Status: Ha
WTF
An Epic Name
Most of what I’ve learned, I got from the world of television. I learned that quiet girls usually win the good looking boyfriends, that mean people never win, and humans become suicidal when they’re scared or unsure. Why do they try to decrease their chances of survival? Don’t answer that.
When I was in my prison/home, television was a significant part of my life. It still is, as I’m going through an old and slightly damaged tape. My eyes are stuck on the screen before I hear tires screeching from outside. I turn off the bulky TV and sneak a look outside through a small rectangular window. I spot the first survivors I’ve seen in a while. They’re a group of frightened humans who look like they’ve been recklessly driving around. They crash into another car, drawing more attention to the unfriendly undead. Without much thought for my actions, I run to entrance, grabbing a handgun on the way. I have little experience with guns, but it’s mostly just point and shoot right?
I hold one of the doors open and call out, “Hurry, get inside!” After finding where my voice came from, I can see them hesitating getting out from their vehicle. I yell, “Get inside!” It brings a few to their senses and the rest hastily follow out of the car. The slowest human is a lady holding a baby in her arms. She trips and falls on her side, cushioning the baby’s fall with her arm. It looks like it hurts, but she doesn’t seem to mind as much as the zombies. She screams as the zombies realize the easy prey. I point my pistol at them but nothing happens. I say, “Shit,” as I fumble with the small switch. I think she’s done for until one man runs back to help her back up, tackling the two zombies that were after her. A few of the humans pass me going inside while I watch the lady pick herself back and start running to the entrance. As soon as all the humans gathered inside, I try to close the heavy glass door. One zombie with legs torn off tries to crawl its way inside. I kick its head away from the door and I shoot. I’ve never shot a gun before. The loud bang and the blood splatters after it surprise me.
I’ve never shot a gun before, but I have gotten bit and it’s nothing good. They leave horrid marks on my skin; red blotches that become purple over time. The bites don’t deal real damage to me, but it takes forever for the marks to go away.
We gather in the lobby, the humans resting after all the adrenaline leaves them. Finally safe from danger, I begin to gather my thoughts. There’s not enough food for everyone and whatever that can be scavenged in the neighboring blocks will be gone in a few days. The lady who fell should be checked for any injuries. She could have gotten bit when I wasn’t paying attention. That could cause more trouble if she is. There could be disputes, violent outbursts, and so many other things I can’t plan out. The gears in my poor, slow head are moving. I rub my temple and turn towards the group. “You guys can leave when they’re gone.”
The short, bald man who rescued the lady is the first to speak out. “What? You can’t leave us out there!”
An older looking man starts to cry. Is he seriously crying? It’s so easy for humans to cry in adversities. I shake my head and tell them once more to leave. The young lady cries out her protests, the rest adding their objections. I’m already regretting helping them out. While I think of herding the group back outside, a woman with fiery red hair throws her arms out. She says, “Let’s just start all over and introduce ourselves! I’m Martha.”
A heavy second passes by before she speaks out again. “Come on, guys. At least try to get along.”
The man who first talked introduces himself. “I’m Sean.”
“Don’t care,” I grumbled, but no one hears me.
They continue introducing themselves but I’m not paying attention. I’m focused on the zombie who’s slowly banging on the glass door. Even though it’s a few feet away, I can still smell it. I wonder how that one would taste like. I can faintly hear the redhead ask for my name. I give her a Cheshire cat smile that I’m sure creeps them out. “My name’s Break. I picked the name myself.”
When I was in my prison/home, television was a significant part of my life. It still is, as I’m going through an old and slightly damaged tape. My eyes are stuck on the screen before I hear tires screeching from outside. I turn off the bulky TV and sneak a look outside through a small rectangular window. I spot the first survivors I’ve seen in a while. They’re a group of frightened humans who look like they’ve been recklessly driving around. They crash into another car, drawing more attention to the unfriendly undead. Without much thought for my actions, I run to entrance, grabbing a handgun on the way. I have little experience with guns, but it’s mostly just point and shoot right?
I hold one of the doors open and call out, “Hurry, get inside!” After finding where my voice came from, I can see them hesitating getting out from their vehicle. I yell, “Get inside!” It brings a few to their senses and the rest hastily follow out of the car. The slowest human is a lady holding a baby in her arms. She trips and falls on her side, cushioning the baby’s fall with her arm. It looks like it hurts, but she doesn’t seem to mind as much as the zombies. She screams as the zombies realize the easy prey. I point my pistol at them but nothing happens. I say, “Shit,” as I fumble with the small switch. I think she’s done for until one man runs back to help her back up, tackling the two zombies that were after her. A few of the humans pass me going inside while I watch the lady pick herself back and start running to the entrance. As soon as all the humans gathered inside, I try to close the heavy glass door. One zombie with legs torn off tries to crawl its way inside. I kick its head away from the door and I shoot. I’ve never shot a gun before. The loud bang and the blood splatters after it surprise me.
I’ve never shot a gun before, but I have gotten bit and it’s nothing good. They leave horrid marks on my skin; red blotches that become purple over time. The bites don’t deal real damage to me, but it takes forever for the marks to go away.
We gather in the lobby, the humans resting after all the adrenaline leaves them. Finally safe from danger, I begin to gather my thoughts. There’s not enough food for everyone and whatever that can be scavenged in the neighboring blocks will be gone in a few days. The lady who fell should be checked for any injuries. She could have gotten bit when I wasn’t paying attention. That could cause more trouble if she is. There could be disputes, violent outbursts, and so many other things I can’t plan out. The gears in my poor, slow head are moving. I rub my temple and turn towards the group. “You guys can leave when they’re gone.”
The short, bald man who rescued the lady is the first to speak out. “What? You can’t leave us out there!”
An older looking man starts to cry. Is he seriously crying? It’s so easy for humans to cry in adversities. I shake my head and tell them once more to leave. The young lady cries out her protests, the rest adding their objections. I’m already regretting helping them out. While I think of herding the group back outside, a woman with fiery red hair throws her arms out. She says, “Let’s just start all over and introduce ourselves! I’m Martha.”
A heavy second passes by before she speaks out again. “Come on, guys. At least try to get along.”
The man who first talked introduces himself. “I’m Sean.”
“Don’t care,” I grumbled, but no one hears me.
They continue introducing themselves but I’m not paying attention. I’m focused on the zombie who’s slowly banging on the glass door. Even though it’s a few feet away, I can still smell it. I wonder how that one would taste like. I can faintly hear the redhead ask for my name. I give her a Cheshire cat smile that I’m sure creeps them out. “My name’s Break. I picked the name myself.”