Beside the Dying Fire

It was times like these that made you miss the past. No matter how bad the past might've been, it was surely better than this. Not even death seemed as bad anymore. In fact, everyone wanted to die. Truly die. Not become one of those doomed to walk the earth, in search of living flesh, beating hearts, coursing blood, and the like.

The world was in an apocalyptic state. At least that's what we, the few that now remained living, had gathered. Communication, other than face-to-face communication, had become another thing of the past. But, it was only safe to infer that this was not just a local problem. Now that the world had changed, we had to learn to start over. We entered survival mode and had to learn to fend for ourselves. It was a new beginning for us all.

I had met a man who had traveled all the way from California to here, this small town in rural Georgia, in search of several things. Hope, a cure, and more living people than where he originated from. He found none of those things. Then, eventually, he died too. His newfound home was overtaken by walkers and he had been consumed like all the others. I had stopped by his home every few days or so, just to check up on him, see how he was doing, and if he needed anything. Needless to say, this visit was a little different. I had stumbled upon the aftermath of a gruesome attack against the living. Blood and bits of flesh were scattered throughout the small front room. I thanked my luck that I had not happened to run into any walkers in that damned house.

I gathered my thoughts and said a few prayers for the only person I was semi-close to in this god-forsaken world. After prayers had been recited, I scavenged his home for anything that might be of use to me before quickly leaving the home.

I remembered that particular house from my childhood. One of my very best friends had lived there. Of course she, too, was no longer living. But that's beside the point. Everyone I knew was dead. Family, friends - they were all gone. Not a single one of them living.

But, that's not to say that no one was living. In fact, there were a handful of people still alive in this particular town. For the most part, people were independent, but we came together when we really needed to. Every three days, a selected group of people would go scavenging for anything useful. Since we were in a very rural area, the walk to town often took about an hour and the scavenging took quite a few hours. Quite frankly, it was an all day trip. But after returning, everything collected was sorted and given out proportionately.

Besides the walkers, we were a content and orderly bunch. We were kind, helpful, indepentdent, and organized. That is, until they showed up.