How long can one remain unwilling to venture from from his crypt, indifferent to the maggots feasting on the discarded remains of his meals, unaware and uncaring of the gradual loss of his humanity as time erodes the interest he once had in life and love?
How long can one watch from the shadows as life passes by, too fast and too unpredictable for his eyes to follow, too bright and too painful for his sight? How can he hope to move quickly enough to experience even a moment of life's wonder when he has long since lost the will to move?
How long can one listen from decaying ears as laughter and sorrow echo in the silence that he calls home, as infants and the elderly alike scream as they enter and depart the world that he does not feel a part of.
How long can a man remain a zombie in the world of the living?