Just another sad love story

Riley and Ace are just two normal girls who are unlucky enough to get caught in a zombie apocalypse. How will they manage?

A voice from a distance cried out, “Don’t leave me…” That voice, it belonged to someone that I have been trying so hard, just so hard, to protect. I could not endanger her now, not after all this.
“For her,” I muttered to myself, trying to convince myself that the decision I made was right. I dragged myself away from her as fast as possible, feeling myself turn into one of those merciless monsters. I will not be the reason for her death, never. I wished all of this never happened. We were living so happily with one another before this disaster. Before losing my memories forever, I reminisced all those joyful times up until this point as a tear rolled down my cheeks in what felt like slow motion.
“Riley! Come over here for a second,” Ace called me over. I skipped over with a smile on my face. This day was just great. Ace and I had some fun watching Netflix and just lazing around the house. When I looked at what she was pointing outside of the window, I could not help but stare in not awe, but horror. I immediately looked away, into Aces’ eyes. My face had the ‘Is it just me or was that a person eating someone else’ look. I could feel myself wanting to vomit as I curled my upper lip. That was when I heard the news lady on the television say something about a virus outbreak that was causing people on the streets to turn into literal zombies and bite each other.
Was I living in a video game like Resident Evil? Suddenly, someone was banging on the door, I mean trying to tear it down. What were we supposed to do? Everything was happening so fast, too fast for me to process.
“The door isn’t going to hold up, quick, jump out the window!” Ace shouted at me before pulling me into her arms and jumping out the window. The street was crawling with those zombies. It was chaos! Just how fast did people turn, it seemed like they were multiplying every second.
I could hear the door of our house fall and moaning noises fill the house. Terror filled me as I heard crashes and glass breaking. I imagined what would have become of Ace and me if we had not escaped. That was a close call. We dashed into a nearby abandoned shop and supported the door with a table.
“Ace, what’s happening? It’s scaring me so much!” I cried silently. All of this was truly freaking me out. What was going to happen next, what if one of us got bitten? What if Ace got bitten? I could not live without her. She was the one that picked me up when I was at my lowest, I could not lose her now. All she did was give me a peck on my lips and then forehead.
“Everything is going to be okay. We have gone through so much; we will go through this too. Hang in there Riley. Now, we got to think of something, okay? Take a deep breath and calm down. We will figure it out,” she whispered in a reassuring tone. She could always make me feel better. I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go until… Crash!
The door fell with a very loud thud. The poor table got crushed into bits and pieces of wood. Slurred voices filled the place. How were they so strong? That door was the only exit, we two were dead meat. Well, that was what I thought until Ace handed me a rod from who knew where and smirked, before saying, “Aim for the head,” emphasizing each word. The very next second she slashed those zombies’ heads with swift but powerful hits and strikes. Not wanting to be utterly useless, I too aimed for their heads and ‘knocked them out’. Noticing that the exit has been cleared out, Ace ran out, signaling me to follow. When I attempted to run out, a zombie basically ‘arised from the dead’ and got hold of my leg, sinking its fangs into my skin. I covered my mouth to muffle my scream, kicking it in the face before limping outside. I could not feel any pain, did the bite contain numbing agents or what?
Noticing the blood patch on my jeans, Ace asked if I was alright. I shrugged it off, saying it was nothing to worry about. I then noticed all the cuts on Ace’s skin. I was worried, but the prevailing situation urgently called for us to get to a safe place. However, all I could think of was the wound I got. I was bitten by a zombie.
The sudden adrenaline rush got me going and allowed me to run at full speed with Ace. We had not one clue where we were running to. At that point it was just stay silent, get away. We ran into a HDB flat and went up the stairs as quick as possible. Reaching one of the upper stories, we locked ourselves into a vacant apartment. I guessed people just ran out of their houses without locking their doors. However, who in their right mind would bother doing so was the real question.
We both decided to get some rest. Ace found some clothes in a wardrobe, so we changed out of our blood-stained outfits. When changing, I could not help but notice my wound. It was… mutating? The marks of the teeth could be seen clearly and the skin around it just seemed dead. It was rotting away and gave off a faint foul smell. Oh god, I was going to turn into one of those blood-curdling monsters. The worst part was, I felt absolutely fine. No pain, nothing. That scared me. I might be turning that very second but since I did not feel anything, I could never know. I wanted to tell Ace that I was bitten but what if she got disgusted by me and abandoned me just like that, or worse, kill me. She would have to do what she had to do to survive. Once I turned, I would lose my mind for sure and ultimately attack her. I did not know if it was the fear of being abandoned or the fact that I was in denial, that I decided not to tell Ace. Just maybe if I kept that in the dark, I could forget all about it and just not turn. I clung to this hope, my only glimmer of light in this dark reality. Wincing slightly as the fabric rubbed the wound. I finished putting on my jeans and pulled over my shirt. “Riley, you done?” Ace called out while walking into the room. Her skin was pale as ever, in contrast to her rose red lips. That was one of the features that drew me to her. Her eyes had dark circles and looked droopy. I could only imagine how horrendous I looked. The lack of mirrors in this home unfortunately meant I could never know.
