Warm Bodies Ended Up Becoming One Of

What's The Point Of Trying To Fix A World We're So Briefly In?

My "heart". Does That Pitiful Organ Still Represent Anything? It Lies Motionless In My Chest, Pumping No Blood, Serving No Purpose, And Yet My Feelings Still Seem To Originate Inside Its Cold Walls. My Muted Sadness, My Vague Longing, My Rare Flickers Of Joy. They Pool In The Center Of My Chest And Seep Out Of There, Diluted And Faint, But Real.

Deep Under Our Feet The Earth Holds Its Molten Breath, While The Bones Of Countless Generations Watch Us And Wait.

Last Winter, When So Many Living Joined The Dead And Our Prey Became Scarce, I Watched Some Of My Friends Become Full-dead. The Transition Was Undramatic. They Just Slowed Down, Then Stopped, And After A While I Realised They Were Corpses. It Disquieted Me At First, But It’s Against Etiquette To Notice When One Of Us Dies. I Distracted Myself With Some Groaning.

What A Massive Responsibility, Being A Moral Creature