Zombies

I have to get out of here.

I don’t know how I wound up here, but worse, I don’t see a way out. I am surrounded by others in the same situation, but they don’t seem to care? They move along through their day, it seems without a single thought regarding our situation. Is that what will become of me? It can’t be. I can’t allow that. I need to get out.

I’m not sure how long it's been, and to be entirely honest, I can’t even tell you how I got here. I remember it, but I don’t have the words to describe it. I couldn’t breathe, and then I was all wrapped up, and then I was dumped here.

Perhaps I shouldn’t complain. They feed us regularly, they keep us comfortable. Is it so bad?

No, I can’t think like that. Of course it is. They kidnapped me! And I can feel their buggy eyes staring at me. What do they want? If I do the right thing, will they send be back? I can’t imagine, since no one I’ve seen here has ever left.

I tried to hide for a while, ducking behind trees or into dark corners. What was the point? It isn’t like there was an escape hatch in any of those places. Is this all that’s left for me? Being watched, pointed at, mocked for the rest of my days?

I can’t fathom how they benefit from keeping us all prisoner. It seems like an awful lot of work to keep us all fed and comfortable when they don’t receive anything in return. Do they receive anything in return? What could it possibly be?

At first I was terrified. I assumed I was done for. Maybe that would have been better, but I refuse to wallow. My misery is not unique.

Meal time. We all fight over the food. There is no need, we just can’t help it. There is always enough, although it is never anything particularly appetizing. And it is always the same. Still, we fight over it. It’s the only time we feel anymore. We’ve had to conjure up ways to feel like we’re still alive, because surely this can not be a life.

I’ve heard tales from the others about when they first arrived, how they felt the same as I do now, how they tried to hide, escape, cope. The ending is always the same and I am losing hope that it will be different for me. How could I accomplish what no one before me ever has?

All day my mind volleys – keep fighting, give in, keep fighting, give in. How long can I keep this up? How long before I turn into another zombie with nothing to live for except daily laps and fabricated conflict?

I suppose it doesn’t matter. If I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped here, I certainly won’t be able to keep track of time any better once I have finally given in.

There are no clocks here because time doesn’t matter. If nothing changes, is time even passing?

I can feel myself fading away, just like I can feel their eyes on me, watching as it happens with not so much as a speck of concern or sympathy. They are monsters finding joy in the suffering of others, and we are powerless against them.

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“Look at the pretty fish, Mommy!” The little girl, wide eyed, points and taps despite the sign requesting that guests don’t touch the glass. She tugs on her mother’s jacket with excitement. It is her first trip to the aquarium, and she is mesmerized.