I was at my desk watching Youtube when it first happened, surrounded by grey cubical walls, and Monday laden coworkers. I wasn't supposed to be watching Youtube, but I guess those rules are a little meaningless now. I've tried to think of what movie I was watching, but I honestly can't remember. Maybe something with a Sesame Street character... or babies. I've tried at night while falling to sleep in an attempt to remember what life was like before... well before my attention was commanded away from Youtube.
My workspace was two cubicals and a wide walkway from the window. The thud against that window was loud enough that I could hear it through my headphones. I still remember thinking that Mike must have bumped his chair against it again, but then I heard another thud. Taking off my headphones, I cocked my head around the grey wall to see what the noise was.
I'd always joked about it happening. We talked about it like it was an inevitability. We made movie parodies, sang songs, and even read books on how to prepare for it, but it was really more a joke than an actual fear. Yet, there, at the window, stood what the jokes had all been about. It had come, and it didn't matter then, just like it doesn't matter now, how it started, or how it's possible. What mattered, and what still matters, is running, surviving, saving loved ones, and letting go of who you can't save. There at the thick paned window was a rotting rendition of what was a human. I ran. We all ran. And we haven't been able to stop since.