Rating: Green Cortina
Word Count/Length: 352
Summary: Sam writes a letter to his mind, protesting the day's events.
Notes: Now this is intended to be humorous, unlike the last one. >.> Also inspired by the Lifein1973 chat guys. Thanks <3
Hi. Sam here. Remember me? I'm the guy in here.
I know you're trying to occupy me while I'm in my coma, and I thank you for that. But can you at least, I dunno, make it a bit more realistic? Okay, so my mind isn't that imaginative, considering that you created a 70's version of Manchester with a dingy CID and an equally dingy bastard named Gene. Bite me.
But when you start introducing things that I know not to be in any way, shape or form, real, then you and I are going to have some trouble.
Like for example, yesterday, when you decided that I wasn't already scared enough by being here and introduced undead, shambling beings that are commonly called zombies.
They weren't even good ones either! They only had eyes for me! ME!
(And what is it with most of them being girls? Are you trying to tell me something?)
Why me? Do I smell good? Why can't you have them chase Litton? He smells strongly of Paco, and I think he doesn't ever take a proper shower or bath. And he's probably a lot more tastier (just avoid the mustache).
Of course, all of CID had a good laugh when I told them that there were zombies around. Gene asked if I had any Mickeys or Roofies slipped in my milk this morning.
They all stopped laughing when the zombies burst through the CID offices. Chris screamed like a little girl. I didn't know his voice went up that high. Annie clutched my jacket, which gave me a very, very relaxed feeling (and a bit of a horn down there). Ray and Gene pulled out their guns and started firing at the zombies, who weren't in any bit fazed at the bullets ripping through them.
And then they stopped advancing. Gene and Ray put their guns down. The zombies moaned out something that will haunt me for the rest of the time I'm in this bloody world.
"We won't leave until Gene and Sam shag."
You're a bloody douche, mind.
Your loving occupant, Sam.