You know that feeling, when your dreaming, but partly consious? You hear the phone ring, but it's not important, and it's no where to be seen. You hear vague voices, and car engines outside... and in your dream you get into a white-wall tired blue Cadillac. It's... a feeling of distance, like everything is an echo.
Every day I wake up missing that feeling. I miss sleeping with the window open, and hearing the paper get here. Hearing my neighbor leave for work on his totally-badass Harley.
Today I woke up and it was just the same as the day before. Silence. Wood on the windows and bookshelves in front of the doors. Locks. Making my house seem like a hollow, fucking sad excuse for a home... even though it's filled with all this .. stuff. I've lived alone before. I've sucluded myself with my depression. But it's never felt like this.
This isn't depression.
This is just every day life in our fucked up new world.
I pulled the planks off my bedroom window, smoking a cigarette before even standing up. No flesh eating assholes waiting for me, but one in the lawn. My neighbor, the leader of the "Community Committee" is no where to be found... which would've been strange just a few weeks ago.
I'm just assuming it was his blood all over the drivers-side door of his car, still left ajar.
It used to be so beautiful. I never appreciated it. Not even for a fucking second, man. But the trees on the side of the houses, and the rickety old fences have always had their charm. Now... not so much. There's blood in the grass.
Zombies in it too. Wearing their sweaters and their pearls. Seeming only a step away from the pathetic old folks they'd been when they were alive. Living in a retirement community always seemed like a bad thing, but now it's almost a blessing. If corpses could move any slower, it would be these 90 year old women, I think. These men with their clean white hair peices, now all bloodied and useless.
I put the boards back up just because I want to kiss the cats goodbye before leaving.
I'm not afraid.