I woke up.
But that's not the whole story, is it? Waking up isn't as simple as blinking your eyes and stretching your limbs. No. When you wake up dead, there's a lot more involved.
First, there's the smell. It hits you before you even know where you are, or even who you are. It's the smell of dirt, decay, and... something else. Something that makes the air taste like iron, even though I can't taste anything anymore. At least, I think I can't. I've forgotten what it's like to have taste buds that matter.
I open my eyes, and the world is a blur. The sun's too bright, or is it the moon? Does it even matter? I can't tell. Maybe I was never meant to tell. I'm on the ground. No, not the ground. The earth. The earth where the dead rest. And yet, here I am, trying to... exist.
"Exist"—what a strange concept. I should probably be dead, shouldn't I? I mean, I am dead. Or was, at least.
I sit up. My bones creak. My joints... don't move like they used to. Not that I remember what they used to feel like. Maybe I was a runner? A swimmer? Who knows. All I can feel now is cold, stiff fingers and an aching emptiness. It's not hunger. It's more like a gnawing desire to be. But even that feels irrelevant when all you can do is... exist.
I look down at myself. The tattered clothes that barely cling to my skin. Oh, right. My skin. Or whatever this thing is. It's grayish. Pale. Like a corpse. I guess that's what I am now.
I... I should scream. But I don't. Screaming takes energy, and I don't have the luxury of energy anymore. What I do have is confusion. Anger. And something else—curiosity.
Where am I? Who am I?
The questions swirl around in my head like a tornado. I try to focus, but... it doesn't work. All I get is this fog of memories that feel both close and distant, like they belong to someone else. Maybe they do. I don't even know my name. But I'll figure it out. If I can.
A low moan echoes through the air. I turn my head sharply. Another one of them. Another one of me. It's stumbling toward me, its hollow eyes fixed on something—probably food. I should be afraid, but strangely, I'm not.
I stand, my legs wobbling under me like a newborn deer. The other... zombie, if that's what I'm supposed to call them, gets closer. It's groaning, dragging its foot across the ground. Its face is a mess of rotting flesh, and it reeks of death. I should be like it, right? I should want to tear into its flesh, to consume. But I don't.
Instead, I reach out, and I touch its shoulder. It stops moving. Slowly, it turns to face me. Its eyes are vacant. Empty. There's nothing left there. Just the mindless hunger. The gnawing urge to feed, to tear into whatever's alive.
Except... I don't want to do that. Not yet, anyway.
It snarls, but I don't flinch. I just stare at it. And for the first time since I woke up—since I became... this thing—I feel something. It's not hunger. It's... confusion. The same confusion I felt when I first opened my eyes.
I don't belong here. And I don't belong with them.
I don't even belong in my own skin.
But I'm here. And I'm alive—or undead, whatever you want to call it. The question is... now what? What happens to someone like me? Someone who's stuck between life and death, and isn't sure they want to be either?
As I look around, I see other figures in the distance. More of them. A few are dragging themselves toward some unseen source of life. Others are wandering aimlessly. It's a broken world, full of the broken.
And then, I hear something. A voice.
"Are you lost?"
I turn to see a girl standing a few feet away from me. She doesn't look scared. Not like most humans would be. No, she looks more... interested. Almost curious.
Maybe she knows the answer to my question. Maybe she can tell me why I'm here.
"Who are you?" I croak, my voice rasping like gravel. I don't even know why I bother speaking. But I do.
The girl's eyes narrow slightly, and she steps closer. Her eyes are clear. Alive. Her clothes are ragged, but she stands straight. Almost like she hasn't lost anything yet.
"I should ask you the same thing," she says. "But I think you're not like the others."
I blink at her, confused.
"Not like the others?" I repeat, trying to piece together her words. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs, as if she's not entirely sure herself. "You don't look like a mindless eater. You... think. And that's not something I've seen in a long time."
I feel a shiver run down what's left of my spine. Think. Yes. I think. And I want answers.
I want to know who I am. Why I'm like this. And most of all, I want to know if there's more to this world than what I can see around me—a world full of the dead, where everyone just... drifts.
The girl steps closer, tilting her head as if studying me. She raises an eyebrow.
"Come with me," she says. "I think I know someone who can help you."
For the first time since I woke up, something inside me stirs—a desire, a pull, something faint, but real. A spark of purpose.
Maybe this is the start of something.
Maybe this is the start of the end