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 itโs against etiquette to notice when one of us dies. I distracted myself with some groaning.
Isaac MarionShe gathers my half of the blankets around her and curls up against the wall. She will sleep for hours more, dreaming endless landscapes and novas of colour both gorgeous and frightening. If I stayed she would wake up and describe them to me. All the mad plot twists and surrealist imagery, so vivid to her while so meaningless to me. There was a time when I treasured listening to her, when I found the commotion in her soul bitter-sweet and lovely, but I can no longer bear it.
Isaac MarionThe shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.
Isaac MarionNow Iโm just standing here on the conveyor. Along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy. After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesnโt lurch or groan like most of us. Her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her. That she doesnโt lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her.
Isaac Marion