I am Dead, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it.

You and I are victims of the same disease. We’re fighting the same war, just different battles in different theaters, and it’s way too late for me to hate you for anything, because we’re the...

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover’s blood is running down my chin?

So when? You know things are moving. You’re changing, your fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?

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....

Even as I think them, the words lose their context, dissolve into grains of absurdity in the vast ocean of day-to-day hunger.

So if existence was just binary, dead or alive, here or not here, what would be the fucking point in anything? My mom used to say that’s why we have memory. And the opposite of...

There’s no benchmark for how life’s “supposed” to happen. There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, it’s up to you how you...

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys

You know things are moving. You’re changing, you fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?

Suddenly exhausted, she closes her eyes and slips into nightmares again. Graveyards rising out of the ocean. Her friends’ corpses in the light of their burning school. Skeletons ripping open men’s chests and crawling inside....

You won’t starve, R. In my short life I made so many choices just because I thought they were required, but my dad was right: there’s no rule book for the world. It’s in our...

My mom used to say that’s why we have memory. And the opposite of memory—hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.

Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you...

I should stitch my mouth shut. Honesty is a compulsion that’s damned me more than once. But I just can’t hold it in anymore. The words build and explode out of me like an uncontainable...

Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead?Or do we just have nothing left to say?

Sex, once a law as undisputed as gravity, has been disproved. The equation is erased, the blackboard broken

Deep under our feet the Earth holds its molten breath, while the bones of countless generations watch us and wait.

That’s why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.

Well we have to. We have to remember everything. If we don’t, by the time we grow up it’ll be gone forever.

Your dreamers. You ridiculous children. You dancing grinning fuckups. Here is your bright future. Your earnest, saccharine hope. How does it taste dripping from the neck of everyone you love?

You can order yourself to treasure a moment, to cling tight to a feeling and never let it fade, but it’s your brain, that three-pound lump of hamburger, that makes the final call.

I’d like to sit down with him and pick his brain, just a tiny bite somewhere in the frontal lobe to get a taste of his thoughts” -Warm Bodies

Nature is hungry. It is ready to take back what the man stole from it by living.

I have begun to wonder where I came from. The person I am now, this fumbling, stumbling supplicant… was I built on the foundations of my old life, or did I rise from the grave...

Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he’ll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I’ll introduce him to everyone, and...

She remembers sprinting over the thin after-waves that slid over each other like sheets of glass. When she ran with the waves it looked like she wasn’t moving. When she ran against them it looked...

The past is made out of facts… I guess the future is just hope.

Some part of me remembers what snow is, but this is the first time my new mind has seen it. It softens the crumbled sidewalks and turns rusty rooftops white. It’s beautiful. It crunches under...

She hugs me. It’s tentative at first, a little scared, and yes, a little repulsed, but then she melts into it. She rests her head against my cold neck and embraces me. Unable to believer...

What’s wrong with people?” she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. “Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. “There’s nothing left worth saying.

You should always be taking pictures, if not with a camera then with your mind. Memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.

I’m watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don’t deserve them. Her warm memories. I’d like to paint them over the...

…and we’ll see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.

The ethics of eating people are blurry at best in the fog of my undead amnesia, but I expect more for such a high price. What I want are the moments I will never have....

Was it just fear? the voices wonder. We were fearful in the best of times; how could we cope with the worst? So we found the tallest walls and poured ourselves behind them. We kept...

Good people see past their own fucking lives.

… we shoved out many hopes and fears into their hands, believing those hands were strong because they had firm handshakes. They failed us, always. There was no way they could not fail us –...

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

Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.

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.

My mind has cleared a little; I’ve regained some instincts and associations, echoes of the Living world if not actual memories. Those I still have to steal.

Maybe eventually winter will finish our job for us and end the world in ice instead of blood.

No hizo falta mucho para reducir el castillo de naipes de la civilización. Solo unas pocas ráfagas y pasó, la balanza se inclinó, se rompió el encanto. Los buenos ciudadanos se dieron cuenta de que...

It’s not about keeping up the population, it’s about passing on who we are and what we’ve learned, so things keep going. So we don’t just end.

…thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?

Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.

Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.