D. F. Krieger

Thursday, October 17, 2013

5 Reasons Why I Would Never Survive A Zombie Apocalypse

I had a terrible nightmare yesterday night about zombies. It freaked me out so bad that I was exhausted for the rest of the day. I'm not really sure where the images came from, and they are so gross and gory, I won't go into detail. What I will say is the zombies in my story are nothing like the stuff of my nightmares.

Oh yeah, I have a new release out now. You can go ahead and pre-order it. It officially comes out tomorrow. It's my take on Little Red Riding Hood. More about that later. Back to evil, yucky zombies made of scary.

I got to really thinking about my nightmare and I realized something: there is no way in hell I'd ever be able survive a zombie apocalypse. I've even compiled a list of reasons. They are very good reasons.

1. I am a "Shoot First, Ask Questions Later" kind of person. I'm also, strangely, compassionate. So every time I killed a non-zombie peoples simply because I saw a moving object, I would be rendered with guilt. The real zombies, alert to my emotional duress, would therefore take advantage of my blurry vision from guilty tears...and eat me. This brings me to my next point:

2. I am totally phobic of the concept of being eaten alive. I cringe when I see it in movies, so dealing with the real thing. Yeah. No thanks. I'd rather just go curl up over there in that cave and die, thank you. Oh, speaking of caves, this brings me to my next point:

3. I can't go two days without shaving my legs and washing my hair. I literally can not sleep. I get what I call the "itchy twitchies." You know that thing were you itch so bad your body involuntarily itches. Yeah, that. No hot water? No survival. Period. While we're talking about things that make me itch:

4. I'm allergic to fescue grass. Y'know. The kind of grass that covers pretty well every where? That stuff. What kind of person is allergic to grass, you ask? Well, obviously this kind right here. I think it goes synonymous with "I'm limited in my outdoorsy activities." I'm generally smart enough that if I know something isn't going to end well for me, I tend to avoid it. I bet it doesn't take much for you to realize:

5. I'm not a risk taker (See #1.) Zombie horde has surrounded my safe place? Sorry, I'm not proficient enough in zombie gaming to use a baseball bat and nails to create the Mace of Squish-Making. Come one. You know while I'm wailing on one, the other three zombies are gonna be like:
"Look, that food source is smacking No Nose with a ouchie."
"It's got its back to us. What do you think we should do? Should we help him?"
"Nah. Dude, he's already dead. Let's eat the food source! We can say a prayer for No Nose when we're done."
*Scene cut due to aversion to envisioning my own traumatic death*

So umm, yeah. I'm just going to continue to write my stories where the zombies are actually the good guys and pretend the scary ones don't exist. Meanwhile, I invite you to read Red As A Rose. I also invite you to tell me why you would or would not survive should the zombie apocalypse ever happen.

Click to buy. Only 1.99!
In this sexy retelling of Red Riding Hood, danger abounds. Can a seductive witch save the big bad wolf she finds in her grandmother's bed? Or will she fall prey not only to the woodsmen that hunt him, but the lure of her own powers?

Tobias, mortally wounded from a silver tipped arrow, seeks healing from the notorious hedge witch, Scarlet Hood. What he doesn't expect is to find Scarlet has passed away. Her granddaughter, Rose, is everything a big bad wolf could want. With woodsmen hot on his trail, Tobias must decide whether to accept his new life, or die all over again.

Rose didn't want to take up the red hood her grandmother left her, nor any of the responsibilities that came with it. Wielding a power that loves the dead more than the living, she finds it hard to accept the idea of becoming a healer. When she finds a werewolf in her grandma's bed, she has to choose between what is right, and what feels right but is so very wrong.
~ D. F. Krieger

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