Life is a desolate trail through winding woods which ends where death begins. Straying from the trail is not an option. However, changing the direction the trail takes certainly is. Change is something we all do with each passing moment whether we want to or not. We change everything. We change our socks, our hairstyles, our cars, our lovers, our futures. We change the fabric of time by simply existing.
The only thing that is certain is that that trail is always beneath our feet, and we'll eventually run face first into the inevitable dead end our trail has chosen for us. That will never change. Life ends. People die. We walk alone down our desolate trail trying to find ourselves along the way.
I've been back on the move for days now with no sign of "life" anywhere. Not so much as the slightest hint of steps left to be taken by anyone. My trail has to have ended by now. It's obvious I'm stuck in some sort of pointless limbo. Walking this damn trail with no end in sight makes me no better than those shambling pieces of meat I'm constantly "killing." Who did I piss off to make me the only one on Earth with a path connected in a circle like a child's train set? No one deserves to walk their path without occasionally crossing over someone else's, and stopping for a little chit chat.
I haven't seen another human soul in weeks. No men, women, or children fighting for survival. Just death. Walking dead, running dead, rotting dead, feeding dead, and everything in between. Just death in its most horrible form. The moving kind.
I thought I ran across a small group of livers a couple days back, but as it turned out they were in the process of turning. All of them sitting on the front porch of someone's mansion with the oldest strapped to a pillar snarling at everything. I considered approaching them to ask what was going on, but decided to watch from a distance. Their veins were popping, eyes glazing, skin paling, and bite wounds bleeding. Each of them had taken turns being brunch for what I assume was the father and grandfather of the group. They chose to turn. Chose to run away from life, and give up.
As I sat there staring from the road I realized this was the way they'd changed their paths. Rather than letting the path choose its own end as they fight to survive; they took the easy way out, and hoped for it to be quick and painless. I knew from watching the death over the years that it was never quick and painless, but horrible and nearly endless. I began to walk to the house and offer them the easy way out, but I realized it was what they chose for themselves. People have a tendency to make horrible decisions.
What sort of person would I be if I tried to change someone else's path? I sat back down and stared as they slowly transformed from what they once were to what they would become. Watching their faces contort and seize as it took place. Watched their eyes bulge from the sockets as blood ran from their nose and mouth. I let them feel every ounce of pain they'd brought upon themselves. I let them walk their path without crossing mine, and once they'd finished turning I killed every last one of those stupid mother fuckers.