Fragmented.
Most moments feel the same,
But sometimes, they do not.
Sometimes, you feel that shift.
You have been here before.
You know these streets.
You know these signs.
Don’t you?
You get a call.
You recognize the name.
You don’t know why.
What is happening?
You are lost.
You see a shop.
You walk inside.
It will be okay.
That’s what they say, at least.
You will be okay.
You will get through this.
You breathe.
In.
Out.
Shouldn’t you count?
One.
Two.
Where are you?
A loud noise.
You look up.
You refocus.
You smile.
A man across the street chases a dog.
You have been here before.
You know these streets.
You know these signs.
Okay.
Alright.
Okay.
It will be.
#prosepoem #rambling #mentalhealth #okay
Silence
This isn’t like the movies.
That’s all that has been going through my head for the past few hours. There’s no apocalyptic chaos; it all looks the same. I look out my window and see what I’ve seen my entire life— well-kept lawns, parked cars, leaves falling from trees. The only noticeable difference is the absolute, overwhelming quiet. No birds chirping, no cars speeding down the road. Before today, everyone associated fear with screaming, banging, anything; no one could have ever predicted this terrible, mind-numbing quiet.
The reason for this silence, I assume, is fear of being found. The creatures— calling them zombies doesn’t truly capture how terrifying they are— can hear the slightest movement. Entire cities have been destroyed because of a single person making the smallest sound.
I haven’t heard from my friends or family in hours. Contacting them would be too risky, and admitting that they might not be safe makes this all too real.
No one was prepared for this. Escape is not an option. They are not slow, like many believed they would be. They are fast, faster than anything I have ever seen. Humanity is trapped, and all we can do is hope and wait, engulfed in the deafening silence.
The Cold
The first thing I noticed was the cold. I was alone, or at least I thought I was, until I felt her.
She turned to me; I could feel her eyes on mine. My heartbeat increased. It wasn’t fear, or lust, or anxiety. It just was.
She sat by me for hours, not saying a word. It was strange, she was strange. I couldn’t put my finger on why.
We talked a little, but she didn’t seem to know much. Or maybe she knew too much. It was hard to tell.
When I left, I didn’t say a word. I almost squeezed her shoulder, but part of me knew I shouldn’t.
It took me months to accept the truth, but I now know what that night was. What she was.
He was looking at me; I was looking at him. I wondered if he knew. He had to know.
No one had talked to me in years. I would sit there, in the same place every day, but no one ever attempted to acknowledge my existence.
I never asked his name, and he never asked mine. After hours of silence we began to speak about anything but ourselves.
He left when the night was over, no goodbye, no indication of an intention to return. I haven’t seen his face in years, but I still think about him sometimes, still wonder if he knew.
Did he know I was dead?