Hi Guys! Sorry I haven't been on for a LONG time. School and crap. I just saw Warm Bodies last weekend, and LOVED it! Hope you like this New Fanfic on it called "Deathly Love". There will be gore so watch out if you don't like that x3

The memories tasted good. Really good. They helped bring human qualities back. It gave emotion and comfort. I missed these feelings and pictures in my head. I really did. They helped me. They brought me back to life. I couldn't help that I was dead. I don't even remember how I died. I don't remember my name. When I go to introduce myself to a newcomer that I or one of my fellow comrades have eaten, all that comes out is this grunt that sounds like "Rrrr." Oddly enough, I somewhat remember my name beginning with an R. I think it was an R. Doesn't matter. In a world like today, yesterday and tomorrow, names and memories don't matter. We shuffle around, grunting and moaning like dying pigs. No one can remember who we are or what we've done a week before. Everything has become distant. I long for the past. When I wasn't so gray and smelling like rotting flesh. I miss my family, or at least I think I do. I was always an outcast, only one friend. He was one of the first to go unfortunately. I don't remember his name either. I have only seen him once since I became infected. My only friend now, his name is M. Well, that's the first syllable. We ride the escalators every day and grunt a good conversation to what we ate, or to whatever was on our decomposing minds, maybe to how much gloomier the day was then last week or to what we can predict. We can speak a few words, the most popular are "City" and "Hungry". We even make fun of some of the corpses who shuffle by, maybe to what they died wearing or to what kind of leftover piece of their last meal is left hanging off their mouth or clothes. We wheeze a great deal of hoarse grunts that sound like laughter. Sometimes I share bits of the Living's brains in my pockets for a later snack with him. I can tell he gets the memory flashbacks too, just by the way he stops and stares at the posters hanging around the airport's walls that show the Living walking along a beach holding hands, or little children with friends and family. A thought had come to me by this action: maybe he had kids before or grand-kids, or something like that. Today, M and I sat on a wing of one of the stranded planes. He was staring blankly at the skyscrapers of the city. We had eaten awhile ago, so I can't imagine him being hungry. He had feasted on the limbs to a young female. She was defenseless when we found her, she hadn't expected it surprisingly. She was also a loud screamer. I hated when my dinner screamed. I hated the idea of even eating creatures that I once was. But, hey, everyone's gotta eat. Mine though, just happens to be the past life of myself.