Crunch! My dehydrated petite strawberry red lips smack together as I eat the crumbs left over in the sunshine yellow Lay's potato regular chip bag. My navy blue eyes stay glued to my favorite program, America's Next Top Model. Tyra was about to announce the winner of the weekly challenge when it abruptly changed to the local news station, WR13. I groan under my breath and keep quiet as the news archor, Jessica Parker, arrives on screen. She gathers her computer paper white note sheets, shuffling them together like a deck of cards. Her auburn red hair shades her sea foam green eyes. She brushes the bangs out of the way while keeping her focus on the camera. She clears her slender throat and begins her news report.
"Breaking news Atlanta! We have been alerted with a warning about some kind of disease! According to our sources, some of the symptoms include high fever, nausea, and pains! If you are experiencing any of these symptoms, get medical help immediately! This is NOT a drill! I repeat this is NOT a drill! Board your houses and windows! Make sure you have at least 7 days worth of food and water! Keep safe! Thank you for tuning in. From our desks to your front doors!"
Then the twenty one inch television turns off as if someone pulled the plug. I blink rapidly to process what I just saw. My inner consious swirls with questions.
What the hell is going on?
What do they mean disease?
Can it be cured?
Where's mom and Emma?
I lazily get off the worn black leather couch and dust myself off. Little flakes of potato chip sprinkle on to the floor. I crack my knuckles and bend forward grabbing the cotton white home phone that rests on the beige wood entertainment center. I dial mom's cell phone number. It rings for a moment and goes straight to voicemail. Odd.. Mom always keeps her phone on. I figure she is busy at the store. I jog to my temporary oasis; most of you call it a bedroom. I karate kick my maple wood colored door and smile. I look around the OCD approved and clean freak paradise for my burnt orange colored backpack. I find it next to my short and stubby six drawer chestnut brown dresser. I swing it over my right shoulder and walk to my daybed that has a zebra striped bedspread full of black and white pillows. I dump the contents out on the bed seeing missing homework and tests I have unfornately failed. I walk in to the kitchen leaving my mess on the bed behind. I open the cedar red cabinets in the kitchen hoping for some food. I grab some cream of chicken, celery, and other flavors mom uses for her chicken and rice. I shove them into the first big pocket. I find odds and ends like crackers and water bottles. After I scavenged in kitchen, I jog to my mom's chocolate brown and teal blue bedroom. I walk to mom's walk in full of clothes and useless junk closet. I grab the sliver gun cabinet key that lays next to the light switch. I walk to the jade colored glossy finished tower high gun cabinet. I smile and stroke my hand against the smooth cool metal. I open it up with the key. M911s and other guns fill the many cracks and corners. I grab my guns, the ones my own father gave me when times were better. A M911 and a .22 with a scope like a sniper. I grab all bullets we have of both guns stuffing them into my bag. I shut the door locking it as if nobody opened it. I walk out of the master bedroom to my room again. I walk to my closet which has no door. I walk in and grab dark wash jeans and plain black tees. Which is most of my closet. No loss there. I grab a small but comfortable nightmare black pillow with a soft but not big blanket. I shove them into my bag zipping it up when I'm done. I walk back to my mom's room for the most important thing. I walk off to the dresser grabbing the most recent family photo. I smile taking it out of its overly decorated frame. I fold it slowly but neatly putting it in the first small pocket. I walk out of the bedroom as I put my hair in a high ponytail. I slip on my vans and observe the house one last time.
"Goodbye house," I say to nobody walking to the front door. I open it and look around one last time. I leave the house with a backpack full of supplies and a mind full of questions.
I continue down the road not saying a word. I hear a low groan nearby. I grip my knife and look around for it. I hear a swoosh sound and see an neon orange arrow pierce someone's head. I hear a muffled "Booyah," and that's it. I see a man with a sleeveless beige shirt dark colored jeans and a black crossbow. He has milk chocolate colored hair with sea piercing blue eyes. "You coming? " he asks in a southern drawl. I don't make a gesture and follow the man. Company is nice to have during a time like this.