“Ouch! Arghhhh!” I moaned and winced as a sudden pain shot up my leg. Realising what I had done, I clamped my traitorous mouth shut, but the damage was done. Ace immediately looked alarmed, rushing over to look at what was wrong. Instinctively, I slapped her hand away and brought my leg closer to me. She must not see the wound. She almost looked…hurt? I could not make out her expression as my vision got blurry and my eyelids started to feel heavy.
I woke up to Ace sleeping with her head on my arm. She looked exhausted. I lifted her head gently off my shoulder and got up. In plain horror, looked at my leg, it was bandaged up. That meant… Ace saw my wound. Ace saw my wound. This was not good. What did she think? Should I have just told her? Did she feel betrayed? Did I make the wrong decision? Questions whirred through my mind while I was practically trembling. Fear devoured me, much like a zombie, except way worse feeling. How long had it been? How much longer did I even have? Should I just run away and never be seen again? Should I kill myself before I turned? Maybe that was the best option. Maybe that was the right choice. Maybe-
“Riley… you’re awake? Wait… You’re awake!” Ace sprang up suddenly and hugged me. A whirlwind of black hair surrounded me, along with the faint scent unique to Ace, not yet buried under the dirt and grime.
“Do you know how scared I was? Why did you hide that from me? I promised that we would figure it out. If you thought I would abandon you, I certainly wouldn’t. I would stay by your side until you turned and stay even after that. If I died in the process, so be it. I wouldn’t be able to live without you anyway,” she blurted out. Somehow what she said reassured me. My relief was like a soft cloud, a comforting hug, much like Ace herself. I was so relieved that she did not feel disgusted by me, that she was still there for me, even after I not only was attacked by a monster but also did not trust her enough to tell her. At that moment, I could feel my whole leg go numb. The numbness slowly spread to other parts of my body, crawling upwards. Suddenly alarmed, I pulled away from her hug and jerked backwards. I stood up and walked backwards, away from Ace.
Was I turning? I could not tell. Cough! Cough, cough, cough! I put my hand at my mouth as I felt myself coughing out some liquid. When I looked at my hands, my eyes widened. Was that bl-blo-blood? I had to get away from Ace. I was turning and doing so fast. I started to run towards the door and rushed out. I coughed out more blood as I saw bruises form on my skin. My vision started to deteriorate, I depended on my now enhanced hearing. I could hear my slurring voice echo off the walls and somehow made out how my surroundings looked like.
That choice was a hard one. I wished I could stay by her side, but not when I was danger to her. My heart ached, not from turning into a lifeless soul, but from the sudden absence of Ace. I needed her, I wanted her, but I could not have her. I wanted her to comfort me and say that everything was going to be okay, but that could only happen with her life as the cost. I tried to rationalize my decision. Ace was going to be okay! You are not going to drag her down with you! However, I could not help but regret that choice. I felt so empty now.
A voice from a distance cried out, “Don’t leave me…” …That voice, it belonged to someone that I had been trying so hard, just so hard, to protect. I could not endanger her now, not after all this.
“For her,” I muttered to myself, trying to convince myself that the decision I made was right. I dragged myself away from her fast as possible, feeling myself turn into one of those merciless monsters. I will not be the reason for her death, never. I wished all of this never happened. Why me?
My eyes dripped with tears. My walls, the walls that held me up, made me strong just... collapsed. Moment by moment, they fell. Salty drops fell from my chin, drenching my ruined shirt. Perhaps these tears would help wash the blood out. I trembled. I couldn’t- couldn‘t stop. It's raw, everything, raw tears, raw emotions. I couldn’t stop... I couldn‘t stop. Why could I not stop crying? To protect her, whatever was left of my consciousness replied. Yes. Protect her. Protect...protect...
Protect who?
Why was I crying? There was this nagging feeling of loss, of something I had forgotten, something....
‘Kill, must kill. Eat. Kill.’ That was it.
I heard something. Someone. A human. I rushed towards the sound, even though I did not need to. The sound was coming closer on its own.
“Rgvsy? Rcjky, us daht hyu?” What was that nonsense? All I knew was that I had to kill. I slowly walked towards the human, that in my terrible vision, seemed scared. Easy kill. I launched myself at the human, that did not seem to fight back. Bared my fangs and sunk them into the humans’ throat. Suddenly, I felt an electric shock jolt me. A bunch of visions with some human. Confused, I let the human go. It seemed to be in a trance before raising its weapon. Alarm bells rang in my head as I tried to dodge, but to no avail. A massive blow to the head and I fell.
“Soervy, Rnljy. I tid not kuep mai pwomis,” was all the human said before it too fell, blood pouring from its neck, but not from my wound. Blood flowed from another cut. A knife laced with blood lay on the floor beside the human. Without reason, a tear rolled down my cheek as I felt sudden emptiness and sadness. I just suddenly had the thought- did I make the wrong choice? Why did I think that? That question was never answered -never could be, for when I closed my eyes, they forever were glued shut.
~end~

