The Elite Diner….

My arm pumps food into my mouth in a rhythmic motion. I'm hungry but there is no joy in eating. People only eat to sustain themselves. Those who couldn't handle it, decided they would rather die. And that's exactly what they did. It was a simple choice. Eat or die. They chose death. Can't say that I blame them.

At least they kept their souls intact. Unlike the rest of us poor bastards.

Those who remain only eat to exist. It's been so many years since I took pleasure in food or anything else for that matter that I can't even remember what it was like.

When everything I loved plummeted down into the rotting pits of hell, then came back to life, then I died. They call them the walking dead, but that's a joke. They feast on the living with an insatiable hunger, but there appears to be no pleasure for them either. They simply exist to feed. I've watch them gorge themselves until their guts are distended atrocities set to rupture their horrid contents. Seen them rip a child from limb to limb and suck the marrow from their bones. And for no explainable reason except that they are driven. Not by pleasure or physical need but by some unconscious drive to consume life.

You watch that a few times and all pleasure in life is ripped away. Forever. Your soul turns numb and apathy takes on a new meaning. All that remains is a choice. Are you going to continue to exist or not. The reality is that I'm not sure we are any better than they are. In fact it's probably worse because there still remains some small spark of humanity inside of us. The memory of joy. Love. Passion. But our humanity is continuously cauterized by what we have to do to live. Now the only thing that sparks passion is unloading a magazine of 9 mm rounds into their flesh eating brains. And even that is tiresome. Sooner or later, it seems like we should make a dent in their numbers, but then you realize there are billions of them.

Trust me. We've all tried to arouse the old desires of the flesh. Booze. Drugs. Sex. And for the record, my desire still works whenever I wank it up, but it's only a physical reaction. Stand out, puke out and pass out. We've even taken turns embracing each other. Soft touches. Wild rides. But it's not the same. The scars are far too deep and we've lost the ability to find joy. Everyone has lost everything.

We live at the Elite Diner. Don't know why, but for some reason the vintage stainless steel shell keeps them away. It's like the place doesn't exist to their senses and they simply walk on by in search of other grisly prey.

But there is more to this place than a simple roost.

I look around and the memories rise from this Diner like dark specters of the past. Voices call out to the small piece of humanity that still lingers in my soul. People ate here. They did more than sustain themselves; they came to this place to enjoy the simplest pleasures of life. I can imagine those ghosts savoring greasy eggs and peppered bacon. Laughed and smiling as they fed their children syrup drenched pancakes in the mornings. Meatloaf and mashed potato flakes for dinner. I can barely remember the bitter taste of coffee and lingering smell burning cigarettes, but sometimes I can catch the faint odor. I linger in this place because the one pure joy that remains of humanity fills this Diner and I try to commune with it. To bring back the joy that was.

Nat looks up from her bowl of stew. Three bites and she's done. She walks away with a sigh. We pretend that someone grows vegetables and slaughters cows for meat. We imagine that canned goods are preserved against radiation and rot. But the imagination is not endless.

The Elite Diner remains the last haunted diner in the world. We are the ghosts who linger in the wind. Seeking to taste what once was, but is now lost forever. Simple joy and satisfaction of a sated hunger. We have given our souls, but the payment was not enough.