It was so dark that it took me a while to realise that the figure staggering towards us barely had a face and that the shirt they were wearing wasn't just red, it was covered in blood. Honestly I thought it was a miracle that they were even alive but now I know better than to consider the undeath anything other than a curse.
I hailed a taxi and drove them to the hospital, thinking they'd been attacked and praying they'd recover. In hindsight I should have finished the job myself and saved us eight years of desperately trying to survive against that which has already died.
I like to blame the poor lighting for my decision but I know that nobody really believes me and I don't blame them for hating me. If I'd just walked away the undeath might have just staggered out into a road and been further crushed, we might have carried on our normal lives.
It's hard to say whether they think I'm just a stupid would-be-Samaritan or an unwitting mass-murderer. Either way I keep my doors unlocked and I keep windows open just a crack, just enough that if anyone gets a vengeful thought in their head and wants to act on it or an undead walks in - they can.
It's the least I can do.
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