The zombied forms shambled down the otherwise deserted street, the sky above, mighty with the coming storm, was a swirling mess of glimmering white and dull, dark greys, and the wind was a-rustling with deepening roars high above the ruined city. Electrified, one could taste the lightening in the air, feel the rain that had not yet fallen, and dream—I could not but dream—that the gods were coming, the raging forces man long ago personified, the deities of the storm, Zeus or Thor or…but I could name no others immediately.
Did those senseless things share any sympathy with man? Had they, like me, a fire of old paganism burning in their dreamings? Had corpses dreams? Did one or another of those shamblers glance up with those glassy eyes in wonder and fear and a dreadful longing? Had I any companion, even among the dead, who felt alive with the enchantment?
The first flash, and the rolling thunder, and the zombies wandered on in a hunger that could not be satisfied. I too, I felt, at least here, that we shared still some piece of human nature, for I hungered, desired, wanted with a devouring fire, something; though I did not search for it as they, grasping and gnawing and killing, I was just as ready as they to tear the world apart.
My heart ached as the echoes died, and I waited to hear again the voice of God. The rain splattered against the high, hotel window, and I thought of my own loneliness in this world of ruin and death and despair. Another flash, and I did not have to wait long to hear—more than that, not just to hear, but to have it, sense its magnitude inside me—the thunder. My own eyes joined the sky’s torrential downpour as I prayed to God for death.
And the streets grew wet with the rain as the dead shuffled on in mindless misery. The drops could be seen in a few still functioning streetlamps, but the sound, the consoling music, the beating, rhythmless din, comforted me into an uneasy sleep untroubled by dreams. Now and then, the thunder brought my mind back to the quiet room, to reality, to the nightmare, and my heart plead with God in its wordless and inexpressible desire ere I sunk back under the dark surface of oblivion.
“I want to go home.”
Tale Told 