The notion of causation can be so fascinating. There I was, skeletal frame hunched over this laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating my saggy face like a campfire, staring into the false company of the clumsy words my clumsy fingers clumsily produced onto the screen. I had positioned myself onto the floor in a manner that mostly resembled sitting; the laptop rested on a coffee table I had been using for my latest in nonsensical jibber-jabber, and I was tap-tapping a broken melancholy rhythm in my continued effort to elude the ever-oppressive weight of silence, the latest work in my episodic series of despair. Woe is me. Occasionally I would pause and glance over my shoulder – entirely illogical, but necessary to ensure the absence of any nosy observers secretly imposing their curiosity on my disjointed discourse – before returning once again to my somber dialogue, grumbling about my involuntary reclusion from the confines of this voluntary cage. It was raining, as I recall, appropriately at that. Such perfect symbolism: the brooding cumulonimbus skulking across the sky, blotting out the sun with its bulbous grey form, saturating the city with its lamentations.
The sun rose, as the sun is wont to do, and the clouds parted to reveal its divine glory. Then I watched Eduardo’s head explode from my window, his body left as a mid-morning snack to those fortuitous enough to drag their corpses to his location before getting distracted by some other noise or sudden movement. For me, curiosity prevailed – at least, I believe it was curiosity that compelled my brief outing, I cannot identify any other potential reasoning – and I made my way to the dismal scene where, by happenstance, I collected Eduardo’s driver’s license… curiosity again? Upon my return – for a bird must always return to its cage – I propped open the three-ring binder that I had previously discovered and slid Eduardo’s license into the slot next to where I had placed Gordon’s, and it was at this moment that Gordon’s address caught my eye…804 N Tausick Way, #51B. Odd that. Quite the coincidence for the body of a man with such an address to be face down in the kitchen of 51A… Compelled once again by curiosity, I lurched toward the door to have a quick peek into the unit adjacent to my own. Upon jostling open the door of 51B – a notable accomplishment might I add – I was immediately engulfed by a proper torrent of memory. But that moment of sparkling clarity drained just as quickly as it flooded my mind, and I was left staring into the hopeless eyes of Gordon’s starving obsidian feline.
Things have now come full circle, and I find myself once again positioned in a manner that mostly resembles sitting… but now with mops, mop buckets, and various cleaning chemicals all strewn about. Somehow, in my pursuit for sustenance (of the kitty-cat variety), I have managed to find myself in the janitor’s closet of the grocery store across the street from my apartment where I watched Eduardo’s brains splatter, which I determined I would then investigate for some reason, which then lead me back to Gordon’s apartment where I discovered a malnourished Shilah-cat. And now here I am… probably hiding from the undead; the chain of causation is truly fascinating.
Now, in my defense, it really is quite jarring to hear their ghastly exhalations ring through the aisles, so gravelly and pained, disrupting what was expected to be an expedient and uneventful solo-mission. Although I may be devoid of all emotion, I seem to have retained the ability to exercise reason, and I have reason to be uncertain of those creatures. They cannot be trusted, regardless of my own similarities to them. Just listen to them, bellowing senselessly, and running into things carelessly, sniffing around looking for trouble. I’ve no reason to believe that I am safe to walk among them. I must devise a plan.