"Best Friends Forever!"~Eddsworld Oneshots

Brain Dead

[Heyo, it's your lest favorite thot, Ari

This is something that was supposed to be for Halloween and has been sitting in the back of my memos for a good bit, I realized I haven't posted in a while so here you go. It's not like anyone reads this actually but I don't know.

Warnings; Uh, zombie Tord, I think that's it? Just read the story-

Paring; none at all]

Being a zombie sucked.

Of course, being a brain-hungry flesh-eating rotten corpse didn't sound like the best thing to be but he definitely wasn't exaggerating. He hated being a zombie, being a cold dead monster was something that he was familiar with, just not physically. Yes, he was a monster when he was technically living, but that wasn't something that they knew about. All they knew was that he had died and now he was an undead monster and they had to take care of him.

Resisting from eating people was hard, he had to admit that at least. He really just wanted to sink his sharp carnies into someone's skin and taste the sweet iron fill his mouth. God, he would kill to kill right now, in fact, he always would. But of course, he just couldn't go around eating people's brains and stuff of that sort on the daily, it was against the law and he would probably be shot. So, to combat the fact that he would most likely sink his teeth into any living thing that he could get his hands on, he had to wear a bite guard.

He felt like a dog with it on, an animal that had to be detained due to what it could do. He fit the category rather well anyway, he was an undead monster that was brain-hungry and flesh seeking. He just tried not to think much on the subject, all that seemed to cloud his mind anyway was what he could sink his teeth into. It didn't help that he was basically always drooling, Lord knows why. His bite guard was always wet, and would even sometimes drip with his saliva. Maybe it was from practically looking at food all day? People were basically his snacks and he was surrounded by humans all day, it was torture.

A certain group of people always surrounded him no matter what, they were there for a reason. They made sure that he didn't wander off into trouble like the brainless creature that he was. They were the ones that put the bite guard on him to make sure that he didn't hurt them. His friends, of course, cared about him though it was clear that there was a hint of fear always there. Maybe they were scared that he was just gonna randomly go apeshit and break out of his bite guard and eat them alive. As much as he thought about that, he would never do such a thing to his friends.

It's not even like he can, he can't break out of the bite guard and they have it at an angle that he can't take it off. Fuck he has to sleep with it on, it's so uncomfortable and wet all the time, he wants it off but he knew that with it off he would go crazy. Also, he loves his friends too much to do that and it's not he's even that hungry. He always has a craving for blood, flesh, and brains, but they let him eat random people on the street like once a week. Who knows what his death count is, before he died it was already in the thousands, he was a monster and still is one now.

Of course, being a zombie isn't all just cons, it has a few pros that he appreciates. He doesn't really feel anything anymore, pain nor emotions. He is literally brain dead so it's only normal that he can't feel anything, Lord knows how he remembers stuff and actually sees. Eh, that was for scientists to answer, he was just an undead monster with questions to ask. But back to not feeling anything, it didn't hurt when something damaging happened to his body. It didn't hurt or even effect him when people ran off screaming in terror when they saw him on a leash and with a bite guard on.

When his arm fell off he simply just shrugged it off, he kinda like got it slammed in a door, don't ask. It also didn't hurt when one of the Brits had to reattach his arm, simply stitching it back on. Lord knows how he's still was able to use it, but it wasn't like he was complaining. Thank God for the fact that the other had taken stitching classes, also, he had to do it because he was the one who slammed his arm in the door. A lot of his body parts were loose per se, he wasn't a fully intact corpse that was for sure. He kept his body clean, cleaned his cuts that couldn't heal because of the fact that he was dead, and took general care of his body. He smelt less like a rotting corpse, though there was always an underlying hint.

But, there was always one thing that hurt him, disproving the fact that he couldn't feel anything anymore. It stung him in the chest so great it felt like he was dying all over again. When he looked into his friend's eyes, looking into their soul, and saw something he never wanted to see. He saw fear, under all that happiness he always saw fear, they were always scared of him. Who wouldn't be scared of an unpredictable monster like him? They didn't like him, all the happiness that they had was fake, it was just there to cover up the fear that they truly felt.

He tried not to think about that though, once he started he couldn't stop and it led him down an endless spiral of sadness and questions. He pushed it out of his mind and buried it for now, knowing that it would surface later. For being an undead creature he had a lot of stuff on his rotting mind. Now that he was dead he had all the time to think, he didn't really do anything else but think about flesh and brains. He did know that he cherished the moments that his friends acted like he was a person and not the monster that he truly was. It was nice, acting like a person.

He had been stripped of the privilege a long time ago, but when he got to relive being human and having fun with his friends, he loved it. He didn't deserve their pity though, not the chance to act like a normal human being and have friends. He was a monster, even in his living life, he didn't deserve anything but a ditch on the side of the highway and he knew that. Once again he tried to keep stuff like this off of his mind and focus on what was going on in the now. He tried to keep his mind clear and calm but often failed due to his racing thoughts and questions.

All of this seemed to fade when he felt a pull on the leash that was around his neck at the moment. It choked him a bit and caused him to whip his head around and growl at the Brit who caused the moment of discomfort. This caused the other male to narrow his void-like eyes at him in hatred and disgust, making him look away. He hated that look that he always got from him, it made him feel like what he truly was, a cold undead monster. He turned his attention back over to the eyeless male when he heard him speak his name followed by a command.

"Tord, come on, this body is starting to stink."

Oh yeah. Looking down at the body that was at his feet, he realized that his hands were bloody and covered in brain matter, as well as most of his body. He had killed a lady, she looked to be around 24 and probably had her whole life ahead of her until he ended it. He personally couldn't smell anything but he knew the smell of dead bodies all too well, he didn't need it to know. He had eaten what he wanted from the lady, her arm, her brain, you know, the usual. The spikey-haired male behind him probably got tired of standing in the dark alleyway with the zombie and the body.

Huffing and letting out a grumble of noises and groans, he stumbled away from the body and over to the male. He was grabbed and the bite guard and immediately placed on him and secured tightly. He let out a groan as he raised his arms and he tried to take it off but his hands were smacked away, the bite guard was at an angle that he couldn't reach anyway. Before he could process anything else, he was being pulled out of the alleyway by the leash on his neck. He huffed but kept quiet, following along with the living male as they walked home in the night.

Walking down the street under the streetlights, they disappeared from the scene of the crime they just committed. One thought was on the monster's mind, and no, it wasn't guilt, it was the next time he could sink his teeth into something.