What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Zombier by Allison Wade

softness of her bed. She looked at her room: the chest of drawers with the mirror, the closet, clothes, and stuffed animals scattered around, the window from which came in the morning light. She was home.
    She sat down rubbing her eyes. Just a stupid dream.
    She stood up, went to the bathroom, brushed her hair, got dressed for classes.
     
    * * *
     
    Cynthia was waiting for her at the main entrance of the University, red curls into the wind and her usual smile. “Hey, Amanda! What are you doing? You look terrible. What happened to you?”
    Amanda gazed at her, surprised, like they hadn’t been together the night before, like she wasn’t there too, dancing and going crazy all night long at the club. “How could you withstand it so well? I feel awful!”
    “You’re such a wreck, and you even wanted to go home in advance.”
    “Yes, I know. It’s just that...”
    Soft lights, lasers, music at full volume, the heat, shaking bodies, and that black figure near the column. Was it just a shadow, an impression? Yet she noticed him due to his low height and because he made her feel watched, spied... She felt a cold shiver down her spine.
    “Come on, we’re going to be late!” urged Cynthia walking toward the stairs.
     
    * * *
     
    Modern History class. The tedious chanting of the professor. In the background, just the sound of pens writing on notebooks. Cynthia, focused on her paper, was writing thick, wrinkling her forehead. Amanda was restless.
    A shadow came into her peripheral vision; she moved her eyes for a moment and the black figure was there, behind the board with the big sheets, where the professor was writing. She could see him because his thin legs emerged from underneath. He didn’t move, but she knew he was there.
    She sprang up. At the same time, thirty heads turned toward her.
    “Sorry, I have to go,” she mumbled embarrassed. She picked up her stuff and ran to the door. She broke outside.
    Her feet stepped on something soft. Underneath there was purple grass. And the yellow sky with the clouds, and the dark tree on top of the hill.
    She turned around, but behind her there wasn’t the class anymore, just a distant gloomy wood.
    A rustle through the leaves, and the small black figure that was coming in the open. Now he was on all fours, moving like a spider in her direction.
    Amanda started to run. After a few step, she stumbled and fell.
     
    * * *
     
    She opened her eyes.
    She was in her bed again. She sat down, rubbed her face, tidied up her hair, speaking to herself. “Am I really awake?”
    She took the mobile phone and dialed Cynthia’s number.
    “Hello?” her friend’s voice was sleepy.
    “Hey, what are you doing?”
    “What do you think I’m doing? I’m about to have breakfast and get ready for History class. Don’t you tell me you’re beaten after last night.”
    Amanda made a little smile, relieved. “No, no, I’m in. I’ll get ready, and we’ll meet at school. Okay?”
    “Okay, Okay,” said Cynthia with a muffled yawn. “I don’t understand why you needed to call me. You’re acting weird, you know?”
    “Weird... sure. See you later then.” She hung up.
    Amanda looked around as if she wanted to check that her room was all right, that there wasn’t anything strange, or anyone...
    “Damn it, I hate vivid dreams.”
    Sometimes it happened to anyone, the mind played bad tricks making you believe that you were awake when instead you were still dreaming. She shook her head as to clear her thoughts.
    She stood up staggering, yawned, got in the shower.
    The feeling of the hot water was relaxing; it made flow away that sense of restlessness.
    A dive into the closet, catching random clothes, a bite to a toast with butter and jam, then she slipped out the door.
     
    * * *
     
    The purple grass was still in front of her. She didn’t want to go out; she didn’t want to leave her house. But there was something moving in the shadow of the hallway, and it seemed to be looking for