Zombie Nation

16th February 2009

Dear Reader,

I sat at lunch that day and even though I saw the ease of contempt at my broken innocence, I felt hate. I had a strength that knew no apparent bounds and instead of wanting to lash out at that instant, I knew I had to make my mind sharper, to make it glisten like polished steal on the battle field. Yes, brute force would come in handy, but the mind is the hilt that entwines the providence of the blade with the searing ache of the flesh. I would stop at nothing, my adversaries would know the exponential rate of my wrath, and I would be a god amongst men.

With the incredible strength, came a mind that melded to any situation. Maths, English, trigonometry, algebra and second languages became like soup to a starving child. I was a sponge that soaked up everything. The classroom lost its appeal as I became more knowledgeable than the teacher; I had surpassed them and proceeded to learn from my new masters that taught me at the local library. I would sit in class, staring into oblivion as I studied the contours of the mountains; I would watch as the kids kicked the ball and scrutinize its parabolic events before rolling to a standstill. My mind was becoming an untameable beast and at 15 my body started to follow my minds lead. I had started to shake off the scrawny exterior and awaken within me the monster that was clawing at the chance to raise its ugly head. With a new body emerging from its miniscule cocoon and a mind that would tear apart the mythical beasts of old, I inscribed the following passage onto my heart:

You all walk, you all talk, and you all subscribe to the falsity of your faculty to think. You are bonded by a social conscious to live a life destined for the mundane; you have become a zombie nation. You say you rage against injustice, but you don’t even know the meaning. The 10,000 fists that rise against a haunting picture on the television is not justice, the media induced sickness that fills the air is only but a taste of the putrid truth. You fight for what you know not, and sit idle at the wailing of your own decay. Humanity dies here with the sacred tear of the lilium as its only toll.

As the night once again weaves its spell of dimmed light over the roof tops, the dancing mirages wave their fabricated images above the landscape encapsulating the very truth of this city; the lives herein are the forced movements of a silent puppeteer.

And I have waged war.