Phosphenes

Existing not living

   The zombies. Creatures of the lost.
Of lifelessness. They're everywhere. They crave not brains, but the very thing that destroys them.
  The boxes. The emitters of false light and sound. The ones that manifest stolen pictures from the real world, and present them as their own.
   The undead specimens. They're on the bus. On the street. In my house. They gaze all day long into the captivating devices with glassy, far-away eyes. They forget the world around them.
     They consume the dark magic the instruments conjure. They are not alive nor dead. They are merely there. They exist but cease to live. They are concerned with only what goes on inside a box of metal, and wires. The images that draw them in and eat away at their minds, taking them further and further from living.
   When the objects aren't present, the creatures' eyes are forced toward reality. But the eyes are tired, and the life has been stolen from them. They don't want to look at anyone, or interact in any way. They are ravenous for more. More of something that contains nothing. An entity that gives off only pretend fragments of existence. The stolen shards connect to put together a copy of what could have been a true experience. Those shards were taken from the real world, a real moment. They were broken away from the moment and forced back together on a screen.
   There is a realm outside the glass. There are people who want the damaged spirits back from their world of nothing. People who want them to look at them again, with eyes that used to shine with life and interest in reality. Eyes that loved to focus on others more than an empty box. Glistening orbs, that stared at the world with desire for adventure beyond the crystal surface of an implement.
   They have forgotten what it's like to be alive. To live. To feel their heart come alive in their chest as it pounds from running. To feel the wind on their face from a walk in the park.
  They continue to eat up the lies of the instruments and the fake world it presents. They let their minds fade away. They choose to live their lives in a detached haze, gazing into a void.