[ WP ] You are a immortal during the zombie apocalypse , During the apocalypse the zombies ignore you and you try to live a normal life during the outbreak .

*While my guitar, gently weeps* 
 
 I sipped at my tea as the record played, my last few boxes of genuine good quality Builder's Brew. I never was one for the poncy any refined tastes of my fellow Brits. If you can call them that. 
 
 Half of them are just brown haired Romans really, not a single bit of Celt in them unless you go to the *really* rural parts of Cornwall and Ireland, where bloodlines coiled and intermingled like writhing snakes with multiple heads and extra nipples. 
 
 Suffice it to say that I have been around for a very long time. 
 
 It has been a good life, with bad moments scattered throughout. My first wife cheated on me with a buddy of mine. My lands pillaged and raped into something unrecogniseable. My hammer shattered into stone fragments that were indistinguishible from any old bunch of oddly dense pebbles. 
 
 Enclosures. That was the big change, before this petroleum disaster started getting speed. When the verdant fields of England became massive squares, artificially marked with dark hedges, like squares on a chessboard. 
 
 I remember when a Welsh land thief became a hero. They still teach of him in schools like that. Old Owain. What a bloody twat. 
 
 I suppose there was nothing for it really. All my subjects, not that they would ever listen to me if I tried to rule them again in the past 1500 years, all dead. 
 
 Their souls presumably were raptured away by their God, of Roman faith. An invasive god, who destroyed the old ways with insidious slander and mergers. There were times were even I forgot where Odin stopped and Yaweh began. A God who was Above, and did not deign to walk amongst mortal men. Well, not until he got himself a brat anyway to do his job for him. 
 
 Bah. While rumours of my abilities were greatly exaggerated, even I did know my people, to a degree, when I fought alongside them in my youth. 
 
 Father above... Who art... Somewhere. Wherever those who give up their immortality go. 
 
 Damn this soya milk. All the cows in Coventry dried up and died with this epidemic. I tried other kinds, but the plague that afflicted mortal men apparently was carried in my unaffected flesh. So I have taken to travel a great distance to travel to gather soya milk from a semi-automated farm that requires only electricity. 
 
 
 Even if life comes back, if humanity returns from some vault, I must be cleansed of this... Blight. 
 
 Yes. Blight is a good word for it. A bit of the old mythic, the ol' razzle dazzle, 1980s American newscaster. 
 
 Have You Heard Of The Blight That Is Striking At White America? Ban D & D Today! 
 
 Because apparently people disliked the idea of people reminiscing about the old world, before their laws, before their camps, before their bloody aqueducts. 
 
 A time when an ugly strong man was possibly a ogre. When a clever man smelling of what I now know to be primitive hallucinogenic drugs could be a wizard due to his insane ramblings about time being like his hands, branching off into fingerlines of time. When priests had a strange power, not entirely of mere charisma, but a sort of presence that dominated even the rowdiest proto-atheist into feeling a sense of wonder and awe. 
 
 It was n't all good though. We raped. We tortured. We were assholes. 
 
 We never ate anyone, not like what was left of humans. 
 
 It was the women you missed, after a bit. And the men, but despite the odd life living and sleeping with a few wonderful men, I did tend to find I preferred women. Call it centuries of cultural inertia if you will. 
 
 Sometimes, you want to have sex with something that does n't just blankly ignore you while it struggles against your embrace in search of living flesh to devour/turn. 
 
 I really should head to Japan. Their robots can hold a basic conversation. Or could, at least. 
 
 But then... That one japanese guy writteb webcomic did portray me and my kind as bishie hero trainers. Although I did appreciate they remembered that I have red hair, not blonde. 
 
 The record stopped. My musing interrupted, I carefully put the large disc back in its sleeve, taking care to hold it only by the edges. 
 
 Yeah. Japan. Have n't been there that much. Their equivalents to me were kind of... More aggressive. They probably would have gone mortal though: they would have loved the challenge of fighting zombies as a mortal. 
 
 Not me, though. 
 
 Nope. I will wait and see what happens. 
 
 I miss good beer. Maybe I should stop in Germany on the way. There must be a couple of breweries with some nice stuff stored still. 
 
 I never brewed myself. Never had the patience for it. Not unless I could trick my brother into mooning Sirona again. Oh, such revelry... And rivalry, come to think of it. 
 
 Actually, did n't he get laid with Sirona? 
 I did hear those healing hands got a lot of use under the sheets... 
 
 Bah. My brother was a twat. Probably never got anywhere with her. 
 
 
 
 As evening set, I realised I had spent the entire day sitting on my sofa staring at the zombie horde wandering outside. 
 
 I opened the door and started walking South, to hopefully hit the Channel if I remembered the way. 
 
 Japan and your sexy sexy chatbots, here comes an ancient God-king! 
 
 Do I bring flowers to a robot? 
 
 Eh, give en a bouquet of UMD discs containing old movies. Japanese chicks love the UMDs, I was told a few years ago.
