[ WP ] You were bitten early on by the zombie epidemic , but through some freak of nature you maintained your mental faculties . Other than an unsatisfiable craving for flesh , all you want is someone to talk to . You notice a camp in the distance .

My arm itches. 
 
 The pain stopped when my heart stopped, but the damn itch remained. 
 
 I was bitten like most folks around here when hell broke loose. I rose from the ground with the rest and like the others I mindlessly hunted and bolstered our ranks with a mixture of clawing, biting and chewing. I shambled and moaned, my mind dulled my conscience clear. However as the itch got worse my mind was starting to form words to comprehend the annoying feeling. Occasionally my heart would beat as consciousness started to slowly trickle back into my empty mind, as if the itch reminded me what life was like. 
 
 It ’ s been weeks since blood started pumping regularly, my breath has started to return and after so long without it, breathing feels alien. I was used to the stillness death granted but now my body is roaring back to life like a derelict factory reopening, and re-supplying me with all the un-pleasantries life has to offer. Once I started seeing my breath I became aware of how cold I was, I cast off the rags and donned a thicker winter coat. I shambled less and less and as my motor functions became once more refined as I began walking with a normal gait. The final gift life bestowed to me, as my faculties returned, was a terrible sense of loneliness. 
 
 While outwardly I could pass as human, I didn ’ t feel like one at first. The terrible need for flesh was my new itch and it was more intense than the now healed arm, or my returning conscience. I still dined with my undead brethren but in a more sophisticated manner, they didn ’ t judge my odd eating habits, they didn ’ t care. The problem with my rotting comrades was the lack of conversation, hobbies or comradery. They hunted, ate and shambled day and night, day after day till the winter truly set in. Once the ice covered the destroyed city and the snow began to fall, they too fell unable to face the blistering temperatures. 
 
 I wandered the city for days in full snow-gear, searching. The streets were empty of both the living and dead. Without the hunt, without the others, I had little to do but focus on the two thoughts that consumed my mind, loneliness and hunger. The answer to both of these needs was humanity, I needed to find those who survived the hunts and were waiting out the storm in the remnants of this city. 
 
 I noticed the dim light in the distance and found my salvation at the church on the outskirts of the city. A family of two, a man and boy bunkered in the bell tower. The boy had a gun trained on me from up high, he could have shot me at any point but refrained thanks to my lack of groaning. For the longest time I stood in the neighbouring graveyard ( a fitting place for my kind ) and looked up. It had been so long since I last spoke, the words came slowly and were proceeded by coughing as my rusty vocal cords started playing their tune again. 
 
 “ h-hello? ” 
 
 The boy lowered the gun a fraction, as I continued. 
 
 “ I ’ ve been looking for others, living that is ”. 
 
 “ Are you a living one? ” he replied training the rifle once more toward my head. 
 
 “ Well, I aint dead ” I said half smiling as I raised my arms to show I wasn ’ t armed. 
 
 The elderly man behind him garbed in robes placed his hand on the boys shoulder and lowered the his gun with a slow motion. 
 
 He motioned to the graveyard a spoke in a gravelled voice “ step out of the graves then and come inside. We have much to discuss. ” 
 
 I stood at the door as chains and bolts rattled open. I was torn. When the door opened I would be rewarded either way but the paths were divided clearly. should I take a step forward to life or step back as a denizen of the dead? 
 
 I can still feel the itch.
