(no subject)
It’s … well, she doesn’t know what day it is.
She knows the floor. And the glass shards towards the front of the apartment. Knows the smell, which seems to be getting sharper the sicker she gets. It’s Jan, and ‘Ri, and Caleb. It’s everyone who was there and now isn’t because she’s the only one left. Jan was first, died of whatever it is that’s making her so sick. ‘Ri was next, dragged out of the window while Shay and Caleb tried to shoot over her head into the zombies. Eventually they got them, but then ‘Ri was dead and Caleb was insisting they bash her head in to make sure she didn’t come back.
Needless to say, Shay refused. That night, woken up by something that sounds sickeningly like a watermelon getting bashed in, but the smell is oh so much worse. And then there’s the sharp report of a gun and Caleb’s dead too. Leaving her. No friends left, they’re too busy rotting and attracting zombies who she’s running out of the bullets, strength, will to fight. Her family is somewhere she’ll never get to, if this sickness has anything to say about it.
The shards catch her eyes and she stares at how the seedy light twinkles in them, making them not glass but something else. Something she’s too sick, too tired to think about. Her finger sketches a picture of the glass in the dirt on the floor.
The sketch is ruined when she curls up into a ball to cough.
It only gets worse from there.
Zombies, zombies, everywhere, nor any - that thought doesn’t make sense and it isn’t useful so she discards it, just shooting until she hears the click of her gun. It’s empty. She’s alone, and her gun is empty. No friends (pack) left. But she’s not going down this way, even she doesn’t know why, so she throws the gun as hard as she fucking can and it gets one zombie in the eye.
The sound is like ‘Ri. The crunch of rotten fruit and she wants to vomit, but she thinks she’s dying anyway. Her entire body is tingling, like falling asleep but more painful, and she deludes herself into thinking the hair on her arms is growing at an alarming rate. Bites her tongue and closes her eyes, trying to escape even as her shoulders rise and the pain increases and the teeth biting her tongue become sharper.
By the time she’s done changing, she’s so confused and in pain that the zombies don’t stand a chance.
But she’s still got no family. Or friends.
She’s got an apartment, though. With a smeared dirt-drawing of glass, and the actual glass, and bits of stories and poems stapled to the walls. None of it really matters, though. Because she has something else that’s more important than the apartment. Or family. Or friends.
She’s got a wolf inside her.
She knows the floor. And the glass shards towards the front of the apartment. Knows the smell, which seems to be getting sharper the sicker she gets. It’s Jan, and ‘Ri, and Caleb. It’s everyone who was there and now isn’t because she’s the only one left. Jan was first, died of whatever it is that’s making her so sick. ‘Ri was next, dragged out of the window while Shay and Caleb tried to shoot over her head into the zombies. Eventually they got them, but then ‘Ri was dead and Caleb was insisting they bash her head in to make sure she didn’t come back.
Needless to say, Shay refused. That night, woken up by something that sounds sickeningly like a watermelon getting bashed in, but the smell is oh so much worse. And then there’s the sharp report of a gun and Caleb’s dead too. Leaving her. No friends left, they’re too busy rotting and attracting zombies who she’s running out of the bullets, strength, will to fight. Her family is somewhere she’ll never get to, if this sickness has anything to say about it.
The shards catch her eyes and she stares at how the seedy light twinkles in them, making them not glass but something else. Something she’s too sick, too tired to think about. Her finger sketches a picture of the glass in the dirt on the floor.
The sketch is ruined when she curls up into a ball to cough.
It only gets worse from there.
Zombies, zombies, everywhere, nor any - that thought doesn’t make sense and it isn’t useful so she discards it, just shooting until she hears the click of her gun. It’s empty. She’s alone, and her gun is empty. No friends (pack) left. But she’s not going down this way, even she doesn’t know why, so she throws the gun as hard as she fucking can and it gets one zombie in the eye.
The sound is like ‘Ri. The crunch of rotten fruit and she wants to vomit, but she thinks she’s dying anyway. Her entire body is tingling, like falling asleep but more painful, and she deludes herself into thinking the hair on her arms is growing at an alarming rate. Bites her tongue and closes her eyes, trying to escape even as her shoulders rise and the pain increases and the teeth biting her tongue become sharper.
By the time she’s done changing, she’s so confused and in pain that the zombies don’t stand a chance.
But she’s still got no family. Or friends.
She’s got an apartment, though. With a smeared dirt-drawing of glass, and the actual glass, and bits of stories and poems stapled to the walls. None of it really matters, though. Because she has something else that’s more important than the apartment. Or family. Or friends.
She’s got a wolf inside her.