I was dismayed that I was fully awake. It’s like I had landed in a thriller. Slowly, things are building up as I shop for essentials. “Damn, allergies are killing me. I can’t breathe. Stupid mask!”
Soulless Ghouls in leadership kill the desire to live life–claiming they have the cure for death but never for passion. These Ghouls succeed in division tactics. It’s “us” versus “them,” the infected.
People slowly lose their humanity, eyes sunken, drunken with fear. People move slower and duller. It’s like I’m gliding across the store aisles in comparison. Their clothes are looser, slippers dirtier, dry faces, and oily hairdos—the stench increases. No amount of perfume or cologne can cover the fumes of terror.
“These infected. They’re killing us. Save us! Save us, Ghouls! Give us life back!” They chant in a frenzy, glassed eyes. They yell in my face, “Don’t think! Just do! Save us all! Save us!”