Sluggish movements, unable to think, and forced to work for eternity by a Vodun Sorcerer. Zombies, a metaphor for the nightmare of every slave. After decades of distortion, it would be fitting to tell a tale in the mold of what happened to those unfortunate souls like Clairvius Narcisse… -- Deathshead419
[AN: I usually don't mess with RL people. So this entity will be legally distinct from that person]
I am... stuck. I know I was someone, but I can not remember... anything. I must work, I must obey, I must... remember... something. Something beyond my grave.
What I remember is wreathed in fog. The light of the sun as... the Master... opened my casket. His voice, demanding I rise and follow. I vaguely remember not liking being dead. It was stuffy in there. Suffocating.
It should not be possible to suffocate when you're already dead. That should have mattered more, but... the thought evaded me for all the time since the grave. I never saw the Master's face. Even when I was looking at him. I do not remember the sound of his voice, but I remember that his word is my command.
I do not know where I work, I just work. I do not know the way to there from the place where I rest. I just do what I am told.
I do not remember my name. I do not remember what home is.
I... am... sorry, Officer. I do not remember very much about my... abuse. You say that is what it is, and I believe you. I do not know much, but I know that it feels bad. I have always... felt bad.
Yes. Take some blood. Find out what is wrong with me. Who I am. I would like to know... if I have family.
[Photo by Mason Kimbarovsky on Unsplash]
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