I am dead

I am dead. I haven’t always been dead. I was born alive to zombie parents but I slowly became dead once I was a little older. My zombie parents raised me as their own kind even when I wailed, ate, slept and carried on as a human. Zombie-kind was always good to me because of how I was protected by others. By this structure of zombie-run society, I was able to create my own identity and be free to express myself in any way I choose.

My mother, May, often called out my strange obsession with creating lists.

I’d sign my lists to her often. Her gray eyes gleamed a prideful light.

“Bexley, I can’t help but wonder why you create such detail in your day. We do not need such intricacies. We merely work, rest and pay our dues. This is the way it’s always been,” mother signed back.

I signed furiously, “I fear that I had a rising feeling growing, mom. It’s always been inside of me.”

“What’s the feeling?” She asked, signing in a curious expression.

“It is something opposite love but the feeling is there alongside it. I think it is a very strong, gurgling sound inside that sounds like thrashing, pushing, yelling…” I signed, looking down embarrassed.

She pushes some stuff off a table harshly. I feel a bit startled as it falls with a crash to the ground but don’t move an inch. It’s a moment of silence between us until she signs to me with wide eyes.

“Does it feel like that?”

I nod. She hugs me tight, I hug her back.

It is not right that I am dead but I feel so much. I wish the feelings were flushed away. But I have to own it. I must carry on.

My father, Bud, weighed in, “This is anger. Humans feel like this. As you once were human, you feel pain and sadness and anger like them. But I believe this will make you stronger than ever. The anger will give you passion. And passion will lead to change,” he signed in a very animated manner, almost dancing.

Being undead is quite like life. You must stay muted for polite society to remain in its good graces. We were middle class citizens with decent houses and a degree of freedom. We all must stay in line to keep our families safe. To keep us all in our positions.

I found my extension of family with my now husband, Stan. He was human when we first started dating but he turned zombie when he impulsively kissed my lips. I still remember the tangling, tingling sensation of his warm embrace in my cold arms.

Humans have fears. They have anger. I know this. They are subjected to being treated like nothing as they live in bunkers, caves and the underground tunnels.

I am dead but I am not free of feeling.

I must fight for those disenfranchised and those who need help. Zombies go through their undead life going through the motions and retreating into their safe spaces of nothingness. I can see how pretending that things are okay just because you are personally unaffected is easier.

But I do not want easier. I want pain, I want agony, I want anger. Yes, for my unborn child, I want it all.

I can’t stand silence when brutality is amongst my line of sight. I once told that humans were evil and brutal beasts. That was why we had a peace pact with them but also why they had to be hidden in the shadows. Away from us classy and dignified zombie folk.

I have been dead. I have been alive.

I have chosen now, to live.