The more money she made, the farther away she ran from her wish to set herself free. From hate, from demons, from revenge. She was her captor’s daughter, blinded by fear and nightly hauntings. She imagined a tomorrow that she would never have and kept herself busy to fake herself into thinking that she’d have tomorrow if she only kept being busy. She had already killed her spirit, however, each time she denied herself that joy of not knowing what would happen if she ever let go. Her cage felt familiar, so she stayed 10 feet in and 20 feet under the surface of the world that would swallow her. She ran and came back over and over again until she couldn’t stand the indecency of her own indecision. She woke up drunk – life is but a dream – and all before her disappeared in their cotton-eyed mist. Graveyards went barren because their zombies fled. It was the Apocalypse of a new world that forgot its name and cursed its children with futures they would never enjoy because their pasts were too strong. So they suffocated. She dreamt this every night that she stayed awake breathing in her own toxic fumes of the Zombie Apocalypse that took her voice until she died. Each and every time.