loquaciouszombie

It had been two very long days since they hid away from the airport. It felt like ages ago to her, as she laid in bed and watched as the sun rose outside. So much had been changing ever since she found herself there, in that place. Ever since she met R, her worlds seemed to glow like the rays of the sun. It wasn’t just a mask anymore. 

She had explored the home they were staying in. Unlike others she had run into over the years, this home wasn’t completely rotten. It had yet to become ruins of old-fashioned dreams and desperate hopes. Now it was a skeleton. A shell. But that was okay. For now, that’s all she needed. 

That and R. 

Thinking on how much he had changed since they first met, Tifa found herself blushing so much she had to cover her cheeks, not caring about the fact that no one was there to tease her about it. He wasn’t quite dead anymore, but he wasn’t very alive, either. She didn’t know what he was now, but it didn’t really matter all that much. Just as long as he stuck around. The brunette wondered about how they believed she somehow restarted his heart; causing it to pulse with life again. 

What if she could do more than that?

Suddenly, she was inspired. Feeling the warmth of the new day’s light against her skin, Tifa smiled widely and got herself out of bed. She was more than relieved that water was still connected to the home and whatever reservoir existed hadn’t completely dried up. She noticed that R was nowhere to be found in her path. He’s probably snooping around for things to collect, she thought. He hadn’t eaten anyone since they met. Was he doing that? 

Trying not to think about it too hard, she stripped and took a very cold, but refreshing shower nonetheless. When she finished, she changed into some clothes she found in one of the abandoned closets and went on a search for R. She hoped he was nearby, since a) she didn’t ever want to be alone and b) she needed to tell him her plan.

  He was being altered. Modified in the most admirable way just by the mere touch which came from her fingertips, or the unique color of her eyes. Non-complex details were pulling him into a force of awakening; characteristics that seemed vivid and beautiful inside his pewter eyes. 

  The undead boy was the first one to lift from the surface where he was in, considering that he didn't sleep--he only dared to watch Tifa in a dormant state, like a curious kid wondering how it was possible to emit such peaceful breathing while having a million and more swirls of dreams and memories dangling from just one mind. However, he had to admit it was a process enveloped in embellishment, for she looked as if nothing could go wrong as long as rest was injected into her soul. A kind of tranquility I don't remember, though sometimes I think there's no need to remember that fragment, because her restfulness is contagious.

  Since waking her up wasn't an option in his mind, he stood up to walk around the house which had been their shelter for days; idly watching the things he had examined plenty of times before due to his habit to hoard items that reminded him of humanity's droplets, pallid fingers finally resigning into the grasping of a magazine which was lounging on one of the dusty tables. 

  The zombie sat down, clearly pretending to be reading though his brain couldn't process any word; his eyes only seeing blurry shapes and lines dressed in black and bright colors. It solely made him ponder if he used to enjoy reading back when he was fully alive or not. 

Serenity had been just out side the airplane where her friend who had been sleeping for what seemed like few months was resting. She had been observing, making sure trouble stayed away from them. From morning to night, she’d scout the area for whatever she could find useful. Since her friend wasn’t able to collect things, she did the collecting for him. Often times, she’d clean a few things, keep the area tidy.

She waited, Serenity waited for a very, very long time and she was still waiting. There’d be a few times when Serenity would have gone to find food for herself. She still liked to eat, despite not being alive. There was never a day though when she didn’t come back to R. Everyday, every night, the ghostly teenager’d stay by R’s side when she wasn’t out looking around. She’d read him books when she was free. Sometimes she’d even play on his sleeping form. He didn’t need to know that though. 

  Pewter hues widened if only for a moment; showing a light hint of lost emotion while drained, chapped lips parted in a manner of surprise, his gaze being locked towards the girl's presence as he attempted to decipher who she was. Damned was his mind, a mental alignment that, most of the times, dared to erase some of the memories lounging in his head. His brain was like a cassette--in order to deposit more remembrances, other portrayals of the past had to be eliminated. Nevertheless, he attempted his best to remember the girl who was on top of his decayed body; her weight not being felt at all--not because she was featherweight, but because he couldn't feel anything, for his veins remained clogged and his nerve ends only worked weakly to produce the rigidness in which he moved. If anything, the boldest cells are in my brain, igniting something the rest can't tell without the ideal attention. 

