If We Survive

Chapter 8

I remeber that day. I died, a little bit on the inside, watching my world burn. He was my best friend, and I was too young to be dealing with him, like that. I felt too young, too sheltered. Everything in my life had been green grass and smiles, before him. 

I remeber his text, in these exact words. I had been teasing him about pulling some stupid prank, and he replied, "Well, you might just as well do it now, because I won't be around for much longer." Just like that, I changed. They were, only words, right? Just a 15-year-old talking, like that. Like they do. 

I didn't even know what to say. I was twelve at the time, and Mark was my best friend. He was older, sure, but he was the sort of person that I would talk. Really, he did most of the talking. I did the listening, even if we only talked over texts. I know, suprising. Me shutting my mouth long enough to hear someone else talk.

"Don't do that. You're my best friend." I don't remeber what he said after that, but I do remeber there was no convincing him. He wanted to die. He was my only friend. I was in the pit of my young life. I had friends, but they weren't really friends, just people who would invite me to their birthday parties, or whatever. He was the only one that I trusted. Things for luckey Cassy were not going as well as the had. You know something else? That day, I grew up. I realized that I was in a world a lot bigger than me, a lot bigger than last night's math homework.

A world were people die, people that you love. People that you want, with all your heart to live. 

He didn't commit sicide, but I was a different person after that. Less Cassy, and more somebody else. I learned that we are born one person, and die another. 

And now I'm not Cassy at all. 

-

I glare at my reflection in the broken mirror. There are dark circles around my eyes from lack of sleep, and my nose is broken. Blood still drizzles from it lazily. I passed out yesterday morning, for exaustion or worry or God knows what. 

Everyone is alive, which is good, Gregory more-or-less. We're having a household meeting in ten minutes. They know how to fight, and come at us, so clearly staying in one place is a bad idea, Nobody else shares my opinion on the subject. It's safe here they say, it'll be fine, they say. It's like the start to a bad meme. 

I sit down on my sofa, letting out a large sigh. I unconsiously rub my forearm, where a small bandage covers most of the gash recived from my adventures in amature bomb-making. This morning, it started to snow. Shelly suggested we get rid of the bodies, but they got coved up long before moral was high enough to go out there. I'm not exactly sure what's so terrible about beating the crap out of the zombies, but we've all been plunged into a grim mood. 

I feel like bursting into tears. 

It's so dumb, my emotional system. I used to be nicknamed "Heartless" by my friends, because I didn't get sad on most things, like a normal person, but now I'm depressed. Not like I would know what being depressed feels like- but this comes pretty damn close. 

We all gather around the coffee table, grimly eyeing each other. Shelly stands up. Without Greg here, she's in charge. 

"Ethem." She clears her throat. "This shoud be pretty steightforward. We peacefully disscuss our options, and then we take a vote." She look for objectio in our eyes.

"Since when was this a democracy?" It's Achilles. He's been hit the hardest, somehow. He doesn't even glance up from the floor.

"Since I decided that we should be a civilized socity, Achilles. If you do not want to join us, than you can go and sit in the snow with the rest of the creepers." He doesn't reply. I wouldn't, either.