Author's Note

This is my first story! Hope you all like it and anything I can improve on?
Love, pizxtory (◠‿◕)

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask, so…

To understand what can be improved you need to look at the writing, not as the author—who already knows where we are in time and space, who we are, and what’s going on—but as someone who just arrived: The reader, who can’t hear the emotion in your voice, can’t see your gestures and expression changes, or your body language:

• A voice from a distance cried out, “Don’t leave me…”

So…. A voice that can be male or female, old or young, talking to a loose kite, a lover, or someone who pushed them into a well and is walking away, cries out. In short, the reader has no context to make the words meaningful, and that reader has no idea if the author will clarify.

In fact, this could be a first-person narrative or third. No way to tell as this is read. Were you in the reader's position would you find this lack of context a mystery that pulls you in or or a reason to walk away?

• That voice, it belonged to someone that I have been trying so hard, just so hard, to protect.

This is a critical point: This unknown speaker isn’t on the scene, and not talking about what’s happening in it. They’re talking TO the reader about someone unknown, as-if-the-reader-knows-what’s-going-on.

You know who and what you’re talking about, the unknown protagonist and the “she” we know nothing about know what’s going on. But the reader? Not a clue. And aren’t they the one you’re writing for?

“Telling the reader a story,” as you are has several inherent problems:

1. Because you know the characters, the setting, and your intent for the scene, things that are obvious to you won’t make it to the page, leaving the reader saying, “Huh?” And because you know those things, when YOU read it makes perfect sense because you fill in the missing detail and never notice that it's not there for the reader.

2. When telling the story to a live audience you perform it. Your voice is filled with emotion, you visually punctuate with gesture and body language. You illustrate emotion via expression, and use all the tricks of verbal storytelling. But…how much of that gets to the reader? Not a trace. It’s all there when you read it, of course, because you know HOW to read it. But the reader doesn't, and can't. Have your computer read the story aloud to hear how different that is from what you intended them to get.

