zombie
Zombie apocalypse
12
No one came to check out books anymore, but the library remained open.
Its doors hung half-open in the quiet wind, and inside, the air smelled of old paper and dust. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, landing gently on long-forgotten desks. The fountain in the lobby had dried, but a few fish still lived in the shallow water, somehow surviving.
And still, the pages turned.
Every now and then, a figure would wander in — slow, shuffling, blank-eyed. One of the dead. But they never destroyed anything. They didn’t moan or bite. They just… stood for a while, staring at shelves as if something deep within them still remembered how to read.
One sat at a table for hours, a book open in front of her. She didn’t move. The book’s cover said “Birds of the Eastern Forest.” Another leaned near the children’s section, occasionally nudging a colorful picture book off the edge with a limp arm.
The library accepted them.
It didn’t speak, but its silence was patient, like a friend waiting without pressure. When the wind blew, it carried loose pages in gentle spirals down the aisles. Rain tapped the roof like slow applause.
Sometimes, a zombie would stay for days, then leave. Others never left. They found chairs and simply rested, as if the library gave them peace.
Electricity was long gone, but the globe in the reading room still turned slowly, nudged now and then by the breeze.
Outside, the world continued — wild and changed. But inside, the library waited, not for people, but for quiet.
And in that quiet, even the dead felt a little less alone.
end of the world
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