  The sound of her voice; high-pitched, it evoked something within him, a sense of familiarity that was laced on his brain lines, though he still couldn't remember the who, or why. Eyes looked at his surroundings as he actually recognized the place he was in--his 747 jet. Such recollection was so substantial, that his gray matter dared to keep it fresh in his mind, wanting to induce a sense of relief even if he lacked of a physical portrayal of emotions. 

  I still haven't found something out, though--who are you?

  She obviously seemed to know him, but from where? Her tune rang in his head, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact location. Nevertheless, instead of applying pressure upon the matter, he decided to sit down; pallid hands being pressed upon the plane's floor while he bent half of his body; the other's figure still allowing him to sit crookedly despite the fact of her being on top of him. 

"Gemini." She answered simply with a small smile. R. How on earth had he dialed a phone? 

Even with the rebuilding going on, zombies turning into humans again, progress was slow. Progress usually was. Gemini was fascinated by the change, of course. Most of the undead were still in the beginning stages of healing and recuperation, stiffness still in the limbs, slow to nonexistent speech patterns, lack of recognition or response. But most all of them had moved past the eat-people stage. Those who hadn’t were treated with care. 

But of all the ex-zombies Gemini had observed, R was the most advanced, always had been. After all, he started the change. As the change became more widespread people needed to more information about it, that left people like Gem to garner facts through interacting on a daily basis with fully healed ex-zombies and those in other stages as well. But it was more than scientific interest for her. This was no small miracle and, though she didn’t think she’d ever fully understand it, she loved helping those who were still recovering. It reminded her that change was always possible. And she’d made quite a few friends. R included, though he was from before.

  G e m i n i. Gemini. Gemini. There was slight confusion, the crevices of his mind wishing to pick up information that sounded similar to the name being evoked on the phone. Gemini. And, then, after a few minutes, it clicked. Of course. He remembered her still; blurry memories playing in his mind throughout the days where he still possessed stiffened limbs and pewter hues. She was, perhaps and most likely, one of the few individuals who dared to see the change from beginning to end--his change. He had gotten close to her even around pallid skin and the past void of emotions; a figure who gave him that sense of acceptance when the rest clearly considered him as a simple monster before the entire transformation took place. 

Gemini growled in anger and frustration as she pressed a little too hard on the metal contraption in her hand and slipped, slicing open her finger. Again. She enveloped the offended digit in her mouth and glared at the broken, twisted, wired together remains of her vortex manipulator.

36 hours, 28 minutes, and 3 seconds ago she’d gotten a blip, just the tiniest bit of a spark in the machine’s computer. It had flashed for just an instant. But that instant had meant hope. It had meant a chance after already 12 hours of work. She was so tired of being stuck here. In this universe, on this Earth, chained to one place. Her feet itched to run. Her mind screamed for new things, new adventures, a relief to the constant pain. Her heart ached for home. If she could just get it working again. 

Her phone rang and she glared at it. With all the windows closed and the clocks dismantled for parts it could be the middle of the night for all she knew. Pulling her, freshly healed, finger from her mouth, she grabbed the phone and flipped it open. Her first attempt at a greeting was raspy and pained, resulting from not using her voice at all in two days. 

Two days. At the realization her stomach growled loudly, protesting the lack of substance within. 

  He still wasn't used to the utilization of a mobile device as a source of communication; his digits erratically pressing random buttons until a beep was heard. The boy narrowed his eyes; bright blue hues watching the surroundings around him while the night descended upon him. It was odd, to finally walk with the sound of a beating heart around a city which was in the middle of its reconstruction. R took a deep breath, putting the cellphone on his ear while he abruptly heard the tune of a voice; eyes flicking to observe the device in a suspicious, yet astounded way. So this is how it works. 

  Even if he had dialed an unplanned set of numbers, he had to admit the voice was familiar; the tint of acknowledgment being half-clear in a fragment of his brain while the question resounded in the walls of his mind. What time is it. What? R opened his lips to speak, not knowing whether the other would heard him or not, though he was still willing to try.