Dead Windows

In the end...

Chapter 1: Life of the Living Dead

      They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I wonder what people see when they look into mine. Can they see the emptiness, the pain, and the darkness? Does anyone see death through my windows? That's what I am, dead! My windows are dead! This is the story of how I died. I know you are probably thinking here we go again. Unlike other stories that start this way, my body was never taken from the earth. It’s the rest of me that ceased to exist.

      I can't remember the last time I felt alive. Not physically, emotionally, mentally, nor spiritually. I'm a walking shell of what used to be a person. I'm hollow. I don't think anyone sees it. If they do, do they not care, or do they steer clear out of fear or lack of knowledge of how to bring me back from beyond? Am I viewed as a personal pandemic, a contaminant? Are people afraid if they get too close to me they will catch my disease? They should steer clear and be afraid. Covid 19 has nothing on the sickness that dwells in me.

      Zombies are real, to an extent. I know because I am one! Unable to function on my own, walking through life without purpose, without feeling, without actually being. I feed on brains, am drawn to life, to the living. I'm much like a succubus, yet my prey isn't asleep, merely, blinded by my shell. I can feel their energy, see their souls, and I want to take it into myself, not realizing I'm draining life, trying to replenish mine.

      Once I have fed enough, unlike a zombie, I try to restore the life and energy I stole back into my victims. But you can't! I'll never be whole again and neither will they. I wish it was easy to explain how I became a member of the living dead or even when I realized I was one. The worst part is knowing there's no cure in sight. Walking dead isn't a disease like cancer and AIDS, they aren't even trying to find the antidote.

      Do you want to know what happens to zombies? We get avoided, committed, locked up with others like us, and overly medicated to become a new breed of the undead, a super breed. That's what I am right now. I'm a super brain chasing, life-sucking, soul-stealing zombie, but now I'm too anesthetized to know it or care.

      Over the past two years, I've tried to kill myself nine times. Every pitiful, desperate attempt was a total failure. You can't kill what's already dead. Damn, wish I would have known this sooner. So, what's a poor, dead girl to do amongst the living, knowing there's no place for her in society? How do I go through life in human skin without a soul? How do I coexist with humans now when I could barely manage when I was one?

      Isolation only makes me and my darkness, my pain, and emptiness fester and grow into a deeper hunger. I've tried to eat away the pain, but my appetite is insatiable. Drowning my sorrows only leaves me feeling like I'm stuck at sea with no boat or life jacket, and I can't swim. Narcotics help, oh, do narcotics help! Until the realization hits you that you can't be high forever, or you'll lose what little is left of your humanity trying. Believe me, I've tried!

      I used to be full of love, hope, passion, and empathy. I used to be a butterfly in the city, which is basically a fish surrounded by sharks. Without me even realizing it, I was attracting zombies. They were drawn to my brain, my light, and my life, like I am now, to others. The first one bit me, but I got away. I started to turn, somehow, I stayed me. The second one bit me harder, multiple times, and I remained half-human. I fell in love with the last zombie and I offered myself to him again and again, to be devoured, knowing what each bite would bring. I became totally transformed and welcomed it. Each bite hurting more than the last, though you'd think one would get used to the pain. It's like his venom became stronger as I grew weaker. He was my maker, much like a vampire. I gave him life as he gave me death, but still, I never felt dead enough. I yearned to be dead like him, but I began to long for the life I left behind. Hell, I'd settle for life.

Chapter 2: Losing Myself

      For the longest time, I thought being thrown into the world as a woman with no sense of self and lacking the required skill to make me a productive, functional part of society, was the worst thing that could happen to me. Nothing prepared me for true, unbridled love. I just happened to fall in love with a monster. He took me, all of me, sucked me dry, then constantly left on his quest for light and life. Darkness never seemed so dark, lonely never felt so lonely. I felt desperate, depraved, and despair.

      Kept away from the world with such desires and hunger and nothing to feast on but myself. That's what I began to do, sucking myself into a black hole, needing my maker to guide me or set me free. I received neither. Who knew this is where love would lead me? Alone and starving, while he gets his fill, his fix, his fuel wherever he can.  I want just one bite, one brain to make me feel alive for a moment, one soul to conquer and own, one moment where I get to fulfill my new purpose. All I want and need is my maker! But what use is the dead to the dead? I'm just another zombie trying to steal his next meal, since my dead body, blackened heart, lifeless mind, and corrupted soul can't nourish his primal needs and desires.

      I never imagined wanting to be like him would make me lose him. I could never fathom the thing I most desired would drive us into competitors, not compadres. So many things I wish I would have foreseen. So many things I'll never be able to undo. After all, there is no way to bring the undead back to life. Why would you want to? The risk of not knowing whether the zombie will be wholly healed, what the zombie may or may not remember, and the potential outcome should outweigh the selfish desire to restore them to their former selves. It's unintentionally cruel.

      When all you're worried about is your next meal, life is so simple. When you're being deprived of it, it gets slightly more complicated, to say the least. Have you ever seen one zombie movie where the zombies didn't move together, after the same person, or towards the same sound? Have you ever seen one lone zombie trying to go rogue? Of course not! We weren't designed to work that way. Imagine how I feel, quarantined, to starve to my second death. I've lost my soul, never to have another. I've lost my life, cursed to live in death.

Chapter 3: Chrysalis

      Things weren't always so complicated, though, they were far more complex. Before my transformation, I was so carefree. I was a free spirit trying to find my path in life. Gravitating towards the unknown, always on a search for adventure. My soul was beautiful. I wanted to save the world one person and one creature at a time. Even more would have been great if I could have figured out a way to reach the masses. Simultaneously, I was a spoiled, selfish, egotistical, bratty bitch who hated people and society. I know how I describe myself is a contradiction on many levels. That's what I am though, a living, breathing contradiction, and the epitome of Murphy's Law.

      Today, all I want is destruction and dysfunction. It's who I am now! The girl I once was is not the woman I am. Normal is a relative term, it all depends on your perception. These days, I'm not sure if I fit any version of normal, and I'm not sure I want to. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I ever did. I am so jaded, broken, and topped with eccentricities that I'm completely on the other side of the spectrum.

      What the movies don't tell you is real-life zombies don't look like the creatures of fiction. disguised by practice and practicality, zombies have adapted to look just like the rest of you. Look around you and in your life. Anyone you see or know could be a zombie, waiting to take all you have to offer. Maybe you already know a few. Perhaps, you are one. The signs are there, they're always there. Just much harder to see if you're not healthy.

      At first, I think I had immunity to these beings. The bites stung but there wasn't much effect to them. Regardless of how many times I was bitten, my brain remained intact, my soul stayed pure, and my heart radiated light. Their best efforts getting them nowhere except distanced, disliked, and eventually deserted, but now, disserted. Why this last one, though? Why was he so toxic? Why were his bites so effective? What was it about him that made me crave to become the one thing I avoided being? Why was he so unwilling to finish the transformation, to make me like him? I'm not sure I'll ever know the answers to these questions. If I did, would it bring any satisfaction? Would it be a chance to undo the damage caused? As I said earlier, I'll never be the same again, but neither would they.

      Doesn’t the walking dead have a part of them that still thirsts for life, like me? Or have they been dead so long they’ve forgotten the beauty of the world and the beauty locked away in them? Their windows are dead, too. Maybe they have been zombies so long the beauty inside them died long ago. Do they not realize they're a walking path of destruction? By chance, they gave up hope for restoring humanity in themselves, thinking, knowing, some things don't change.

**I hope you enjoyed what I shared. Stay tuned for more! (All the details of how I ended up there)**