Withdrawal Symptoms and the CME (Part Two)

Part Two:        C ME   Go. 

(for Part One, visit here.)

What's a withdrawal symptom?

Google tells me it's "any physical or psychological disturbance (as sweating or depression) experienced by a drug addict when deprived of..."

Umm... Hell no?

Withdrawal symptom is what happens to you when you've been given a one way ticket OUT of Zombieland and for reasons unbeknownst you REFUSE the ride.

But a lot of zombies did take the ride and left us 150-something odd ones to fight for survival.

Between stolen photocopies and hushed discussions I discovered that some of these zombies had excellent scavenging abilities.

I saw a dark side to them. Angry zombies. Kleptomaniac zombies. Sleep-deprived zombies that were ready to beat me to pulp for consuming their precious time.

Zombies walking around with pens and highlighters in their pockets, carrying books heavier than their own weight. Zombies disappearing behind a heap of photocopies.

Zombies wary and distrustful of each other.

I felt like I was in The Hunger Games.

For the first time, these poor harmless zombies seemed blood thirsty. They still may not have wanted to eat your brain, but they sure did want what was in it.

Days went by, and the concept of nights disappeared.
I, despite myself became a zombie too.

My swollen face and puffy eyes would have won me a part in Scream 5. I felt like punching people for no reason. Or maybe because they existed. Or maybe because I existed. I felt like giving up. I felt like going to SLEEP.

And then came the day of war. The day of submission of the Memorials.

I saw people struggling to complete their Memorials. I saw them falling over each other to get them printed.

And a little before 5.30, I submitted mine.

The whole MCA atmosphere was scary and intimidating. Heck, even the junior volunteers (to-be MCA members in training I guess) were scary.

I was very grimly reminded that I was late. I shamefully nodded back.

I left the room, still shaken by the spine-freezing creepy atmosphere.

I felt light, I felt happy. Like a huge weight had been lifted.

But only after I saw beyond by own exhilaration did I see it.

As promised, I saw the bloodshed.

 I did witness the massacre.

I saw people crying.

I wanted to go up to them, comfort them. But what words did I have to comfort them with?

I saw their memorials, strewn, like war victims that couldn't make it.


And just like that, I stopped seeing zombies. I started seeing people.

Broken people. More human, more vulnerable than anyone I had seen.

We were all hurt.

They were hurt because they hadn't made it. I was hurt because I had. Without them.

And then,


One by one,

they left,

Leaving me all alone.

In Zombieland.