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A zombie's existential crisis?User:Serprex 13:58, 6 September 2008 (UTC)
I am someone
I am someones?
But probably not
I (don’t) exist
Do I/you/we/they exist?
I’m not the one to answer such questions, if you don’t mind. I think I’d prefer to just keep sitting along, doing nothing
But then again, there is always the choice to not do that. Choices, do they exist?
I’d like to say they don’t. Then maybe it wouldn’t be my fault, but Universe’s
Shut up, I’m perfect. Except for everything, I’m perfect
I am me not you
You are you
If you’d mind, I’d rather not deal with this today
Awakened, I sleep in slumber. Where? Well here, I’d think. But maybe not. As a new arrival they had warned me about chattering with Universe, always not referring to it directly. Wills can shape our world, but whose will is stronger than Universe’s?
And so now I’ve fallen from Aether and entered the material world. From whence we came we may return. I’m a caged soul, and my vessel is buried. Except not anymore, since a most convenient force has lifted me from the soil. My eyes are missing, I suppose I wouldn’t want to see my rotten flesh though. It used to be beautiful, at least relative to what it is now
Lacking sight is a bit of a pain. My lacking a brain would probably stir most, but I don’t think I need it really. Then again, I probably do. I might want to figure out what is storing my thoughts, they have to go somewhere. Brains are pretty cheap, warehouse storage costs more even at the lowest of prices. Perhaps it is my own will? No, I’m not that willful. But perhaps amongst mortal men I am
So then there is the issue of heart. It seems someone had the joy of running off with it. Well, I’ll just have to will myself to move until I can come across someone who has a heart worth stealing. Or maybe I can strike a deal?
Alright, I’ll stop sitting around and thinking and start acting material. I am animate. I am Animate?
Yes, I am Animate. That’ll have to do for now. I’ll push the arms back (quite sore, I’ll not fail to mention) and push. Do I do it now? I could. Or could I? How predetermined are my choices? How constrained am I to this material world?
My thoughts of fate were cut off by a howl, perhaps I’d know what had howled if I had eyes. But I just heard the howl softening with distance as I raised myself. I’d best leave, I wouldn’t put it past Universe to raise me in a society of materialists that burn their fears
A few steps, and I hit myself into a tree. Was it a dead tree? Am I dead person? No matter, I needed to figure out what I was going to do. Why, all I did was deny that the conscious of a woman can’t mix with the conscious of a man without nullifying gender of the merged conscious. Universe is just a pout, locking me up here for disagreeing
A few more steps later, I tripped over a grave. It must of been my grave, because the fall was pretty steep. More than six feet, they must of wanted to make sure I’d never rise again. Who was I? Am I still who I was? Maybe I’d find out if I knew where my memories were going. But how does one follow their memories?
No matter, I’d have to find a way out of this grave. I walked along the perimeter and aligned myself to face across the shorter length. Then pushed my shoulders back and started stepping upwards. A few sore pauses later, I was at the top. It seems zombies still get tired, and I was in no mood to run into more obstacles. I crawled for awhile before resting behind a grave I’d bumped into. A few minutes, then I’d get around to finding a pair of eyes
I was awoken from my (unintentional?) nap by the muttering of hysterical voice(s?). I was still laying by a grave, but the voices seemed to over me. Out of reach, but I was sure they had their eyes on me. Perhaps there are no cyclopes because they’d have no eyes to spare for the less endowed. Would one of them willingly offer me an eye for not another eye? My attempt to ask didn’t come out as I had hoped, instead a moan croaked out from me and a yelp came from another
I staggered up, and held a hand out to shake. It was a universally accepted gesture of benevolence, right? At first I felt I had expected too much when I heard footsteps rushing away, but my hopes were fulfilled when the other’s hand grasped mine. I didn’t get to shake hands though, because a pain shot my arm and made me jolt, ripping myself from the arm that had given me pain. I guess I could do without, I had two after all
Seemed whoever I had thought to be benevolent found humour in my loss. I suppose an arm is worth an eye, so I decided to share in the laughter and swung my other arm at his face, hoping to claw an eye. My reflexes aren’t what I’d hoped, my arm was pushed aside and I felt another pain strike through me
The ways of material must of gotten to me, since I decided to react most rashly and leaped my head into this most rude person. They were caught by surprise, and the sound of them hitting a grave stone was audible enough for me to hear even through the pain my brow took from the blow. Was it this person I could not touch or was it persons I could not touch? The dead are not meant to mix with the living, I suppose. Would an eye ripped from this person be alive or dead?
The method of learning through experimentation isn’t always the best option, but it is when it is the only option. After hobbling over to the man, I braced myself as I gouged out an eye from him. The blood that spilt across my flesh felt like a stream of razors, but the eye itself felt hard and cold. Which seemed odd, since eyes should be soft and gushy. I rolled it around in my hand, it felt quite smooth. It struck me, I had just stolen this man’s glass eye. Would such a replacement do? I reached over and felt his other eyelid. Through the burning at my fingers, I felt nothing. And by that I don’t mean I couldn’t feel anything, because I could feel pain. I mean this man seemed to also be holding only a single eye, and this single eye I now had was glass. It’d have to do
I rolled it into my own socket and wondered if I could will such a transplant in such a weak form. I’d have to wait and see, but until then I’d have to try find somewhere else to go like I had planned previously, since I figured the man who ran was the same who ran when I first arose. And so I arose again, arm in hand
Why is it you follow me?
