* Edited December 22, 2017. (First published July 29, 2015)

I stood quietly in the once noisy kitchens, watching as the last plate of food went through the heavy doors, before finally sitting down on the lopsided stool behind me. Although my body was fine, my mind felt thoroughly exhausted. I'd just spent hours digging through my brain for recipes, cooking each one to the best of my still somewhat limited abilities.

It didn't help that some of the other cooks gave me odd looks when I had been brought in, likely because of my... condition. After all, how often did one hear of the undead coming in to cook for the living? Let alone start fixing up dishes I had heard some of them comment having once eaten in restaurants back before all this happened, some of the younger women having been mere children at the time.

Not that I thought fish chowder was that fancy, nor the various sandwiches that I made to go with it. But who was I to say, since I couldn't remember where all the recipes came from. Maybe some of them were from a restaurant of some sort. I doubted that I would ever remember any of it at this point, having failed to recall anything about my past thus far. And honestly, I couldn't care less if I ever did remember or not.

I was finally starting to feel happy with where I was in the world, liking the place I had found myself. And the people I found myself with.

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I was sitting outside with Daniel, watching the younger children in town running after a few dark brown chickens that had gotten loose from their yard, when I heard Michael call out to us. It seems a couple of the other "friendly" undead who stayed in the town had returned from their own mission and were interested in meeting the newest member of their group.

Looking over at Daniel, my uncertainties showing in my eyes, I was eased somewhat by the gentle smile he so easily gave me. I was still unsure how I felt about meeting others who were like me, yet still different, but I did my best to act like I was brave as I stood up and started following Michael and Lucas.

Slowly we walked towards a worn down building that sat away from all the other homes lining the dirt road. The peeling and faded paint and the slightly warped door frame did little to reassure me about this place. It was only the continued presence of Daniel at my side that kept me moving forward when deep inside I wanted to turn around and find someplace to hide from my reality.

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No matter what I had tried to prepare myself for, I'd still not been ready for what I had found in that worn down house. Two undead men, one missing half his lower jaw and the other missing his left hand as well as his arm nearly up to the elbow, had greeted me with slow waves as soon as I had walked in behind Michael.

I'd stood there completely stunned for a moment before finally greeting them back, my eyes wide as I finally started to understand what had been ever so haltingly mentioned to me once by the medic. After I'd been injured while helping gather a bit of food during the trip to town, he'd stared wide-eyed every time he checked the wound and noticed it was slowly fading away over the following days.

It was indeed not normal for the undead to "heal", no matter how or at what speed it took place. The wounds on these two were obviously quite old after all, the skin frayed around the wounded areas, and my own cuts and scrapes I had gained during the trip had always eventually vanished over the weeks of travel. Similar to how a living human would have healed, although without the scars, but I had always brushed that off as some kind of perk to being undead.

So what was I then, if not one of the undead like these? Because I know I am not human anymore. And I was starting to wonder if I ever was.