The Letter

My name is, well I actually don’t remember my name. Nor much of my life before…
The people here in this house call me Mister Zed.

I held a deskjob. Every sunday I was at church, with a woman and a child. Perhaps my family? I firmly believed that I was going to go to heaven after my death.

But instead I did horrible things with horrible people around me. Maybe they see it the same way? It ate flesh from the living. The fear, terror and pain contorted faces of men women and children rush through my memory like flashes in a thunderstorm. Most vividly I remember an old man, he was in an alley. Other undead rushed towards a shooting while I walked to him.

Later something from my memories as a living, breathing person urged me to follow my own path.

I had not eaten in a long time and that bird looked tasty and tempting. But it would’ve been to fast for me to catch, so I left it alone. That was a few days before this amazing thunderstorm! As an undead you don’t fear thunder, nor lightning. You watch nature unfold in all its beauty and terror around you.

The furnace.
I thought about ending my wretched existence, the furnace was functioning and I could’ve done it. But the fascinating beauty of the flames made me stop.

I want to see more, I wish I could still smell or taste.
Or feel.
Even when I stiched my jaw back together I barely felt something.

But my one good eye still sees. And it will see!