Chapter One
I try to use as many weird and wonderful words as possible. I want to be able to describe and innovate feelings you didn't even know you had.
Limbo at Dusk
The weirdo's rant
There are lots of different ways of coping with hating what you are.
You could kill yourself.
You could change yourself.
When a zombie loses all hope, they turn into a boney.
When a zombie want to change but still has regret, they turn into something else.
Like me.
I'm different from zombies.
I'm paler, if that's possible.
You would be too if all you ate was blood and water.
It's hard to maintain a complexion on that diet.
It also doesn't help that I rarely go out during daylight hours.
I hate the sun.
It illuminates all the misery in the world.
I like the dark because I'm so full of fear that I can't remember how distraught I am.
I imagine my heart beating, filling me with an inexplicable sense of clarity. As though I'm being shaken by every cell of my being. I want to feel my place in the World. I want to know I'm here. Sometimes I'm not sure if I've dreamt myself up or not.
The closest I get to that feeling is when I watch illumination filter out and fade.
My favourite time of day is dusk.
The sun dies over the world of futility and becomes my playground instead.
All mine.
I'm like a pitiful queen who reigns over nothing but shadows.
I'm alike to what I was, but there are a few factors that make me unique.
I can run, unlike zombies, but I can barely feel the wind blowing against me.
I can talk, although I have a bit of a lisp concerning my teeth.
They're not necessarily longer than normal, but I've worn them into a point and I can whistle through the gaps.
I can think, but that's a curse.
It keeps me somewhat human and tempts me with hope; only to remind me that I'm a freak. Monster. Undead. Predator.
Even though the people I bite don't turn into anything. Or maybe they do. They seem fine to me, but I don't watch them for very long.
The zombies can change and accept life again. I'm stuck in a putrid limbo; I'm neither, I'm nothing.
I don't have a heartbeat but I can feel heartache.
I hate the sun.
It forces me to see what I can't grasp.
The rays hit me and it hurts.
Physically hurts me.
Light so pure it seethes me with guilt.
I want to talk to someone.
I'm so lonely I miss people I've never met.
I dream of people I've never seen.
They say those who you see in dreams, you've met sometime in your life.
Everyone in my dreams faces me, watches me, but has no eyes, no face, no breath, no warmth. I just stand in the middle of these things.
Waiting.
Waiting for one of them to touch me.