Here it goes...

Its always hard for me to do a first serious post as a newbie, but here I go!

This is a short introduction for the novel I've been working on (no title yet). I'm looking for any kind of critique you're willing to give, especially if something doesn't make sense. I'd also like to know, primarily, if it captured you... if you want to read more. Its short so I'll go ahead and post the text here instead of attaching it.
 
 

            When it happened nothing about it was cinematic.

            In the movies a select group of people band together and try to save themselves from their untimely dooms. They find solace in a mall, a house, a bunker. Somewhere. It’s usually a pleasant day save for the living dead roaming the streets.

            I was sitting in my apartment, alone. Downstairs I could hear the banging of pots and pans as the people below me readied their dinner. The whining of their kids wasn’t anything unusual. Outside the sky was plagued with deep grey clouds; rain virtually poured from the sky. I left the window open so I could hear the softness of the rainfall. I rubbed a burn on my tongue against the top of my mouth, seeking relief.

            A train whistled across town. A cop, sirens blaring, sped past the front of the apartments. I listened to its sound fade away, again leaving me with the noises of my home and of the rain.

            Then it happened. The real, gritty, non-cinematic coming of the dead. It happened all at once. In fact, because it happened so quickly people didn’t believe it was true. Those who did consider it true were in return considered crazy. In the end I bet they wished they’d seen a few more Romero movies, maybe been a little less close-minded.

            If I were to try and tell you exactly how the whole zombie thing spread, I’d probably have to make some stuff up. Honestly, I don’t know how they managed to get from continent to continent. But, in essence, as I sat alone in my apartment, the news of the zombies finally spread to Seattle, Washington. Oh, and the zombies themselves did, too.

            People died. Then they came back. It’s a cliché way of putting it, but it’s the absolute truth. Abruptly all of the TV shows threw up the warning of the zombies, (They didn’t call them zombies. I don’t know what they did. I don’t have TV. I Heard it from Ronnie, my neighbor.), and told people to stay inside and quarantine anyone who was bit by one of these crazed humans.

            So, what with being an accepting individual and all, I easily took the whole zombie thing for the truth. I got out my box of old Guns & Ammo magazines for entertainment, barricaded my door, and cracked open a can of sweetened condensed milk for the ride. I’ve got a sweet tooth. Sue me.

            Downstairs was pandemonium. Pots and pans abandoned, I heard the sound of my neighbors frantically trying to pack their belongings and leave the building. Outside the sirens were frequent, the sound of car crashes even more so, and the screams and yells of my fellow humans freaking the fuck out.

            I guess the only reason why I’m one of the last human alive was because of my lax attitude about the whole thing.

            With the calorically obscene canned goods and a top-story view of Seattle, I watched people die. I watched stuff blow up, stuff break, and the zombies start to gain numbers for their undead ranks. I didn’t care.

            My name is Cyrus V. Sinclair and yes, I am a sociopath.