I'm Not Dead

[ C H. 2 6 ]

I remember a time when I was significant.

When I, Rocco Maneli, had something to offer the world.

People listened when I talked. I had contributions to make things better. I was a role model for the youth and a good person, by societal terms. The last time I recall feeling this significance was at my wedding when I danced with my mother. I can remember it even better now that she's gone.

She was wearing a forest green dress and a red smile. The room was glowing with a bright yellow light that made me warm. We hadn't rehearsed our dance, but we found the rhythm anyways. The Perfect Fan by the Backstreet Boys. She didn't know I picked it; it was a surprise. There hence the lack of practice. As we danced, my smile was unbreakable as we swung by Meredith and my siblings while they watched us. All of them were arm in arm, swaying together. By the end of the song, we had pulled them out on the dance floor with us and all danced together. It was the warmest thing.

Tonight, though as I watched polite conversation occur in the dimly lit dining room, I felt cold. There was no light, no joy, just desperation to survive without any hope of succeeding. We were bruised, defeated, thinner than before, and constantly threatened by the presence of Joe's gun. I wasn't significant here. I wasn't a good person. I was an incredibly estranged soul who opted to take his youngest sister's life instead of fighting for her survival. Eleanor's accusing tone had reduced me to nothing more. She didn't try to understand my perspective. Sure, perhaps her ignorance wasn't intentional, but there was no one here to mediate so it might as well be.

No one seemed to notice my lingering silence at the dinner table. Or, if they did, they didn't care to mention it. Instead, they talked about Joe's music room. Well, Eleanor and Joe talked about his music room. She was becoming his new little sidekick, as she did for every old shit that treated her remotely nice. I envied her ability to be liked. That envy made me distant from the conversation and avoid everyone's eye until Joe and Lorenzo began discussing the military.

"The other night I heard on the radio that the military is trying to regain control of the larger cities. Smaller ones haven't been hit so bad yet, but the big ones have pretty much fallen. Last night was the most ghouls I've seen in this area. I'm not sure if that means the virus is here, or if dead people are trickling into the countryside," Joe said as his spoon clinked against his soup bowl.

Lorenzo slurped his soup before responding. "Even if hordes of them do, I'm sure the fence will keep them out. We might have to kill a few every now and then though. I hate to say it, but if we leave some of the bodies unburied it might deter any groups from approaching the house. They'll think there isn't anything to eat."

"Why would they think that?" Eleanor asked as she fished some chicken out of her soup bowl.

"Because he thinks the dead men are bats and wolves," I remarked, my voice coming out snarkier than intended, but I wasn't going to apologize for it.

Rather than humor my current bad mood, Lorenzo dismissed me as he proceeded to explain his theory to our group at the table. With the way he spoke about it, you'd think he had this suspicion confirmed. It was just a theory, nothing more. I doubted the Vividus was that advance. There was likely a different, more reasonable explanation for why they didn't attack us. They're dead people. Dead people are stupid. The only reason they posed a danger was because of their numbers. As a stand-alone, they aren't difficult to deal with.

In realizing that my siblings had no intention to include me in the conversation, I abruptly jumped up from the table and limped back to my room with a couple of rolls in hand. I didn't care for the soup. Each bite of it sat heavily in my stomach as did Eleanor's criticism of my ability to handle a crisis. She also used too much salt.