A Hundred Miles An Hour
The day Mark got to the “Institute for treating undead” everything happened so fast; days mixed into one long time span of mental vomit. He couldn't really remember what happened to him in his untreated state but then there were the flashbacks and the nightmares that reassured him that whatever he was, he wasn’t human.
Nobody at the institute chose to be the way they are. Some, like Mark, hope to leave and carry on with their life as if their death never happened. Others think that it's a blessing and feel as if they've been chosen as a higher, more elite species, like the believers. Thinking about them made his undead body shiver. Undead bodies don't shiver.
They have no feeling, they don't eat, they don't drink, they just... Are. Yet when someone of the community, all these damn people that everyone's been thrown together with, mentions them, Mark can't help but feel as if someone is walking over his grave; oh the irony, but with his luck, so