None Believer

I have never been a believer in the supernatural. My sister’s call me a realists, I say I just see what’s there. Which is basically the same thing I know, but I have never liked the word “realists” it reminds me of a self-centered prick. I like to think I’m not one of those. My sisters, on the other hand, can be argued upon.

I’m also not the type to write diaries or journals. Really, it’s whatever you want to call it. However, Mom is acting weird. Now, usually this isn’t a concern. My mother, Rebecca James, has dived a little too far into her delusions with the aid of Vicodin and alcohol, so as the oldest and only boy I have accepted the responsibility of taking care of her and my three sisters. 

Terilynn, my youngest sister, is gone. Nailah and Elin are in hysterics and Mom has not moved from her spot by the window in quite some time. She continues to stare at the...thing that had grabbed Teri from us only hours ago. If I crane my head, I can see my little sister’s body twitching on the ground, arms up in the air, jaw moving. I wish Mom would stop looking.

“Urien,” she speaks now, my name a stranger on her tongue. I ignore her. “Nailah, Elin, Terilynn.” She’s going through the list. Nailah pulls a sobbing Elin close to her chest and glares at Mom.

She’s always been a quiet girl, one that has loved books more than boys or popularity. For a fifteen-year-old, popularity seems to be big too. So, I am surprised by the sudden bout of aggression she shows.

“Why? Why? Why?” Mom’s whispering again. She places a hand on the window which draws the attention of the thing outside of the house. I don’t think she sees this...person[?], but Teri laying, forgotten, on the ground. I want to get up, but I cannot find it within myself to move from my own position. All I can do, is write about our fate and hope it’s all a dream.

Zombies is such a weird idea. There’s so many flaws to them, so many theories that cannot be true. Nailah insists there’s no other explanation though and I don’t have any good replies to her superstitions. The man outside is a good copy of the beasts we have grown up watching through a screen. He doesn’t have an arm and the skin that clings to him is held on by scraps. He is, literally, made out of skin and bones. I cannot help, but think that Teri will end up like that if we leave her body out there with the man.

No, I do not believe in the supernatural.

But, maybe, I should if we’re starting to eat one another like monsters.