The world was gray. The skies, the streets, the people — all drained of color as if life itself had been washed out. They moved in perfect monotony. Eyes glued to their screens. Footsteps in sync. Minds…somewhere else. It wasn’t that they were sad either. Because to be sad, you’d have to feel something.
But they didn’t.
They moved in predictable rhythms. Clocking in. Clocking out. Shopping. Scrolling. Talking about shit that didn’t even matter. Marrying. Reproducing. Retiring. The cycle repeated. An endless march toward… nothing.
Zombies.
That’s what they were. That’s what they looked like. But for some reason, I was different. I saw color where no one else did. It radiated off laughter. Flickered in moments of genuine connection. Shimmered when someone stepped outside the bullshit scripts they were given and actually chose to live for once.
And honestly, I had no idea why I was different. Maybe I was defective or something was wrong with me — that’s what they always wanted me to believe. Or maybe everyone else was broken and I was the only thing in this fucked up world that worked.
Because to me, none of it was enough. And I was so bored. Bored of the empty conversations. The rehearsed responses. The way no one questioned how things were. The way no one looked up from their phones.
I just wanted to grab them. Shake them. Scream at them until they woke up.
But they weren’t asleep. Zombies didn’t sleep. They only existed.
At least, that’s what I thought.
One morning, while walking past a coffee shop, I saw a woman sitting by the window. She was stirring a cup of something as lifeless as the air around us. She looked like everyone else. Same tired eyes. Same dull skin. But then…then I saw…more.
The faintest shimmer. Like a smudge of paint someone had tried to scrub away but couldn’t completely erase. It was there, barely, flickering in her fingertips as she traced the rim of her cup. Her mind was somewhere else. And it left a massive crack in the gray around her.
For the first time in years my pulse raced. And everything in me had to know if she was like me. If she saw the world like I did.
So I slid into the booth across from her. But she didn’t look up.
“Hey,” I said. “Question. Do you ever feel like you’re surrounded by walking corpses?”
That got her attention. Her eyes flicked to mine, confusion lining her brows. “Excuse me?”
I grinned. “Just curious. What color is this diner to you?”
“It’s gray,” she said, looking away. And taking away any hope I had of finding someone like me.
“Oh,” I said as I got up and started to walk away. “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting you.”
“But you aren’t.”
“What?” I said, looking back at her.
“This diner is gray. This world is gray. But you aren’t.” She looked up from her cup, “you radiate something more beautiful.”
I stared at her. Confused. Then slowly leaned in, “more beautiful than gray?”
“Well, gray isn’t really beautiful to me,” she said, her eyes fixed on her cup again.
I could tell…she wasn’t a zombie. Not entirely, at least. And though she couldn’t see the world in color the way I did, she knew it existed. She wanted it. And that was enough.
Maybe I could help her see it.
Maybe she could help me not feel alone.
Maybe we could wake up everyone stuck in this endless…nothing.
But as that thought lit something in me — a flicker, a spark, hope, whatever. Through the windows, I noticed something strange.
The world outside the coffee shop shifted. Just a little. Barely noticeable. Like something had twitched in the sky. Like the static pattern of gray had glitched.
And I froze.
And in that instant, I knew —
The zombies weren’t nearly as unaware as I thought.
TO BE CONTINUED…
