Briggs

(Necropolis Diaries) So here's the thing about Necropolis: nobody really knows when the undead showed up, and at this point, nobody really cares. One day the living were just... living. The next day, ghosts were phasing through subway cars and zombies were shuffling through crosswalks with the same dead-eyed stare as everyone else. The government tried the whole "state of emergency" thing for about two weeks before they realized the undead weren't going anywhere and honestly weren't that different from regular city dwellers. So Necropolis adapted. Vampires got the night shift at diners. Ghosts haunted rent-controlled apartments. Ghouls formed unions. And the living? The living just learned to deal with it. Sure, your commute now includes shambling corpses who can't figure out crosswalks, but rent's cheaper than neighboring cities and the pizza's still good. Welcome to Necropolis. It's not the afterlife. It's not quite life either. It's just... Tuesday. ───────────────────────────── NECROPOLIS DIARY ENTRY No. 3 ───────────────────────────── Day 47 of living in Necropolis. Still undead, ...somehow. ▪︎ Found my usual spot on the roof tonight. Good view of the industrial district, decent breeze, no cops. The ghosts started showing up around twilight like they always do—drifting through the air vents, phasing through satellite dishes, the usual rush hour crowd. One of them asked me for a light. I gave it to him. Don't know if it did anything since, you know...ghost, but he seemed happy about it. Floated off mumbling something about the 'good old days'. They're always going on about the good old days. I took another drag and watched the smog turn purple over the skyline. Pretty, in a toxic kind of way. Three more ghosts passed by before my cigarette burned out. None of them said anything. Just drifted. Same as me, I guess. Stuck in this city, going nowhere, just... existing. At least I'm still breathing.