I am dead. But it's acceptable. I've agreed to the rotting skin and deteriorating bones. I understand what I am. But it's something I never want to be. Maybe I am blind to death. I cannot see what it truly means anymore. Because I've died twice.
But it's okay. I've agreed to live undead. But starting all over is hard. It's like walking into high school on the first day and being clueless. Speechless. Possibly amazed, but I don't think I can feel that in this state.
As I ponder over my new existence, I feel a rough slap on my shoulder. My heavy eyelids flutter open and I am greeted by a blonde woman. "R…" She says softly, her voice shielded and melodic. I realize she's trying to keep me calm. I realize too late. I spring towards her, feeling the immediate pressure of a gun on the back of my head. But it does not go off.
I am nameless again. I am displeased and empty. My mind is broken. I am lifeless.
A girl hovers over me and smiles. Her mouth opens again and words flow out. I hear nothing besides the underlying, scratchy texture of overused vocal cords. She speaks again, her lips moving in union with words I can't grasp. But I'm hungry. My throat burns with such intensity it could trick me into thinking I just devoured the sun.
She is whispering now, her pale fingers curling and weaving throughout my black hair. She bends down and whispers into my ear. "R," the young girl croaks. It is the only letter I capture. I groan, my stomach churning at her scent. I feel her breath on my cheek, but I do not feel the heat as much as I would like. It feels numbing.
She rests her forehead on mine. "R," she repeats, the strength I had detected in her voice earlier nearly gone. She's near tears. "R, you idiot. Answer me." Anger. She's angry.
I am missing something. There are things just not adding up.
"You kept promising to keep me safe, so can I return the favor and help you, Mr. Zombie?" She murmurs, staring directly into my eyes expectantly. But what am I supposed to offer? I can't move, I can't react. I'm paralyzed. I'm dead, possibly in transition. But my eyes are open. She knows I am aware. I can focus and blur my vision at will. I can put color to colorless things.
But I'm hungry still. A scent too strong clouds my nostrils and infiltrates my mouth. Not a scent, something stronger than that. An essence. Flesh. Blood. Meat. A life force.
I cringe, my eyes moving to the girl's face. Tears leak from her eyes, slipping down her dirt stained cheeks in streaks. Her blue eyes are freckled in a golden yellow, and in their glassy reflection, I can see my own blue, freckled golden, eyes fading. They turn a deeper grey.
Her lips separate as if she wants to say something, then snap back together. Her eyes glue onto mine. Her dark blonde eyebrows push together, wrinkling her forehead. I study her face; every pore, every scar. Every speck of dirt, every crease made from stress and worry. Every laugh line.
I find myself wondering who she is.