Understand
The floorboards squeaked their dying squeaks as I approached the old door - that served as a rather discouraging entrance to my equally old apartment - all splinters and cracks, sticking a little as I attempted to silence my visitor by finally opening it to meet them face to face.
Who came around at three in the morning, anyway?
A few weeks after it was over, I started this diary.
Today, he is gone from my life. Today, she has disappeared, gone to God-knows where (but I'm certain she's still alive. I get letters, sometimes). And they don't bother me any more.
For the longest time, I tried to convince myself that it was all a dream. Perhaps because everything I'd been taught was proven wrong by the end of the entire... misadventure. When that didn't work, I was left with looking back on it all; trying to decide whether all the choices I made were the right ones.
Were they the right choices, diary?
...
I opened the door after a minute of incessant knocking, my delay caused by my inability to wrench myself out of bed seconds after being cruelly torn from sleep's warm embrace.
Yeah. I was poetic like that.
The floorboards squeaked their dying squeaks as I approached the old door - that served as a rather discouraging entrance to my equally old apartment - all splinters and cracks, sticking a little as I attempted to silence my visitor by finally opening it to meet them face to face.
Who came around at - I spared the clock a quick glance to see how late, or early, as it turned out, it actually was - three in the morning, anyway?
As soon as the door creaked open, my eyes were met with the light brown of a tweed jacket. And my first thought was 'how damn tall is this man?'. Without tilting my head up to meet his eyes, the action seeming beyond me in my half-asleep state, I asked him, "Whut-... Uh, what can I help you with?" I tried, in all honesty, not to sound as annoyed as I felt after being so rudely awoken, and failed spectacularly. My narrowed eyes betrayed by forcedly calm voice, annoyance restrained because all of those damn courtesies enforced by society and the neighbourhood I lived in, 'don't be a jerk even if someone is being one to you' being one of them.
Who was I not to follow these rules that stopped people from punching each other in the face?
And then, I finally lifted my head to meet his eyes with my own, trying to convey my irritation with a suitably indignant glare.
Yet my glare fizzled out before I could even properly stare into his... eye.
As in, singular 'eye'.
The other one was hanging out of its socket, and as if compelled by my gaze, fell out the minute I laid my eyes on it. One of his hands reached out to catch it, but moved too late and soon, a soft 'splat' was heard.
Was it still rude to stare if the thing you were staring at was most definitely a figment of your imagination?
Taking a step back, I swallowed and took in his overall appearance. With his skin a sickly green colour, that gaping eye socket staring right at me - gaze long enough into an abyss and the abyss will gaze back into you, I guessed - and his other eye glazed over and milky-looking, I figured I must've opened and closed my mouth enough times to express my speechlessness three times over.
"Yeah. Yeah... no. This isn't happening."
I was very surprised by my ability to process the sight - not many people saw a dead man standing before them, even if it was nought but a dream - of a zombie looking calmly, patiently at me with one working eye as he lifted the other back into its socket. Maybe it was because I were convinced that it was all the workings of my horror movie addicted mind.
A humming noise escaped him as he began to rock back and forth on his heels, his working eye turning towards the ceiling for a split second before he regarded me once again.
The silence was uncomfortable, to say the least.
"It is." he said, tone even and collected and not at all like I imagined a walking dead man talking. None of the rasping or growling of a zombie from the movies. Then again, maybe he differed from them, considering the fact he wasn't lunging for my throat, teeth ready to be sunk into my brain. To be honest, he looked bored.
"Uh." because what could I have possibly said at that exact moment, when this apparition - I wasn't ready to admit he was anything more than that - was contradicting me?
Perhaps my subconscious trying to tell me something. According to psychics and all their weird little beliefs, I was probably repressing some childhood memory or something of that sort.
To be honest, I didn't really have time to consider that thought, as the zombie was already barging into my apartment, one firm hand on my shoulder pushing me aside.
"O-oi!" I protested, albeit weakly.
He turned to me and any further objection I had on the tip of my tongue refused to leave my mouth, squished under the force of his gaze.
"Uh. Right. F-fine." I said instead, moving to perch lightly on my couch after I closed the door, running my hands over my face and through my hair, the beginning of a headache poking at my brain. "Who... who are you?" I questioned, "Why are you here? I mean..." I sighed. "Do you even own a watch? How are you even alive, anyway?" away from the border between the uncomfortable wasteland of the hallway - where the tenants loved to hate each other with silent glares and daggers shot across the room over silly disputes - and the warmth of my apartment, I could feel comfortable in telling him off for waking me up at such an ungodly hour.
He made that humming noise again, squinted slightly, clearly considering his answer. "First I find it appropriate to apologize for awaking you at this time. It all just blends together for me." he said, and even though I assumed that any human would shift or fidget under the stare of the person they were apologizing to, he remained perfectly still, towering over me even more when I were sitting down. "Second, it is impossible for me to give you a name. Third, I find myself requiring your help. Four... I do not know."
