Living With The Dead

[Unpublished]


Darkness painted the sky a hideous black colour as I gazed through the window to observe that awful moment. I was not certain of what form it would take, whether it be a ghastly plague, or a huge explosion, or a long, slow and painful process. The warnings inside my head did not reveal such details. One thing was for sure though. I knew -- I just knew -- that on this day I would witness the end of the world.
It was a remarkable courage that compelled me to venture outdoors, and I stepped tentatively beyond the threshold of my home with my heart thumping with a severe dread. The silence was absurdly strange, and also frightening -- I could almost smell the evil quietness. My breathing was quick and hard, and I imagined that symptom to be a part of the wicked holocaust -- at least for the time being, I did.
A young girl in her early teenage years was walking on the opposite side of the road, the pale flesh of her legs evident in the street lights. Most likely she was returning home, and for the final time in her short life, I added. Returning home to face some kind of abuse, in one form or another. Yet she appeared quite normal, with no signs of distress at all. Vast torrents of no tears were streaming down her non-pallid cheeks, and her face was not twisted into a hideous contortion through an abundant physical pain. In fact, her face was as red as a rose, a perfect picture of health and innocence. I began to openly worry. Perhaps the results of the global catastrophe had not yet kicked in fully.
I wandered further, cruising the pavement and the horrid darkness, searching for glimpses of destruction and suffering. Heading my way was a man of similar age to myself, with the same bland expression upon his face, and I was horrified to discern that he was not screaming out in terror, his flesh not falling from his body like lumps of molten lava, his features not disappearing as those hot skin-cakes slipped on to the stoney ground around him. What manner of evil was I witnessing? The wretched messages I had received mentally, for all those years and years -- surely this had to be the end of civilisation -- it just had to be.
The coal-black sky was whispering to me, I was sure of it, telling me not to fret, telling me that the planet was being destroyed from within, from its very own heart and soul. I stared at the twinkling stars -- they seemed to be talking too, each sparkle a different word, each star a different voice. And at that point in time I was positive that my notion was correct. We were all dying -- all of us.
A thirtysomething woman was standing at the bus stop, erect and unmoving, gazing into space. She seemed distant, and not belonging to this world any longer -- she seemed taken. Then she spotted me, and smiled an artificial smile, her eyes clinging to mine, just for the briefest of moments. Did she know, too? Did she possess the same knowledge as I, the knowledge that some unbidden atrocity was approaching? Or was she merely another lost and lonely soul upon this earth? Her blue eyes were glazed, like tiny crystals, and were sparkling in similar fashion to those distant stars in the sky above. Yet she sported no apparent discomfort. Those eyes were not flopping loosely from their sockets, her delicate fingers were not hanging horribly like long streaks of burnt salami, detaching themselves from her hands and dropping to her feet to form ugly brown worms upon her shoes. These things were not visible -- they were not happening!
I strained my ears to listen out for more sounds, more messages inside my head, but they were not there. It was as if sound itself was a naked void, vanished completely from the earth. I observed my own hands, felt my own face, looked at my own reflection in the light of a store window. I was not affected either -- at least not yet. There was still time though. Or maybe I was immune? Maybe I would be one of the few survivors of this massive holocaust. I sincerely hoped that I would not be.
The last night of the century. Indeed, the last night of the millenium. People were already heading for celebrations and parties, for singing and drinking, long into the night, toasting the dawn of a new millennium -- or to be more precise, the end of the world! I shuddered at such a thought.
Disrespect has a lot to answer for. I believe this is the major cause of all today's evils. Lack of respect for people, for property, for emotions, for feelings, for life -- even for death. The planet has reached its final tether, its toleration has reached breaking point. Mankind is already being crushed and squeezed to a rotten pulp by -- well, by itself. A self-inflicted destruction, and no less. Yes, you'd better believe it.
Two youths were further down the road, drinking from bottles of beer or lager, noisy and boisterous. They finished their refreshment and, without an ounce of respect, tossed the empty bottles into someone's garden. Again I was puzzled, for they were laughing and shouting, instead of yelling and screaming in horror as their skin bubbled into lumps, before their bodies exploded in front of them, revealing their hissing, steaming innards in vivid colour, the blood and bile splashing on to the pavement before them, causing a stinking mess in the light of the moon. None of this happened. In fact, as I continued my travels, I detected not one single iota of a world ending. The blackness of the night bore no indication of doom or terror, and I was thunderstruck.
It was not meant to happen this way. The world was supposed to end.

Here I am, alone in my bed, naked and exposed. I reflect on the events of the evening, or to be more precise, the non-events. Those strange voices had been so sincere, I could not understand it. I was convinced that the planet would be destroyed by some cold, lurking evil, smashed into oblivion by an unseen force, the entire population reduced to gruesome blobs of awful-smelling flesh and blood and bone. It seems that life has triumphed -- it seems that the evil of life is far greater than the evil of death. What a world in which to live and die!
I glance sideways to the bedside clock, and discover that the time is now 00:06. Six minutes into the new millennium. Celebratory singing and shouting can be heard from outside in the street, intoxicated voices crying out in the darkness of night. They could have all been lying dead at this moment, silent and still forever. Life is certainly a weird yet chilling experience. The end of the world -- it ought to have occurred. However, as far as I'm concerned, it already has. Long, long ago. We are all dying, every one of us. Hell, we are already dead. Living, breathing zombies all. Didn't you know?