Forsaken Dreams

A few hours later, I woke up happy and cheery. I didn’t know why. There was nothing to be happy and cheery about. But I was, and I was glad to be. I got out of the bed, shifted my feet out of the covers and onto the cold wooden floor.

Geez! Where’s carpet and slippers when you need it? I yawned and started rummaging in my pack for my second pair of clothing.

That’s all I had. Only two outfits. You see, when you’re fighting for survivor, clothes and status don’t matter anymore. And actually, now that I think about it, that is the only positive after the apocalypse that I could think of. I love not having to give a shit and not care. Not worrying if I looked okay. Walking in the halls of school and meeting the gaze of a person and think in my head:

Oh God, they think I’m a freak. Why’d I wear this?

I hated that person; myself before the apocalypse. Actually, as I think about this further. This is me. The real me. No pretending. No choosing my words carefully. No insecurities. Nothing. And again, I feel so happy. Its such an incredible joy. It just makes me wish I could have this happiness forever. But the thing is, not everyone is always okay. I’m fine with that.

I quickly put on my favourite white sweater with the pixel purple panda, front and centered on it. I loved it when I was in school, but I never wore it. The easy way to say this is, I was insecure. When people were screaming and running away from the newly Returned, I shoved this sweater, a cardigan, and two pairs of jeans in my backpack and took off, hiding. I felt grateful that I had this advantage.

I can remember it, like it was yesterday. Dinner was almost ready, I could smell the pasta cooking on the stove, a flight of stairs down. My mom most likely cooking it, as my dad would watch T.V or read the newspaper. And me, well I was lying on my stomach on my bed, typing on my laptop, trying to finish up a story so I could update it on BrainStory. (A creative writing site) When all of a sudden, I heard screaming outside my bedroom window. I looked out to see lots of people running, and people eating people. When I got a closer look, those people weren’t people, they were monsters. I was horrified. Absolutely disgusted.

I started to think of what to do. I was remembering all the books and stories that were written about this. They were zombies. Just then, I heard my mother scream. My heart and breathing rate increased. I was frightened. So I took off, with the things I mentioned of course. Now that I remember it, I grabbed something else too. It was last minute, because I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. I was in survival mode at the time. All logic. But that didn’t stop me from getting my sketchbook.

Black. Bare. And Beautiful.

I climbed out the window, and started my way down the ever growing vine along my house. I jumped the last meter down, and ran. I ran hard, keeping to the shadows. Constantly looking over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. Didn’t matter who. Zombie or human, I had to be alone. I know that sounds selfish. But according to all the stories and also movies I’ve seen, they mentioned to never be a hero. And that’s what I did.

The memory faded away and I was left back in the little girl’s room.