The Living Dead

Christopher D. Eldridge © 2000

It's amazing how fast your life can change. Eternity is now but an instant. The blink of an eye. The moment before a scream. One never believes in such things, in such horrors, in such mind twisted games. Even now the blaring horn screams in my ears--it is the only sound in my world ...

Their voices sang out to me, a trio of disharmony calling out to be saved. But he would not have it, for his archaic scythe found its mark:

Little girl, so innocent and pure, mangled by the metal legs of man; a greed-driven wealth on rubber wheels guided by an intoxicated hand. Quick and easy it peeled the skin from the rabbit’s back, cooked the flesh upon the bone. All the while writhing still alive. The hunter danced through the living grass. His sharpened blade felling everything in sight.

Growing boy, so potent and unaware, broken by the crystal eyes of man; flying through a world of shattered hopes once clear, now dressed in sanguine garb. Like razors it kissed your skin, red lips upon flesh. It was there to meet you--the black breast of civilization, of unity and communication. There to open your thoughts, to spill the contents of your mind.

Aging woman, so loving and adoring, crushed by the protecting arms of man; life collapsing upon you, smothering your flickering flame. Crimson words flowed from your mouth--your utterance of goodbye. Our breath quenched like a spark beneath a storm.

My world is the white I stare into every day. Memories are my only sight. Motionless I lie, feeble and useless. Machines are my breath, my brain, my life. The ambience of pain is no longer in the body, but in a representation of the mind.

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