I've known it's been a long time, but I started caring about it a year and twenty-five days ago.

I don't know how I became a zombie, I don't even know if I became a zombie or if a zombie became me. Anyway, when the moon rises at night, I can't control my instincts, I will go to various places to forage for food, and during the day, I follow the assignment of the urban core of Raccoon City to work as a cashier at this small convenience store.

It looks like a red panda, maybe a raccoon, I don't know. It always wears a wide-brimmed hat, but instead of wearing it on its head, it is held in its hand, and it is filled with all sorts of small pieces of flesh, fingers, or ears, in short, parts that are not too disturbing to normal life.

Unlike ordinary Warcraft, it is very clean and very lively. Not only is the tan fur meticulously groomed and elegant, but even the wide-brimmed hat in his hand, no matter how much blood has been smeared the day before, it will always be washed clean the next day, from this point of view, its race should be raccoon, I guess in my heart.

It always appears in front of the store at 9:12 a.m. with bus 18, which turns and heads off into the distance, and it enters the store. Before entering the store, he used his little paws to tuck his fluffy tail together, and I knew that he was afraid that when he walked around the shelves, his tail would sweep down some goods and cause me unnecessary trouble, so he should be a gentle and attentive raccoon.

Then it would pick up a copy of the Raccoon City Morning Post, and a blue bottle of fat-free T-virus serum, which cost 50 grams of flesh, and it would always give me about 100 grams of flesh, and two ears and two little fingers. I said it was about 100 grams, but in fact it was often 'right', a little more than 100 grams, and the extra bit went into my stomach. It was with this small margin that I was able to survive the first difficult time, relying on the meager salary from the convenience store and my own clumsy hunting.

I would habitually ask it, "Do you need a bag?"

It always smiles and shakes its head.

Next, he will hold the newspaper under the armpit of his left arm, pick up the blue bottle of fat-free T virus serum with his right thumb, ring finger, and little finger, and pick up a straw between his index and middle fingers.

I habitually placed the receipt on its spread left front paw and felt the residual warmth of its claw pads. I heard that the claws of raccoons are very sensitive, with highly sensitive adaptation receptors, which can rely on their claws to measure the weight, size, material and temperature of food.

Taking the receipt, it smiles again, then nods.

It will always be in front of the convenience store at 24 o'clock, watching the occasional low-level zombie passing by, and the bus that runs every other time, and then enters a state of contemplation.

After drinking the blue bottle of fat-free T virus serum, it will meticulously close the lid and put it in the trash.

It always holds the newspaper in its little paws, because it is too small, and the newspaper is too wide, and it is reluctant to bend the newspaper because it will crease.

Before leaving, it would look at me again.

When I realize the look in it, I always smile shyly.

Yesterday morning, it was as used to it.

I had typed out a 100-gram receipt and was waiting for it at the cash register.

I was stunned when he handed me a half-open palm with a thumb that weighed far more than 100 grams.

We looked at each other for a few seconds before it asked:

"Little sister zombie, don't you need change?"

Somehow, we thought it was funny at the same time, and laughter filled the whole convenience store. This is the first time I've heard it laugh, or rather, it's actually the first time I've heard its voice, weird, with the resonance of the structure of the monster's vocal cords, not good, but I take it for granted that it sounds very comfortable.

The laughter stopped, and it said again: "Miss Zombie, I'm done laughing, I still have to make change, right? ”

I embarrassedly took out 100 grams of a standard piece of flesh cut squarely and gave it it, and it asked in a nonsensical manner:

"Miss Zombie, you won't forget to give change again tomorrow, right?"

I smiled and wanted to answer, but after my lips squirmed, I glanced vigilantly at the zombie stevedores not far away, and finally conveyed my meaning with my eyes:

Tomorrow, I will be ready to give you change.

I wasn't a super-beautiful girl when I was alive, and I can't boast of being a 'pretty female zombie with talking eyes' because I don't have wounds, rotting mold, or even if I die, I don't know what I mean.

Actually, yesterday was my penultimate day at this convenience store, and thanks to it, I was able to achieve the required turnover every time, and the city core decided that I was doing very well, so I was assigned a new position, and tomorrow, I will leave from here.

Before leaving, I always felt like I had to do something.

I prepared a standard 80 grams of flesh and then cut out 20 grams of flesh from a less important part of my body and mixed it in.

This is the inspiration given to me by the film on the big screen outside Wan * Square when I went home yesterday, but unfortunately the ironclad Xiaobao was chasing and slashing Dr. Tyrant again, and smashed the big screen with a flick of a stick, so that I couldn't see the plot behind. What should I do when I mix it with my own flesh? Can I just give it raw? Do I need to put it in a pot and fry it, and pour some soy sauce to taste?

When I went out this morning, I put on light makeup for the first time since I died, and covered up the corpse spot on my left cheek, making it look like a blush on a girl's face. Standing behind the cash register where I had worked for many years, waiting for it to arrive, I felt a sense of nervousness and anticipation that I had not felt for a long time.

After all, it's an engagement between me and it.

Here it comes!

When it entered the convenience store on time as usual, I was so nervous that I couldn't breathe! Wait, I looked like a zombie, I couldn't breathe? Realizing that I had told a zombie-style joke, I was dumbfounded, and I relaxed a lot, and when I looked at it, I finally had a shallow smile on my face.

I put the change in a small bag, held the bag behind my back, and I couldn't wait to give it this bag of flesh.

Can it be eaten, does it contain my taste in it?

Can this smell leave a trace in its heart? I asked softly in my heart.

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