Airport
R illustrates, “There are hundreds of us living in an abandoned airport outside some large city. We don’t need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise we’d just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be strangely horrific. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that’s what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.” The uninhibited airport bids a seamless habitat for the zombies for humans scarcely go there to obstruct the zombies’ activities. For zombies, unlike human beings, seamless housing is not a precondition of survival. Accordingly, the zombies are not disgruntled with the roof that wild airport bestows them. The rudimentary habits of the dead are unquestionably deviating from the living’s inevitabilities.
‘Perry Kelvin in the Stadium’
Perry Kelvin relates, “Here I am, Perry Kelvin in the Stadium. I hear birds in the walls. The bovine moans of pigeons, the musical chirps of starlings. I look up and breathe deep. The air is so much cleaner lately, even here. I wonder if this is what the world smelled like when it was new, centuries before smokestacks. It frustrates and fascinates me that we’ll never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things we’ll just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good.” The stadium imagery paints a milieu that is renewed and untainted which offers a unspoiled ambiance for Perry’s rumination. The incapability of ‘historians and scientists and poets’ to decompose the essence of existence illustrates the superiority of human being. Perry presents rhetorical considerations to accentuate that scientific conceptions, historical annals, and poetry have not exposed the solitary cradle of existence.
