Stinking Stench of Decay.

It could be a tough thing to determine. How everything morphed into a shambling, shuffling nightmare. Some people thought that the government had ordered it, to rid the world of poverty and over population. Others thought that perhaps it was the rapture. Some people went as far as thinking that it was like in all those zombie films we all used to watch as excited young teenagers. Scientists going ape crazy with blood samples and corpses and lightning. But, as I stated earlier, it's a hard thing to determine completely. I personally try not to think about it, and instead document my thoughts in my head as if I were writing a book. Of course, I'm not writing anything, just thinking it all.

..I haven't introduced myself to myself yet, I'm Katie. Katie Davies. Everyone that lived near me, whether I knew them or not is pretty much dead. Although, if they're not being your every day on the ground half eaten corpses, they're your every day zombie. Shuffling about, gawping mouth, rotting flesh. Blue bottles whizzing around them, attempting to consuming their moving meals. It was all very gore filled. Something no nineteen year old girl should have to face. I mean, I'm barely an adult, and I'm having to handle what I assume would be considered an illegal weapon. That being a cooking knife duct taped to a metal pole. The metal pole I wrenched from my bed to beat an intruder to death with.

Whoa. That wasn't something to sound so proud about. Whoops. I'll try less of that the next time I feel my mind begin to twitter on about what I've done. What have I done? Fuck all, really. I've barricaded my door, locked the balcony and cowered in the back room. It's not a nice thing to admit to, especially when you look out the window down to all the people running about with shovels and pans. Don't get me wrong, I feel for them, and I credit their bravery. But I'd much rather consider myself a smart person in that I don't jump out into madness to look like a hero.

See, with this situation, I know I'll run out of food. I could never keep my home well stocked in the first place. Let alone in emergencies. So I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to go out and scavenge or run for my life. But I figure, why not do that later rather than sooner? There's a chance of being found in my current situation by something nasty, yes, but there's less chance of being found if I'm quiet and reserved.

Brushing a strand of mousy blonde hair out of my face, an inhale is sounded. I'm on the balcony right now, dangerously so. Just looking out at the mess three floors below. I've considered jumping, I really have. But I don't think that'll happen. Stubborn as a bull I am.

Sipping some of the rainwater I've been gathering to save any rusty pipes alerting any zombies to my location, I look down to the red cross painted to the outer wall of my balcony. It's only there, to alert survivors of someone being alive. It's there in the vain hopes of being rescued. There's also a red 'alive' painted beneath it. I don't think anyone has really paid much attention to it, I wouldn't blame them. Who wants to scale three floors to find me? A scrawny woman armed with a crazy person stick and a lack of physical ability.

"Life is tough," I say to the person running from a hoard of zombies towards a twice as large swarm in the opposite direction. "Good luck though," I mumble as I return inside, shutting my door with a quiet hum.