another Living hiding in the storage closet. He gives one last glance at me then Kurt, shaking his head as he moves toward a new target.

As Sam leaves, I approach the boy. I let out a gentle groan and inch towards him, trying to force kindness on my face.

He throws a knife at my head.

Funny, I don't remember him being such a bitch.

Luckily the blade barely penetrates my frontal lobe, so I'm able to pull it out with ease.

I try again, still just a few feet away from him. He is searching for another weapon as tears fall down his face and blur his vision. Behind me the dead are finishing up their prospective meals. Soon they'll sniff the air and turn their attention to Kurt. I take a deep breath.

"K..Ku..Kurrrt," I say. I feel good saying it, as it rolls down my tongue like honey.

His eyes go wide. He freezes.

"Kurt", I say again. I point at the zombies behind me.

"Be....quiet", I direct.

I reach my free hand into the wounds of a fallen zombie and collect a palm full of black, dead blood. When I slowly reach out to touch him he doesn't move. With slow, careful movements I smear the blood on his face, on his clothes, and through his hair. He doesn't even flinch.

By the time I'm done, the zombies have finished their meals and they look at me. Then at Kurt. They sniff the air cautiously, but only smell exactly what I'm smelling: nothing. Just the potent stench of Dead blood.

I take his hand and pull him to his feet. I walk toward my group, with Kurt in tow, staring straight ahead. The dead blood works its magic as it cloaks Kurt's glow of life under its dark overpowering musk.

Without a word we leave the high school and head back home to the mall. I walk in a newfound daze, as Kurt limply holds my hand, staring at the side of my face with wide eyes, and trembling lips.

This gives a whole new meaning to leftovers.