Zombie Prom

For some reason I feel like Morris is the only place on Earth where you can watch Zombieland in your dorm with some friends, and then emerge to a real zombie-infested campus.

The graveyard, which was gazed at with apprehension by every incoming UMMer, has suddenly become deliciously appropriate.

Briggs Library has been turned into a large makeup room, where theater kids charge money for the plastering on of white goop and black smears of kohl.

Fake blood simmers in pots in the dorms, and tubes of it litter tables in the lounges.

That's right. It's Zombie Prom here at UMM, and a peek into the Student Center after 9 p.m. reveals the horde at its finest.

Some female zombies, taking the name of the event literally, are dressed up, wearing old prom dresses and hideous bridesmaid dresses and wedding dresses found at Salvo. All are torn to show a considerable amount of skin, because even the undead want to sex it up.

Some zombies are wearing scrubs, the bright bunny patterns distorted with holes and smears of dirt and blood.

Some zombies, probably the most realistic (or least ambitious) ones, are wearing jeans and t-shirts, shredded to reveal ghastly wounds.

Some zombies, who apparently haven't come into their own yet, wear halloween masks and cloaks. To make up for their off costumes, a few of them walk with a stunted shuffle, holding their arms out awkwardly and moaning. They leave early.

A group of begowned girls who have drifted out into the hallway now sprint by, lured back into the throng by the opening notes of "Bad Romance." Following them is a wave of hairspray that floats up toward the ceiling, not bothering the fire alarm system at all; it has already been disengaged in order to accomodate the fog machines.

Freshman zombies, clearly recognizable, stumble a little bit, laughing too loudly and clustering in chattering gaggles. They have carried with them, perhaps from middle school, the infamous circle dance. Heads down arms up they shriek and giggle and nudge each other for no apparent reason, grinning in delight at the joy of being young and in college and zombified. They arrived at the dance only fifteen minutes after it began, and will not leave until the last song has been played and the techies start coiling up the cords beneath their tired feet.

When the hypnotic lights, loud bass and thick makeup become too much, zombies trickle out to the mall where they can talk without shouting. It's a cold night, but no one seems to feel it for several minutes. In that time, they grip their friends' hands and in shocked voices tell about who was grinding on who. They gallop down the sidewalk against the fresh air.

They look up at the Morris stars and in their zombie hearts they are happy. They are covered in blood, their ears are ringing, and the threat of tomorrow's studying looms on the horizon. Still, the cute boy from Intro. to Psych smiled at them over the bobbing crowd. They have no curfew. They're young and in college and zombified. Undead life is good.