Short Story – The Bachelorette: Zombie Edition

This was originally written a couple of years ago in response to an assignment for the Yahoo! Contributor Network. Y!CN is no longer active or available online.

This story is in no way affiliated with “The Bachelorette” television show. It is simply a parody, written for fun. 

Photo by aling_
Photo by aling_


The host smiled at me from across the set. “Are you excited, Alison?”

“Very excited!” I smiled back, but not too widely. It wouldn’t do for them to see the missing teeth.

“What kind of man are you hoping to meet through this experience?”

What did any zom- er, girl, come on this show for? I knew exactly why I was here, and it had my mouth-watering… but I probably shouldn’t tell him that.

“I’m looking for a man with good, strong brai-” Zombies might be physically slow, but whoever said we were stupid really had no idea what they were talking about. “Bravery. Good, strong bravery.”

That… could have gone better. Just because we were undead didn’t mean we had a lack of human feelings. I wanted to find love as well. I should have twisted that to sound normal.

But we zombies have one-track minds when it comes to brains – no pun intended. I didn’t really like the idea of eating brains, but I really had no choice. Unlike the vampires, we couldn’t substitute animals for humans. It had to be human brains, and adult zombies had to have them at least once every two weeks. Zombie children needed them more often.

Caught up in my thoughts, I missed what the host said next.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The interview continued, and within an hour it was finished. The stage lights were very warm, and I needed to get into some cooler air quickly. It wouldn’t do to start smelling.


The evening passed by quickly – nerves will do that to you, but slowly because I needed nourishment – my body was starting to drag. Not quite literally – yet. My ankles felt weak, though, and I needed to sit down soon. Or eat. It was getting harder to think and control my brain appetite, as well.

I stood anxiously outside the ostentatious mansion, trying not to breathe too deeply; a rib had popped out of place earlier in the day. I was starting to become jittery, an obvious sign it was time for more brains, but I still had a few more hours to wait. My zombie status would be obvious if I were to devour the first person out of the limo.

I wouldn’t lie, though, I really just wanted to grab the first guy and make a – albeit slow – run for it. Patience, I thought to myself. There were just a few more minutes before the first limo pulled into the drive, and I took as deep a breath as I dared to steady myself.

My loose rib wasn’t the only reason I couldn’t breathe very deeply tonight. I’d decided to wear a red corset with a black skirt. The men would love the corset, but it would also hold my rib in place should it pop out again. I didn’t think spare ribs of any kind were on the menu tonight – for anyone besides me, at least.

It took me a few hours of applying mortician’s make-up earlier in the day to cover the discoloring on my shoulders and neck, but I thought I looked quite presentable now. I could have saved quite a bit of time if I’d had a shirt that looked good under the corset, but nothing looked right.

I heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and looked up to see the first limo pulling around the corner. It was time! Time for brains, time for hunks, and maybe time for love, though I wasn’t quite holding out for that yet. I was a zombie… I doubted many men would find me attractive when they found that out. Of course, they only found that out when I killed them, so I was literally killing my own prospects.

The bachelors started climbing out of the limo. The first was cute, with a sense of humor. The second not so cute, but charming. The third needed braces, but I realized I was being a bit hypocritical there. So the evening wore on, and then bachelor #17 stepped out of the limousine.

He moved more slowly than that others, but had obviously mastered his movements so that he looked deliberate and graceful. I had practiced for months after being turned into a zombie, and was just now only starting to look clumsy rather than undead. There was a slight bit of decay around his eyes, but he had done well covering most of the discolored skin in the same way she did – with mortician’s make-up. Our eyes met, and I couldn’t help the secretive, knowing smile that crept across my lips. He returned it with one of his own. This was going to turn into a wonderful evening after all.

His name was John. We are opposites in looks – I have blonde hair and green eyes; John has brown hair and brown eyes. We only chatted for a moment or two, but I am certain the evening was about to turn into something much more enjoyable than I originally planned.

The time passed even more slowly as the last six bachelors introduced themselves – they were obnoxious, although some of the ideas they came up with to try and impress me were very unique. What I want is already inside, though – both love and brains. I smiled and sighed with relief when the last bachelor finally went inside the mansion. I didn’t need the entire show with all of its drama and intrigue anymore. My choice is already inside, and so is dinner.

I moved slowly, yet with confidence as I walked up the short garden path and into the mansion. John was waiting for me in the foyer. Even though we just met, I had a feeling that we were going to hit it off very well. He held out his hand, I placed mine in it, and we walked into the party together.

No one heard the screams that night.


The End

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About Rebekah

Rebekah Loper writes character-driven epic fantasy featuring resilient women in trying and impossible circumstances who just want to save themselves but usually end up saving the world, often while falling in love.
She lives in Tulsa, OK with her husband, dog, two formerly feral cats, a small flock of feathered dragons (...chickens. They're chickens), and an extensive tea collection. When she's not writing, she battles the Oklahoma elements in an effort to create a productive, permaculture urban homestead.