Barely Surviving

Set in a zombie apocalypse, a somewhat depressing story of a very lonely girl.

It was funny; before the outbreak, before all the killing and hiding
and barely surviving, she’d never heard herself breathe before. She
hadn’t even really given the noise of breathing any thought. But now,
huddled in the darkest corner of the most backward alley she could
find, with nothing but the moon’s faint glow for light, all she could
hear was her breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. Loud. Too loud. She
was sure the crawlers could hear her. She knew this was ridiculous,
over course. Everyone knew zombie’s hearing wasn’t particularly good;
it was their sense of smell they relied on to catch their play, and
she took care of that by rolling in every dumpster and patch of mood
she came across. A sort of reverse showering, if you will. This
usually kept them off her trail. But she still felt her pulse speed up
as the night grew quieter and her breathing, seemingly, louder.

                It was funny; before the outbreak, before all the
killing and hiding and barely surviving, she’d had a plan for this
sort of thing. Admittedly, it wasn’t entirely her plan. It belonged to
both her and Marcus. Marcus, her….friend? Boyfriend? Consort? Lover?
Companion? They’d never really clarified that. It hadn’t been
necessary, it was implied they cared deeply for one another, and
frankly it was an awkward topic to approach. Much less awkward was
planning for the far off fantasy of a zombie apocalypse; find the
nearest oil rig. That was step one. Step two: get boat. Step three:
get on boat, get to rig. Once they got there, they’d be set; there
would be plenty fish for food, weapons in case of emergency, and a
water purifier for drinking water. They’d even gone so far as to
research the nearest rig and local marine wildlife and how to drive
boats and works water purifiers. Fat lot of good that’d done; look at
her now, alone, huddled in on a cold hard old doorstep in the slums of
Manhattan.

                It was funny; before the outbreak, before all the
killing and hiding and barely surviving, she’d thought she’d spend the
rest of her life with Marcus. Hell, she’d have walked down the aisle
with him right then, as a Junior in high school if he’d asked. But he
didn’t. In retrospect, she almost wished he had, even though it
would’ve made what came after even more hellish; at least if they’d
been married, she’d have had some proof that there really was a spark,
that it wasn’t just in her head.

                It was funny; before the outbreak, before all the
killing and hiding and barely surviving, she had always looked forward
to sleep. It was a reprieve from the day. But now, now she dreaded it.
It rendered her vulnerable, in more ways than one. Not only was she in
a comatose state, an easy victim for any self respecting crawler, but
she was forced to relieve That Day. When the outbreak happened, it
happened fast; By 4 am, it was all over the news that some sort of
bizarre plague was happening, people suddenly succumbing to this
zombie like, violent state. It wasn’t till 3 that afternoon they
figured out it was some substance in the drinking water. Far too late,
as 3/4s of the population were already infected. Her parents were out
of town. The minute she heard something was happening, she grabbed her
dad’s shotgun and ran to Marcus’s house across the street. Too late.
Far too late. She remembers him, sauntering towards me, his once brown
eyes red, his poised, lean, tall frame now slouched and unsteady,
lumbering nearer, lurching towards her. She does not remember pulling
the trigger. She does remember seeing the bullet hit the middle of his
forehead, remembers him falling, tumbling backwards. She remembers
dropping the gun and dropping to her  knees and sobbing. Sitting
there, next to his corpse, like an idiot, sobbing.

She couldn’t go through with the oil rig plan after that. Not without him.

It was funny; before the outbreak, before all the killing and hiding
and barely surviving, she’d always said all she really was the freedom
to live her own life; she thinks, in retrospect, that this may have
been why Marcus wasn't ever really open about what was between them;
he didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to tie her down. Freedom.
It was funny, she had nothing but freedom now, freedom to do whatever
the hell she pleased, freedom to live her own life. But all that she
wanted to do now was die.

Author's Note

As always, I apologize for any grammatical errors. I'd love reviews or ratings. Thanks!

Reviews

[Mason Red]

Really love the story, mostly its structure, but the way everything's put is also just great. The structure is one of a poem, and it works great with a short story like this; it really led me through it. I tend to quit reading earlier than average, I think, but this just kept me going. The world is explained well, but not too much. Just enough to get you to know what's going on, and what's important. One thing I specifically liked was the reversed showering part -- it makes you see how dysfunctional that world really is. Hope to see more stuff in the future! PS; this is my first review...