The Life and Death of Zorro (Six Feet Under)

For as long as he knew, he had never been loved. From the moment he was born, he was cast away in a small room. Sure, he was fed and held and talked to, but he never had any toys. His mother was absent his entire life, while his father was more focused on other things. Sometime when he was four, his father started to yell at him and call him a 'zombie', possibly because of his lack of emotions. That was also when his father gave him an identity; Zorro. He knew the name was from a story about a vigilante, but he had a feeling that he was only given the name for being called a zombie. Regardless, he still saw it as his identity for the remainder of his life.

The one thing that his dad didn't want him to do, was to leave the property. He said the world was unforgiving, but he wasn't forgiving either. Zorro had to clean his room and prepare his own meals for his entire life, sneaking food to eat from the kitchen. But on July 13th, everything changed. He was led to the backyard by his father, the same backyard where he would lay in the grass and watch the clouds, but this time, he wasn't going to watch the clouds. His father dug a hole in the ground and then pointed a gun to his temple. The boy, only being about 15 years old at the time, ducked and ran as far as he could. Until his legs gave out, until his heart pounded in his ears, until his body shook from exhaustion. He did take a small break, but he heard a gunshot and kept running until the sunrise appeared from the horizon.

After that, he lived on instant ramen and minimal paychecks from his job as a store clerk. He finally was able to see what he looked like in a mirror after that day. He had long black hair almost covering his eyes, and his eyes were a dark maroon, almost like dried blood. He didn't like his appearance too much, so he dyed his hair brown soon after. Despite that, people kept staring at him, their eyes like piercing shards of glass being thrown into his skin, and his co-workers would whisper about how he looked like a zombie. He was never going to be 'alive'.

His first love he met at the park. He was sitting on the bench, reading a book, when a girl with orange hair sat down beside him. The two chatted for a while, shared numbers, then she departed. Her name was Calista, which was Greek for 'most beautiful'. And he had to agree with that statement, she was beautiful. She wore makeup that didn't make her look 'fake'. Eventually, he agreed to go on a date with her to a skating rink, and after that, their relationship blossomed like a rose, but not a pretty rose. A rose with thorns.

He's never going to get over the phrase 'it'll be fun'. Because in no way was it 'fun'. It was disgusting, he felt betrayed, he felt pointless. She was disgusting, she was cruel, she was a liar. He broke off the relationship after that night. His life started to spiral for years afterward. He stopped getting up to go to work, he stopped talking to friends, he stopped doing anything besides sleeping and occasionally eating. He felt useless, he felt empty. But he knew he was always an empty shell of a person. He was a zombie, a zombie programmed not to feel, only to live a boring life. He eventually pushed himself to get up and at least go for a walk in another park (he could never go back, it brought memories of her), or walking in another street (he can't look at the skating rink the same now). He thought he would never find love again, but he was proven wrong at an Italian restaurant.

Another girl, a girl with black hair and maroon eyes, wearing a beanie and a demon hoodie, asked him if he wanted to date. She seemed friendly, and understood his issues with not being able to express emotion like others. After a couple days of thinking it over, he decided to accept. She loved horror movies, hell, her name was even the title of a horror movie.

'Carrie'.

He loved that name. It rolled off the tip of his tongue. She told him her issues, how she was anxious and didn't want him to stray too far, but he understood it. He had some anxiety as well, it wasn't too uncommon. She also had a little sister, but he didn't really like her, she was annoying. But the two lovebirds were inseparable, always going on dates and exploring their city together. She even let him live in their small apartment. Of course, he never confided in her about what he had experienced, but she was more than willing to share her experiences. Like how her sister needed skin grafts to fix her face after a dog mauled her. That story shook him to his core, as he had also been attacked by dogs when he was younger, when he was still living a 9-to-5 job at the store. Ever since then, the barking of a dog startled him and caused him to panic. But Carrie reassured him and told Zorro it was a common fear. For once in his life, he truly felt loved, he didn't feel like a zombie, he felt like a human.