I failed to understand reasons two and three, though I accepted the first and fourth with a slight nod of my head. As my headache grew, I found myself not caring about his explanation for how he came to stand before me. 'Why' was most important at that moment. "I... I'm confused." I admitted, and it seemed that that was enough for him to start talking again.
"Understandable. I assume you are still disoriented." it was unnerving to watch him stand there, perfectly still; like some sort of stone statue. In all my encounters with people, no one was able to just stand and talk without moving at least once, or tilting their head, or shifting a hand or foot. Though I assumed that no one could just calmly place an eye back in its socket if it happened to fall out. "I am not able to provide a name because..." it was the first time I heard him hesitate. It was the first time that, though this hesitation, I saw a glimmer of humanity within this walking corpse. And it made me even more nervous, because I could not see this as a dream any more, yet were too scared to confront reality.
Zombies were not real. It was just another truth. Like 'there is no Santa Claus', or other depressing things parents had to, sooner or later, tell their children. "Well," his voice brought me back to reality, and I turned my head to look at him once again. "I cannot remember it. My name."
"Oh." between this news, the fact that one of those undeniable truths of the entirety of my adult life had just been crushed and, oh, the sight of a zombie in front of me, which was still rather shocking, articulating my thoughts seemed a little difficult. "I'm... sorry?" my brows drew together in slight confusion; how apologetic should one seem when told that someone had forgotten their name?
"Oh, don't be. I'm... fairly certain that as my brain deteriorates... never mind." the sentence coupled with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he soon continued, and because thinking about the implications would make my head hurt, I waited for him to speak. "Now. Your help."
"Right. Yeah. Help." seemed that I couldn't help but talk in fragmented sentences. Perhaps they'd been shattered by the awkwardness of the situation. "Spit it out, then."
"As you can see... I'm not exactly alive. In the physical sense." he said, eliciting another nod of understanding from me. I figured if I humoured all this, maybe it would go away all the sooner. "I am less than capable of doing more than... shuffling about. Talking. My reflexes are similar to the ones of a dead cat. And it seems that some... people," the pause made me wonder about just how human these 'people' were, considering my present company, "Are hell-bent on making me as dead as I'm supposed to be. I'm somewhat of a failed experiment, you see, and they don't appreciate failed experiments running around."
I raised an eyebrow. What he was saying, and the way he looked at me, implied that I were to help him without question. A stranger. With these 'people', whoever they were. Whatever they were.
I could find no reason to say yes.
"What do you need me to do?"
Today, he is gone from my life. Today, she has disappeared, gone to God-knows where (but I'm certain she's still alive. I get letters, sometimes). And they don't bother me any more.
For the longest time, I tried to convince myself that it was all a dream. Perhaps because everything I'd been taught was proven wrong by the end of the entire... misadventure. When that didn't work, I was left with looking back on it all; trying to decide whether all the choices I made were the right ones.
Were they the right choices, diary?
...
I opened the door after a minute of incessant knocking, my delay caused by my inability to wrench myself out of bed seconds after being cruelly torn from sleep's warm embrace.
Yeah. I was poetic like that.
The floorboards squeaked their dying squeaks as I approached the old door - that served as a rather discouraging entrance to my equally old apartment - all splinters and cracks, sticking a little as I attempted to silence my visitor by finally opening it to meet them face to face.
Who came around at - I spared the clock a quick glance to see how late, or early, as it turned out, it actually was - three in the morning, anyway?
As soon as the door creaked open, my eyes were met with the light brown of a tweed jacket. And my first thought was 'how damn tall is this man?'. Without tilting my head up to meet his eyes, the action seeming beyond me in my half-asleep state, I asked him, "Whut-... Uh, what can I help you with?" I tried, in all honesty, not to sound as annoyed as I felt after being so rudely awoken, and failed spectacularly. My narrowed eyes betrayed by forcedly calm voice, annoyance restrained because all of those damn courtesies enforced by society and the neighbourhood I lived in, 'don't be a jerk even if someone is being one to you' being one of them.
Who was I not to follow these rules that stopped people from punching each other in the face?
And then, I finally lifted my head to meet his eyes with my own, trying to convey my irritation with a suitably indignant glare.
Yet my glare fizzled out before I could even properly stare into his... eye.
As in, singular 'eye'.
The other one was hanging out of its socket, and as if compelled by my gaze, fell out the minute I laid my eyes on it. One of his hands reached out to catch it, but moved too late and soon, a soft 'splat' was heard.
Was it still rude to stare if the thing you were staring at was most definitely a figment of your imagination?
Taking a step back, I swallowed and took in his overall appearance. With his skin a sickly green colour, that gaping eye socket staring right at me - gaze long enough into an abyss and the abyss will gaze back into you, I guessed - and his other eye glazed over and milky-looking, I figured I must've opened and closed my mouth enough times to express my speechlessness three times over.
