Undead Reflections

Caterpillars turn into butterflies. Ugly ducklings turn into swans. Then there’s me—undead. I’m not the only one who is undead. Everywhere I go, I encounter hordes of undead people. Yet I’m still alone. No one communicates anymore; all that escapes their mouths are grunts and raspy breaths, like a room full of smokers gasping for air.

Every day, I try to pick up fragments of my former life, piecing together memories of a world long gone. It all unraveled when a lab-grown virus, clumsily unleashed by a scientist with butterfingers, brought about the apocalypse.

First, you’ll cough and feel a subtle tickle in your throat, but by the end of the day, swallowing becomes difficult. It’ll feel like you’ve got a cactus lodged in your throat. Your body rejects all food and drinks. Three to five days later, you simply drop dead, but then you come back.

There are still a handful of survivors scurrying about. They run off and hide as soon as they catch sight of me. There’s one little creature that doesn’t run away scared from me. He follows me around, wagging his tail enthusiastically as he barks joyfully at my side.

Are you hungry, Buddy?

He barks twice and spins around.

I’m hungry, too. I crave something human: a hand, some brain, and fat. Rich. Buttery. I long for the human touch, and I see that the other undead do, too.

For now, I guess it’s you and me, Buddy.

Just you and me.

Writer's Note: I once had an idea for a zombie novel—a zombie becoming human again. It was going to be an existential story. I forgot about it and then years later found a few pages of my draft. I decided to just to do this short one. I don't feel like expanding it anymore. I simply lost interest and the excitement to write the story. I guess that's all just part of the creative process. Not every idea has to be a book.

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