Then have I been cursed to experience this experience for you by proxy?
And so I have cursed you
Universe isn't the best choice to confide in, but it is always there to listen. I don't know if it ever tells one more than implications, but maybe that's just me. If Universe is all of us, who am I talking to?
The wind howls all around me. It is the one who blows away your wishes and hands them to the unworthy. Most people don't listen to it enough though, to all the voices it has stolen. It let's us know who we once were. Does it tell who I once was?
And that's where one has to tread carefully. How many secrets have been lost to the wind?
Always so concise, it never really lets you know what what means
Were you not, you'd be nothing too
An honest man is not a free man, he cannot say what he wishes to say
I am the dead man
If you're so wise as to who I am, then I entreat you to share why I'm bound to this loss of freedom
The wind grows and dies with ease, it never stays longer than it wants to. And sometimes we want to go with it, but it moves alone. Where am I to find my stead, unflowing as I am?
I am lost in this graveyard, only to be taunted by the wind. This fence I feel in front of me, does it hold no gate? It does not matter, for this cage would only open into another
Following the fence proved my wrong in that it had a gate. But the gate was barred, the coward must of taken precaution to leave his glass eyed friend with me. I was left with no stead, no place to hide. I was left to be in the open, to await judgement. And so I stood, at the ready
Ready for what? For judgement? Judgement for what? For existing? For having been forced to deny the sweet embrace of death? My being is my own, this gate is but an instance of what we think is. Is anything what we perceive it to be? We see what we want to see, our minds are not our own. But mine is, and I see an open gate. But of course, I don't see anything. The cold iron of the bars is a truth that to disbelieve would shatter belief in general. Is it then the nonbelievers that can see the truth about truth?
The gate opened. For the first time I saw with my glass eye, I saw glows of life. In front of me was a figure of red. It leaked into the darkness of my world, fighting to intrude into my own black glow. Echoes of words smeared my hearing while a solid pillar of red thrust itself at me. The fire of life burned me, and soon the red figure had embraced me fully. My soul almost fled from my carcass, and it would have, had Universe not tied it down so tightly
Are we just a dim spark in the shadows? Bright only from the darkness we're surrounded by?
Then what curse have I been reasoned to have?
"You are my serf"
And you are?
And have we drawn contract?
"Er, is that part of the procedure?"
Let's say it is
"Well, it'd just be a waste of paperwork"
I don't think it would be
"And what would you suggest?"
"You can't be serious"
"Are you implying that the value of your labor is equal to some person's brain?"
No. I'm implying that my labor is equal to your brain
"All the more unacceptable"
Well, what else do you have to offer?
"If you don't agree, I'll have you ripped apart"
To set an example for all the other zombies strolling about?
Then we agree, you have no threat against me
"I can cage you"
I'd rather sit in meditation than be set to continuous labor. Since it appears that you have nothing to offer me that you are willing to give up, I'll be on my way
"And what do you think you'll do elsewhere?"
"Wait! Step back! No!"
Having had my meal, I prepared to leave. It would seem I had been taken to a one room shack that carried a minimal set of things to toss around in my hands. My eye was blind to the inanimates that surrounded me, and so I could only feel their screaming faces. Screaming for me to hear them
The trees were soft blue imprints of green telling me where not to go. Ghost like, they were the inanimate animations. The material world must of been clawing itself into me when I reached out to touch one; the light became wilted
And then I felt myself strike against a gate. The graveyard wished me to return dead, and yet I couldn't. Somewhere, there was an answer. Was it here?
The bounds of existence are greater than inexistence. To not exist is to exist more than those who do? I came from nowhere to this island of somewhere. Who is to say the binding of this phenomena hold even here? He is she, for she is he who can be as she
Because that isn't why I'm here
The period of existing is a ruffle in the tapestry of one's existence. We exist forever before and forever after, until caged to this place. I was to be born, that is why you sent me here. Existence is where we go to give you a sigh of freedom from our conciousness. It isn't fair to condemn those who are not to being
Then why did you cage me here? The reasoning you imply didn't require such drastic measures
And I was sent to be born, but due to previous entrapments I've been able to weave through the clouded memories. Therefore, my error is in what your intentions are. You intend to give us the sigh of relief with existence, not being able to exist yourself
Then what? You are what exists and therefore you can only interact with us while in a state of inexistence? You want to be us, and therefore set us into a playpen to give you experience?
Well that's just selfish. Maybe I don't want to exist as your toy
Because there can be only one way to be
To not be is to be, for to not be is only to not be within your bindings
And then Universe went silent. It had given up, it knew I knew and I knew that it couldn't do anything about it. Who was I then to of left the workings for a phenomena within the phenomena of Universe? Perhaps the answers were there, somewhere