I have seen dead people walking, animated by activities and goals, but who barely resemble humans—humans who deeply feel and care for one another. They offer fake smiles while rotting with malice, ready to twist stories to feed their endless hunger for power. Villains are the heroes in their stories. They were like zombies only there for the taking, but of course, they looked nothing like humans who are kind and merciful and loyal. They appear alive on the surface but are emotionally unavailable, feasting on your vigor.
They would demand your participation, “Give me your time, energy, and emotional resources,” being authority figures and people you trust but who turned out to be self-serving and indifferent to your well-being.
They want you to be like a robot, available 24/7 like you’re undead too, and take it out on you when you are not. Seething against their teeth, they say, “Rest is for the weak,” or “You no longer own your time.”
As long as they benefit from you, feeding off your life and consuming what makes you human, you are a useful prey. Once you no longer serve their purpose, you become useless carrion.
People dead inside are liars and thieves, no matter how alive they may seem. They’re also contagious. Spend too much time around them, and you start to feel dead inside too, feeding on drama and tarnished reputations, as if people are no longer human.
And like any zombie apocalypse survivor will tell you, sometimes the only way to save yourself is to run.
Inspired by a vivid dream I had that left me waking up tired one afternoon.
jessa 