I didn’t know it would be like this,” he says in a whisper. And then: “I’m scared.

That's what Zombieland is: frozen, calm, quiet.

They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.

There is nothing else for people to do. They do not think. They feel no passion, no hatred, no sadness; they feel nothing but fear, and a desire to control. So they watch, and poke, and pry.

I start to back away before I do something wildly inappropriate, like jump on top of him.

Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.

I thought the Invalids were beasts; I thought they would rip me apart. But these people saved me, and gave me the softest place to sleep, and nursed me back to health, and haven't asked for anything in return. The animals are on the other side of the fence: monsters wearing uniforms. They speak softly, and tell lies, and smile as they're slitting your throat.