"Yeah. Yeah... no. This isn't happening."
I was very surprised by my ability to process the sight - not many people saw a dead man standing before them, even if it was nought but a dream - of a zombie looking calmly, patiently at me with one working eye as he lifted the other back into its socket. Maybe it was because I were convinced that it was all the workings of my horror movie addicted mind.
A humming noise escaped him as he began to rock back and forth on his heels, his working eye turning towards the ceiling for a split second before he regarded me once again.
The silence was uncomfortable, to say the least.
"It is." he said, tone even and collected and not at all like I imagined a walking dead man talking. None of the rasping or growling of a zombie from the movies. Then again, maybe he differed from them, considering the fact he wasn't lunging for my throat, teeth ready to be sunk into my brain. To be honest, he looked bored.
"Uh." because what could I have possibly said at that exact moment, when this apparition - I wasn't ready to admit he was anything more than that - was contradicting me?
Perhaps my subconscious trying to tell me something. According to psychics and all their weird little beliefs, I was probably repressing some childhood memory or something of that sort.
To be honest, I didn't really have time to consider that thought, as the zombie was already barging into my apartment, one firm hand on my shoulder pushing me aside.
"O-oi!" I protested, albeit weakly.
He turned to me and any further objection I had on the tip of my tongue refused to leave my mouth, squished under the force of his gaze.
"Uh. Right. F-fine." I said instead, moving to perch lightly on my couch after I closed the door, running my hands over my face and through my hair, the beginning of a headache poking at my brain. "Who... who are you?" I questioned, "Why are you here? I mean..." I sighed. "Do you even own a watch? How are you even alive, anyway?" away from the border between the uncomfortable wasteland of the hallway - where the tenants loved to hate each other with silent glares and daggers shot across the room over silly disputes - and the warmth of my apartment, I could feel comfortable in telling him off for waking me up at such an ungodly hour.
He made that humming noise again, squinted slightly, clearly considering his answer. "First I find it appropriate to apologize for awaking you at this time. It all just blends together for me." he said, and even though I assumed that any human would shift or fidget under the stare of the person they were apologizing to, he remained perfectly still, towering over me even more when I were sitting down. "Second, it is impossible for me to give you a name. Third, I find myself requiring your help. Four... I do not know."
I failed to understand reasons two and three, though I accepted the first and fourth with a slight nod of my head. As my headache grew, I found myself not caring about his explanation for how he came to stand before me. 'Why' was most important at that moment. "I... I'm confused." I admitted, and it seemed that that was enough for him to start talking again.
"Understandable. I assume you are still disoriented." it was unnerving to watch him stand there, perfectly still; like some sort of stone statue. In all my encounters with people, no one was able to just stand and talk without moving at least once, or tilting their head, or shifting a hand or foot. Though I assumed that no one could just calmly place an eye back in its socket if it happened to fall out. "I am not able to provide a name because..." it was the first time I heard him hesitate. It was the first time that, though this hesitation, I saw a glimmer of humanity within this walking corpse. And it made me even more nervous, because I could not see this as a dream any more, yet were too scared to confront reality.
Zombies were not real. It was just another truth. Like 'there is no Santa Claus', or other depressing things parents had to, sooner or later, tell their children. "Well," his voice brought me back to reality, and I turned my head to look at him once again. "I cannot remember it. My name."
"Oh." between this news, the fact that one of those undeniable truths of the entirety of my adult life had just been crushed and, oh, the sight of a zombie in front of me, which was still rather shocking, articulating my thoughts seemed a little difficult. "I'm... sorry?" my brows drew together in slight confusion; how apologetic should one seem when told that someone had forgotten their name?
"Oh, don't be. I'm... fairly certain that as my brain deteriorates... never mind." the sentence coupled with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he soon continued, and because thinking about the implications would make my head hurt, I waited for him to speak. "Now. Your help."
"Right. Yeah. Help." seemed that I couldn't help but talk in fragmented sentences. Perhaps they'd been shattered by the awkwardness of the situation. "Spit it out, then."
"As you can see... I'm not exactly alive. In the physical sense." he said, eliciting another nod of understanding from me. I figured if I humoured all this, maybe it would go away all the sooner. "I am less than capable of doing more than... shuffling about. Talking. My reflexes are similar to the ones of a dead cat. And it seems that some... people," the pause made me wonder about just how human these 'people' were, considering my present company, "Are hell-bent on making me as dead as I'm supposed to be. I'm somewhat of a failed experiment, you see, and they don't appreciate failed experiments running around."
I raised an eyebrow. What he was saying, and the way he looked at me, implied that I were to help him without question. A stranger. With these 'people', whoever they were. Whatever they were.
I could find no reason to say yes.
"What do you need me to do?"
1 Comment
This is so well detailed. I love this :D