why do zombies fascinate me?

What is it with me and zombie dreams? It seems I have them all the time. One of the most intense zombie dreams I’ve ever had took place last night. In the dream, a great plague struck Cincinnati, and the dead were rising from their graves. When it happened, we were having Open Dorms. I was coming back from Sarah’s house, and when I entered the dorm, I saw students—boys and girls—going crazy, tearing at one another, teeth drooling with an insatiable thirst for human blood. Frightened, I rushed back out to my car and drove to the lookout on Knob Hill. I spent the night there, not getting much sleep, and in the morning I went to the police department. The glass windows were shattered and bloody footprints muddied the linoleum floor. I explored the corridors, but found no one. I exited and went to the benches overlooking the city of Cincinnati. The skyscrapers were burning, sending choking clouds of smoke into the sky. The air stank of sulfur and burnt human flesh. As I stood there, in a state of numbing shock, and feeling quite frightened, the attack came. Hordes of zombies crept over Knob Hill and made a blitzkrieg right for me. I took off running and grabbed a semi, which I drove through the zombies, squashing many under the tires. I made a bad turn, and the truck fishtailed. The next moment, I remember the end of the truck going over the end of a cliff leading straight down into a road, where more hungry zombies stared up at me, howling and salivating, eyes wild with thirst. I rushed into the empty trailer latched onto the semi, and I hid by the back doors (the trailer was slanted uneasily, for it hung over the cliff). The zombies broke into the front of the trailer and raced after me. Acting on impulse, I unlocked the back doors, grabbed hold of the handle, held tightly, and kicked away. The door swung outwards and rocked; I hung suspended fifty feet above the road below, thankful that if I fell, I would die by the impact and not by their teeth. The zombies rushed after me, but they were clumsy fools, and they began sliding down the floor of the trailer, shrieking at me, grabbing at me as they fell past. I watched them slide out of the back of the trailer and tumble through the air before smashing into the hordes below. One of them grabbed me, ripping one of my hands off the handle; I dangled, feeling its fetid breath over my ankle. It snapped at me, and I let go. The last thing I remember before waking up is the feeling of my heart rushing into my throat and the ground rushing up after me.  

So why is it that zombies fascinate me so much? I don’t think it’s the zombies necessarily, but the collapse of everything we hold so dear. For nearly five thousand years, mankind has been erecting a civilization filled with monuments to their glory and achievements that reach into the stars. And a simple plague destroys all of that when it turns mankind into mindless creatures who only hunger and thirst and know nothing more. Order disintegrates into chaos. Hope becomes hopelessness. Our greatest dreams and ambitions die in the twinkling of an eye. The hunters become the hunted. Families are torn apart, friends become our worst enemies, and society crumbles. This is what makes a zombie apocalypse so fascinating to me. I find myself contemplating what the future would look like if this were to happen. How would our theologies change? How would our perceptions of the world be transformed? How would we live our daily lives? Would we rebuild civilization? Would we even be able to rebuild our civilization? Our environment would take a 180 degree turn, would be flipped upside-down, and we would have the ultimatum of either changing and adapting, or dying—and joining the Legions of the Undead.