October 29th was when it all came crashing down like it had done before so many times.

They were going to a graveyard for a date (odd choice, but then again, they had so many odd dates that it didn't even bother him). The leaves crunched under his feet as he walked, his hand entangled with hers. The cool Autumn breeze made him shiver a bit, but he didn't mind. That night, he wore a white tanktop and jeans. Carrie was wearing her demon hoodie and her beanie.

He teased her a bit, he made small comments about the weather, anything to fill the void of silence while they walked. But she was oddly quiet, only adding a few words to their conversation every so often. But he didn't see the signs.

It was only until they reached an empty plot of land that he noticed something that haunted him.

An empty, shallow hole.

"Carrie, what is this?" He spoke in a rather confused manner, looking back up at her. For the first time in his life, he was no longer the zombie in a relationship. She was emotionless, staring into his eyes with no life, with no remorse.

She stepped closer to him as she gave him a kiss on the lips, but he was mortified. Her lips were cold, devoid of love.

And she kicked him into the hole.

The hole fit his entire body inside. It was a bit hard to climb out, and he would've been able to climb out, if Carrie hadn't started digging it back up.

His mind began to race, now realizing the true danger he was in. He tried flailing around, but there wasn't much space to do that. He tried screaming, but Carrie kept digging, until, at last, one of his poorly thought out ideas worked.

He extended out his arm from the grave as he pulled on her leg, causing her to tumble on top of him. Dirt from above spilled into the grave. She too flailed around and screamed, but he wrapped his hands around her neck and constricted it. She began to choke, making pathetic gurgling noises. He kept holding her neck with force, until eventually, she stopped moving. His arms fell to his side as he panted in exhaustion. Her body laid atop his, almost like a ragdoll. He would try pushing her off, but there was no space for her to go.

He began to re-think his life choices, why he had even chosen Carrie. He knew she was sick. She had fantasies of eating people, it was disgusting. So why did he stay? Was it because he felt a connection toward her? Was it because she was similar to him? Was it because he was so hungry for the love that he desperately craved? He didn't know how to answer that one.

He didn't know how Carrie's sister would deal with this. Will she feel betrayed too? Probably not. Will she cry for him? Probably not. Will she forgive her sister? Probably.

He's lost track of time now, it's all a blur. Minutes can turn into hours, hours can turn into days. But the longer it goes on, the more weak he feels. He craves food, he needs water, he begs for it to be all over already. Her body reeks of death now. There's maggots crawling on both of them.

Maybe he shouldn't have ducked. At least he would be buried dead rather than alive. Maybe he should've walked into on-coming traffic. At least it would be painless rather than painfully suffering in a shallow grave. Maybe he should've overdosed on antidepressants. At least it would be over in a few short minutes rather than painfully waiting for that moment he so desperately wanted to come.

Maybe he shouldn't have gotten up from bed. He might've not met Carrie. Maybe he should've stayed with Calista, she wouldn't have killed him. Maybe he shouldn't have been born. He only brought despair with him. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten at that Italian restaurant. It gave him food poisoning anyway.

Maybe he should've stayed a zombie. It was all he ever knew anyway.

His eyes grew heavy now. The pain made his entire body numb. He was too used to it by now. He slowly sat up as best as he could, his back aching with pain. He gave Carrie, or what was left of her, a kiss on the head before he laid back down. Carrie's birthday had passed, he wanted to give her one last gift. He shivered. Was it always this cold? He knew it was too late for him now. He was so tired of lying to himself that things would be okay, he was so tired of breathing, he was so tired of thinking. His eyes started to flutter closed. This was it, the moment had finally arrived. Yet, he felt scared. He felt like a scared child. His vision became blurry as tears streamed down his face. He whimpered and sobbed like a baby. He thought it would be peaceful or even wanted. But he was scared. He was scared of what would come next. He knew he had one last thing to do before he passed on.

"I forgive you, Carrie." He choked out, his voice hoarse from crying and from being silent. He allowed himself to close his eyes.

For all his life, he had never been loved.