Thus Spake the Zonbi - Alexander Dougal

An Empty Vessel

I don't know how to feel about you. Your existence was needlessly terminated and I watched it all. I should have feelings about what I saw. I should be horrified, angry, stricken with grief, something, but there are only ponderings. Why is it that I feel nothing? And yet, I felt some inclination to come see you, one which I cannot explain. There I was, slinking across the parking lot as you had done but moments before, hovering over your corpse, looking down on your frozen expression of bewilderment, forehead dripping like a leaky spigot. On second thought, I'm not so sure "slinking" is an accurate description of my trek; "floundering" is more appropriate, but I digress... I have thoughts, but they are only thoughts; mechanical. They lack spice. They're flavorless. No wait, it's more like... hmm, there is no pizzazz, no passion, no "oomph"... Alas, it would appear that I am uncertain how to properly describe "feelings", but I am certain in that I do not have them. It would also appear that I am quite fond of the excessive application of quotation marks. Was the impulse to come see you a "feeling"? I will have to think more on this.

A yellow blanket spilled out from the top of the backpack now hanging limply at his side, soaking in the red moat surrounding his body. I knelt beside him as gracefully as my body would allow, that is to say, with no grace at all. I pulled open the backpack to inspect the items that the woman deemed unworthy for looting: empty mason jars, twine, a Bible, a crusty teddy bear holding a plush heart inscribed with the word "love" in front of his chest, all resting upon various articles of tattered clothing. I lifted the bear from the backpack and caressed it with my hand, brushed it along the length of my forearm, rubbed circles on my cheek with it, trying to imagine how the texture of the fabric might feel, trying to comprehend the comfort that such a simple object provides, trying to understand how this thing could send grown men and women into spirals of longing reminiscence. How could I know this? Do my memories linger in the darkness?

There was an empty baby bottle tucked behind the teddy bear; how predictably cliché and utterly heartbreaking, at least, that is the sentiment that I imagine one would apply to such a discovery. A flock of birds scattered almost cinematically from a distant treeline; a low murmur reverberated from down the block. Ah yes, of course, the sound of the gun. I suppose the impending horde is one of inevitability. I stood up and turned to make my way back to my apartment. I'm not really one for crowds -- but wait... what's this? A wallet?