Page 1 of My Undead Heart

Some girls love flowers. I prefer them dead. Cards and candy? Only if they’re covered in blood and guts. Fake of course. I’m not an animal.

Most women love dates that include romantic candlelit meals, fancy clothes, dessert and wine, followed by a leisurely stroll along the moonlit shore.Blah!How completely boring and stereotypical. I’d rather go have a shootout, of the paintball variety, and grab take-out for a movie marathon at home. The wine part though, that can stay.

I’m not your average thirty-four-year-old single woman. I mean sure, I live alone in my overpriced Chicago apartment because the extra rent means the building’s safer, right? And I have a cat because don’t all mentally healthy people own a pet? At least, that was my intent when I adopted Rick Grimes from the rescue shelter. He came with the name Midnight or Smokey or Mr. Whiskers—some generic crap like that, but my new companion serves a higher purpose. Now, when my co-workers ask me a question like, “What’d you do last night, Mia?” I’m able to answer, “Rick Grimes and I had dinner, watched a movie, and then he snuck into my bed. Such a snuggle bug, that Rick Grimes.”

Except my cat is a total dick. Really ruined my fantasy for pet ownership, and now my answer is more along the lines of, “Oh, you know, the usual. Had dinner, watched a movie, and then I had to scrub off the shit Rick left on my LA Comic Con 2014 sweatshirt. He loves me, but he likes to keep me on my toes. Idiot was at it again with the toilet paper roll after I went to bed! I guess that was my fault for leaving the bathroom door open again.”

See? Dick.

Has me half tempted to rename him Negan.

But that’s okay. My asshole cat can’t sway my love for Rick. Or Daryl, or Tallahassee. No, because if you haven’t already guessed, I am hopelessly addicted to everythingWalkingDead,Zombieland, andShaun of the Dead. It’s not only shows and movies, either. My infatuation extends to comics and books. If it contains a dead heart, I’m in.

It’s most definitely my impetus for pursuing a career in video game design. That, and my childhood gaming obsession. My friends think it’s awesome that I do what I’m passionate about for a living, but to my mother I’m a disappointment. She’d rather I settle down with a nice man, and foresees nothing but spinsterhood on my horizon. She’s not exactly wrong. The only difference is that while she sees it as a death sentence, I see it as living the dream. My career, my apartment, my free time spent doing what I want ... I can’t imagine it gets any better. I don’t have to share my food, or pretend to care about someone else’s day, or shush a guy when my favorite show is on.

Sure, there was a time when I expected more. A companion to share my passion, my love, my life. Maybe I’m just not that girl anymore. Hell, it’s clear there isn’t a man out there for me, not unless I lower my standards and become a woman I don’t recognize or am proud of. But I won’t do that.

You’d think in my line of work the sausage-fest of single, intelligent gamers would manage to provide me a match made in virtual heaven, but let me tell you something. Nerds are assholes, too.

Yeah, I tried opening myself up and that only got me bitten in the ass. So instead, I’ll stay true to myself and enjoy the good life. Sure, I’m a little cold. But it works for me, and anyone who doesn’t like it can move along. Besides, I’ve always despised cuddling.

I shake my head, knocking away the random thoughts spinning through my brain, and focus on the screens that occupy half my cubicle. This project, which some egghead creatively coinedProjectX, is my current obsession. I don’t even care about the insane hours it’ll take to meet the deadline. It basically combines all of my favorite television shows. Violence and zombies of top notch graphic design, epic storytelling and witty humor, and when we launch this baby in a few more months, our company’s reputation as one of the top fantasy game producers will be solidified.

“Mia!” Jared leans over the plastic divider that separates our work spaces. His eyes, brighter than the blue dye in his faux hawk, dance with excitement as he drops his voice. “We’re calling out Friday.”

I merely lift my brow. I don’t anticipate flip-my-world-upside-down kind of news coming out of his mouth. Jared’s one to get excited every time Beyoncé drops a new album.

“TheWalking Dead!” he whisper shouts.

Now,thatgrabs my attention. I minimize the windows on my monitors and move to stand so our gazes meet over the partition that divides us. The desk digs into my belly, but I can’t help leaning forward even further at the promise of somethingWalking Dead.

“They’re holding an exclusive taping for walkers at Navy Pier. We have to go. This is fucking epic, Mia!”

“But how can that be? They wrapped up taping the new season last week. Are you sure this isn’t some joke or pyramid scheme?”

“Mia, this isWalking Dead. They’re not selling vacation rentals.”

“They’re really coming to Chicago for this?”

He pinches his lips together and folds his arms across the Superman logo of his tee. “They’re stopping through on their way to Walker Stalker in Philly. It’s real, Mia. It’sfuckingreal.”

Jared’s news sinks in, and as much as I hate it, I almost squeal at the prospect of being on my favorite show. “What do we have to do? What’s the plan?”

He claps his hands and bounces on his soles. “Rae’s friend’s boyfriend’s friend owns some bar within walking distance.” He rolls his eyes, because although his sister Rae is cool, we can’t stand any of her bitchy friends. They’re all pretentious fashionistas. “We’ll take the train, meet there, and stand in line for hours. It’ll be like Backstreet Boys all over again.”

Remembering the day we ditched school in tenth grade and waited hours for the chance for one glimpse from our favorite boy band fills me with amusement, and laughter escapes my mouth. We never even saw the backs of their talented heads when the bus arrived at the arena and security rushed the singers inside amidst the throng of screaming teens. But this time will be different. I can feel it. “I could kiss you right now.”

Jared’s face twists with disgust. “Ew. Please don’t.”

“Fuck.” I begin mentally picking out the outfit I’ll wear, along with stage makeup I need to stock up on before Friday, and sigh with delight. “I hope Rick shoves a stake through my skull.”

“I’d like him to shove his gun somewhere a little lower.” Jared’s dreamy smile pulls wider and we both giggle.

Yeah, we both have the hots for a fictional character and the actor who plays him. It’s one of the many reasons we’ve stayed best friends all these years. Similar tastes in eye candy.

“So, which of us gets to break the news to Stanton?” I ask. Jared winces with a shake of his head. Rolling my eyes, I realize he’s going to make me take the hit. “Come on, Jared. This was your idea!”

“I’m planning to have a horribly infectious cough with body aches in about forty-eight hours. I don’t know what your excuse is.”

---