The Beautiful Dead Read Online Free PDF

creamer. I don’t know what that means. It’s raspy, but flows like
silk off his tongue. Maybe he was an actor when he lived, or an orator. Perhaps
a poet. That feels the best, calling him a poet.
    “Do you like
poetry?” I ask him.
    His face
narrows for one perplexed moment. “I do.”
    And with that,
I agree to let him escort me to my quarter, which I learn is the first, west
end. We carry on with small talk where I make quite sure not to ask too many
questions regarding my New Life. I don’t want to talk about those things …
Worrisome thoughts about what’s different, what’s lost, what’s never to be
again. Instead, I want to feel normal for a while. I want to forget where I am,
and assume that I’m on a very long vacation and have run into a nice,
attractive man with which I’m enjoying a simple conversation.
    It helps.
    When we walk
past a restaurant, I have to stop and laugh. A restaurant, when we don’t eat
and have no need for food. I ask to go inside, curiosity taking the better of
me, and we seat ourselves at a table in the back. Idly wondering why anyone
eats or drinks, I come to the conclusion that everything in this world is
indulgent. People drink not from thirst or necessity—they do it just because
they can. Same with eating. They pretend, like they’re replaying their lives. I
wonder if they miss the people they used to be … If they even remember them.
    Finally we
make it back to the cul-de-sac. There’s my little squeaky house, just as I’d
left it. I have no idea how long I was out and it doesn’t matter. Time has no
relevance anymore.
    I wonder if it
ever did, even when I was alive.
    Grimsky has a
curious reaction. “ This is your house?” When I nod, he bursts out
laughing, then says, “So you’re my new neighbor??”
    I blink. “New
neighbor?”
    “That’s my
house,” he says, pointing. “Right there.”
    I stare at the
house right next to mine. I’ve not been very observant, clearly. Until now, I
hadn’t a moment to notice that, of all people, it was my cliff-savior friend who
lived just next door.
    “What are the
chances,” I say, genuinely surprised. “On that first day when you brought me
back, we parted ways before reaching my house. Otherwise we would’ve learned we
were neighbors sooner.”
    “Better now
than never. I wouldn’t have made a good neighbor if I let you sit in that house
for all eternity.”
    I smirk at
him. “Either this is a pretty remarkable coincidence, or you’re a not-so-subtle
stalker.”
    “Yeah, that’s
it. I moved in next door so I could make sure you don’t run off to the cliff
again.” He laughs. I try not to, hiding my face. “So tell me, did you enjoy
your tour of Trenton today? I would’ve taken you earlier, but you seemed a
little ... ah ...”
    “I’m still
adjusting,” I explain, excusing him from having to describe my clearly sulky
and despondent nature. “The people are … interesting. Though I haven’t much
else to compare it to, come to think of it.”
    “There’s
plenty to compare it to,” he says. “There’s a lot more out there you haven’t
yet seen, Winter. Places left behind by humankind. I can’t wait to show it to
you someday. The world’s changed since we were alive—whenever that was.”
    I sit in the
rocking chair on my porch, which creaks under my weight. “So what happened …?
Did the zombie apocalypse come and go and the zombies won?”
    “There are
nice things out there, and some not-so-nice.” He grimaces. “I’ve only heard
about a few things myself, the Deathless for one, but don’t know much about
anything. As far as I understand, we’re safe here to live long and happy
lives.”
    “Seems like a
big waste of time, doesn’t it?”
    “Wasn’t Life?”
He leans on the porch railing. “Not that either of us know yet. I still haven’t
had my Waking Dream. I don’t know what my life was like at all ...”
    “Me neither.”
I pick at something on my hand. An entire fingernail