It's more eerie to be alone in a city that's lit up and functioning than one that's a tomb. If everything were silent, one could almost pretend to be in nature. A forest. A meadow. Crickets and birdsong. But the corpse of civilization is as restless as the creatures that now roam the graveyards.

The moment the light went out, everyone stopped pretending.

It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.

I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?

We will cry and bleed and lust and love, and we will cure death. We will be the cure. Because we want it.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.