"Dead as a Zombie"
He had been in the tent too long, so long that he had forgotten the last time he had seen daylight. Jimmy Mondale had once had a happy life, though nobody would have guessed that as he sat in the corner of the tent, huddled in fear. Fear of what? A blissfully ignorant man might ask. Fear of the bloodthirsty zombies and ghouls that walked the streets in search of human flesh? Fear of being stabbed in the back by one of the traitorous townspeople that had traded their loyalty from their friends and family to the dark forces that had cast the accursed city of Threed into madness? Fear of whether the city would ever recover, and if so, as a member of the city counsel, fear that the current administration might somehow be blamed for the unholy conquest of the undead?
No, these frightening events had passed, at least in the physical realm. Day had broken upon Threed two weeks ago. Though he refused to believe such nonsense, the rumor was that three kids had beaten a large pile of vomit that was controlling the demons. He supposed that it couldn’t be helped, that some people must have been seared into idiocy during the smothering darkness of weeks past. They must have been made to believe something so goofy. Whatever had really happened, though, it had helped the administration. Elections were next week, and Jimmy had a high lead over his opponent, Gerald Dole.
If the town was saved, and he was going to be re-elected, possibly able to manipulate the good feelings of the voters to support a run for mayor, then one could reasonably ask why Jimmy Mondale was leaned up against the inside of a circus tent with a hunted expression on his face.
While the light had returned to the town and its citizens, perpetual darkness had fallen on his own life. Just like the zombies and ghouls that had slowly invaded Threed piece-by-piece, his inner demons were slowly eroding away at his soul. He had been a coward, leaving his wife and child to seek their own protection while he had fled to the safest refuge he could find: the circus tent in the center of town that doubled as a resistance movement. Just like those unholy demons that were rumored to be seen walking through the support of puppet strings, held up by an unknown force, his own legs had been controlled by the puppeteers known as fear and selfishness. Together, they bound his legs tightly, forcing him to perform the humiliating dance of cowardly retreat. Just like those zombies, he, too, was dead inside.
Following the defeat of Threed’s greatest menace, he had returned to Rosalyn and his son David, begging them to forgive his disappearance. He had left her when she needed him the most, he could admit that. He should have stayed by her side, regardless of the external circumstances. Anytime during Threed’s invasion, he could have come to his senses, still proving that his moment of weakness was offset by his utter devotion to her. But he had remained a despicable coward, unworthy of her love. He had only cared for himself, not worrying if others lived or died. Now, he was sowing what he reaped.
He loved Rosalyn, he truly did. Though she had every right to reject him, he still cared for her. He didn’t deserve her. When push came to shove, he had abandoned her. There was little chance of reconciliation, she was moving far, far way to some city on the other side of Eagleland to live with her family and help raise the child.
So, Jimmy Mondale could do nothing more than mourn. In the threat of death, he had cared about his own life, and now while he lived, he realized that he had lost the most important person in his life. He was scared to be alone, not knowing how he would cope.
Jimmy Mondale was, on the inside, as dead as those zombies, as fickle as those traitors, living in a very dark, dark place, and, regardless of rumors, as truly pathetic as that pile of vomit that started this whole mess.