Here’s the deal: In school we learn nonfiction writing techniques to prepare us for employment. They need us to write reports, letters, and essays, so that’s what we’re taught. But the skills of professions are learned IN ADDITION to that, and Fiction-Writing is a profession, one for which they offer four year majors in college. And the fiction we read teaches us to write it as well as eating teaches us to cook.

Does that mean you can’t write stories? No. Nor does this reflect on your talent, or the story. But remember, all your life you’ve been selecting stories that were written by pros, using the tricks, norms, and craft of the profession. So the result of those skills is what you expect to see in all the stories you read. And that applies to everyone else, too. Given that, if you want people to enjoy your stories, doesn’t it make sense to pick up a few of those tricks, yourself?

And how can you do that? Check the local library’s fiction writing section. It’s filled with books on the subject written by pros in writing, publishing and teaching. And if your stories are worth the telling, aren’t they worth telling as well as possible?

And, if you are meant to write, the learning will be like going backstage at the theater: fun.

And while you’re at the library, look for the names Dwight Swain, Jack Bickham, or Debra Dixon on the spine of a book on fiction-writing technique. They’re pure gold. You might, also, want to look at a few of the writing articles in my blog to get a feel for the issues you need to work on.

So hit the books. And while you’re working on that, keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[Pizxtory]

I really have to thank you for this review. I have not gotten such constructive feedback before from my peers or teachers. I never really thought of my writing in that perspective. When I see a starting like that, the lack of context would make me want to read more, however, you have shown me that that is not the case. I will try to improve on my writing with help from your feedback! Thanks a bunch!

[Pizxtory]

I'm just another sixteen year old who likes to write but never really took it seriously. I posted that for the fun of it and did not really expect any type of feedback. Again, thank you for taking the time to help!

[JayG]

Ahh...well, at sixteen, you would certainly assume that the skill we all learn, called writing, is universal to any field that requires words on a page. But think About all the reports and essays you’ve been assigned, and compare the number of them to assigned fiction. That will tell you where the focus of your training is. After all, the goal of your grade-school training isn’t for you to leave with a profession, the idea, from the beginning of public education, was to turn out self-sufficient, and productive adults who possessed a set of general skills that employers need. Any professional training is in addition to that.

Strangely, we all recognize that when we graduate we’re not ready to pen a screen or stage-play, work as a journalist, or a tech-writer. But we pretty much all believe that we’re ready for success as a fiction writer—in spite of them offering four year majors in it at the university.

Part of the problem is that when we read back our own work we visualize ourself performing it before an audience. So all the emotional content that drains out when we put it on paper pours back in as we read the story—which means we can’t see problems in our own work that we can in that of others. The thing to remember about fiction is what E. L. Doctorow said with: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

One of the best teachers of writing is to read the work of other hopeful writers and ask yourself if the thing you see not working there is on your own work, as well. Look at the stories here and you’ll see that while the story and the words change, the approach, that of the storyteller sitting comfortably and talking ABOUT the characters, rather than making you feel as if you’re living the events, is universal, because they’re still using their schooldays writing techniques—as I did when I started recording my campfire stories.

In fact, I’d written six unsold novels before I paid to have a professional critique of my work. Like you, in posting this story, I knew there would be some problems, but hoped for an overall, “But it’s a really good story idea.”

What came back was a literal sea of blue-pencil comments on the first page. I was thinking cinematically in a medium that reproduces neither sound nor picture. My characters all spoke with my voice and thought with my mind—smart when I needed smart and dumb when that was called for. In short, plot devices not living and breathing humans. And page two was just as filled with blue.

That critique destroyed me. But it also sent me running to the library for books on the subject. And of more importance, the next novel I sent to a publisher brought a contract offer in the mail.

So…does that mean you have to spend four years at college earning a degree in commercial fiction writing, or give up? Of course not. Because writers, and others in the industry love to talk about what they do, and it’s available online, in bookstores, and at the libraries.

My personal suggestion is to check out the writing articles in my blog to see if the subject is one that you want to know more about. Then, talk your personal Santa into downloading Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation and Conflict, for you. It’s a warm easy read that will have you saying, “But that’s so…well, it’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see it myself?

And one side advantage is that it might even help raise your English grades.

Hope this helps.