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Hello, bloggy thingy. It’s been awhile. I don’t really know what I set out to write but at least I feel inclined to.

Zombies.

That’s as good a topic as any, right?

Zombies have a singular focus. A narrow scope that goes no further than how to get from where they are to what they want. A zombie can’t be intimidated by obstacles or threats. It doesn’t get tired. Unless you kill it, it’s unstoppable.

It also feels nothing.

A zombie doesn’t know love. It serves no purpose in reaching the end goal. It’s useless to a zombie.

That’s why I prefer being a person to a zombie any day. There’s more shit to wade through between me and my dreams, but I can’t let myself stop feeling. I refuse to see the people I love as obstacles in my way. I may never get where I wanted to go, but I’d rather stop short than wind up alone.

I don’t much like brains, anyway.

A lazy crimson moon hung low on the horizon amidst plumes of violet haze. Screeching birds gave the air a chilling buzz of energy as the otherwise silent forest grew still. No one had set foot here for many generations. Now only giant gray-barked trees gnarled their way skyward to reflect the earliest moonbeams in a dazzling glimmer. The earth kingdom had once been the greatest civilization of the four nations, but now a smothering hush held the flora with a vice-like grip. Leaves occasionally rustled, and the birds sometimes called out desperately, as if needing to be assured that their companions still drew breath. Other than these sparse sounds, however, a deafening silence hung over the great expanse of land that had once been teeming with life. To the only human for many miles, this place held several meanings. The ancient landscape was a source of peace in an otherwise frantic world, but in many ways it was her greatest shame. Avatar Korra had long since passed into the spirit world. She had been struck down by the tyrant Amon while in the Avatar state. His revolution had all but rid the world of bending, but the embers of hope still burned in the hearts of the oppressed. The children of former benders could still inherit the ability, and they were taught from a young age to keep their talents carefully hidden. Tira Bei-Fong had been a third generation hideaway, and saw her bending as a curse that separated her from society. Her great grandmother Lin Bafong had never told her great grandfather that she had a son. Master Tenzin had his own destiny to follow. Instead the boy had remained hidden in an earth kingdom village, eventually marrying and having children and grandchildren of his own. Tira was one of those grandchildren. She inhaled slowly and breathed a little more heat into the pitiful fire before her. According to legend, the reincarnation cycle should have ended when Korra was struck down. The only explanation Tira could come up with for her fire and water bending abilities was the fact that she was a direct descendant of avatar Aang. Her great grandfather Tenzin had been his son, after all. It was just her luck that her unhealthy dislike for bending could not stop her from inheriting the multiple disciplines of it that scourged only one individual every lifetime. Was she an avatar? Or some half-breed mutant? Either way, Tira couldn’t stand the thought of what she had allowed to happen to her entire village. Amon’s raiders had come looking for benders, and she had fled like a coward into the forest. She watched from the safety of a tree as her village was burned to the ground; a tree much like those she sat huddled beneath now. This was the first time she had returned to the earth kingdom since that horrific day eight years ago. She glanced up at the moon with a furrowed brow, her delicate features clearly afflicted by the memories of her childhood. Her dark hair fell messily to just above her shoulders and played shadows across her cheeks. Glossy blue eyes remained downcast as Tira bended back a tear before angrily forcing the ground beneath her into a crude tent. Her demons would not keep her from sleep. Not tonight. She was too strong-willed for that, like a defiant child at bedtime. The silence lulled her to sleep in a way that sound never could. It welcomed her into an emptiness that could only be filled by what she allowed, and by her light snores as she drifted into slumber.