[A seventy-year-old drunk, skeletal and haggard.]
I sometimes wish zombies existed.
And no, I’m not crazy…I just miss my dead daughter.
I don’t want her to come back as a zombie either. That’d be awful, worse than missing her. She didn’t just up and die anyway… she was murdered. There’s a big difference.
Although I didn’t give her much thought when she was alive. I couldn’t. I was brimming with hate and anger; always shit-faced drunk or just sober enough to make some money for more booze. I was also an asshole to her and to her mother.
But on the day she got murdered, when the police caught the sonofabitch and they told me how he had made my little girl suffer, just out of pleasure… well, I stopped drinking right then and there. It was easy. I didn’t want to drown my pain anymore. I needed it so I could focus it on the murderer, with all its intensity, all its venom.
During the trial, I wished they would let him go free… so I could kill him myself. But they sent him to jail. Many years.
And me? Well, I remained sober, got a job, cleaned up my act. I even started exercising. I just wanted to be alive when that sonofabitch got out. I was tempted by religion too but, again, I didn’t want anything interfering with my hate.
Thirty years went by. I lived a normal life. Uneventful. I didn’t suffer. Didn’t feel pleasure. I just did the time with him…waiting for mine to come.
And it did.
The day he got out, I followed him into an alley and shot him six times. Then went straight to the first bar I saw and got drunk.
I’ve been drunk since… because as soon as killed that sonofabitch, I knew my hate wouldn’t die along with him. And indeed, it’s still inside me, more painful than ever.
That’s why I said I wish zombies existed… because if that sonofabitch was one of them, I could spend the rest of my life killing him time and time again.
But I’m afraid this hate of mine is the only possible zombie.
It must be because I don’t see a way to get rid of it.
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Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016