Dead have outnumbered the living for a long time. Dead float all around unseen, smoke rings in fog. Dead watch, uncountable veiled eyes see your bloody birth, see you grow, struggle, restless and noisy, see you finally lose all to pitiless years and fall into silence. Dead watch.
Dead follow you out of the womb, into the ground, pallid balloons on spidersilk strings.
Dead see you the living and see a breeding herd for more dead. Every blood-warm squalling baby is dead-in-waiting, heir to a few quick years of hot thrashing life before endless echoless After. Watching.
We see you.