I came from the realms of the undead.
I am still conscious of my being, but just can’t seem to move, say anything nor do anything. I haven’t seen the brightness of day for quite sometime.
Personally displacing myself from the sunny south, I had come to a chilly state, a welcoming and albeit a refreshing change of environment.
But roaming the new city every night, night after night, took whatever strength I had left in my decaying corpse.
Each morning, just when I’m about to glimpse the very first ray of the mighty sun, I could feel my very own weakness. Such a pathetic vulnerability. It was my personal cue to head back to my conveniently unmarked desolate crypt in the northwest.
The coldness of my chamber is a perfect fit to my frozen state of consciousness. Or should I say unconsciousness. The icy water falling from the cedar tree just outside keeps on creeping its way unto my underground cabin. It had kept my usually uncovered white feet seem like covered in frostbites. But nevertheless, it had kept my senses numb, to which I receive with such delight.
Better to stay away. Away from the outside world that, despite its hypocritical qualms about saving itself, had kept on destroying itself. I want no part of it.
I had been alive before. Truly alive. I had more blood pumping inside my veins than your average blood bank could store. By will alone I had thrust too much testosterone in my body that I was able to duplicate myself into several beings. By cloning myself and living several lives all at the same time, I tried my best to save the world.
I wasn’t alone. We were many. But we were not enough to save it which is inevitably on the path to destroying itself, and the rest of us with it. Our efforts were ineffective and nevertheless useless. Because however way we tried to save others, we knew for a fact that we could never save ourselves.
It was just wishful thinking. That saving them would be our ultimate saving grace. There were no guarantees. We were doomed no matter what. No matter how many lives we try to save, there were just countless others who strayed.
Ultimately, when the time comes and I could see the end, or the new beginning, perhaps then… and only then, shall I resurrect myself and rise from this dark and desolate fissure of undying pessimism.
But for now I would rather remain. Undead.