Crossing paths with a handsome human in a town full of undead was the last thing Amelia was expecting.
Shane Walsh offers her solace, safety and protection. But which is more dangerous? Surviving the corpse ridden world on her own or falling in lov...
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"check my vital signs to know i'm still alive, and i walk alone." - Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Fatin Majidi
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I'm vaguely aware that I am walking down the middle of the street. Out in the open, in full view, uncertain on how much noise I may be making on my lonesome journey. This poses a threat of danger given the current state of humanity, or lack of, but I'm in no mind to think about it. Or care about it.
All I know is I have a destination. Exactly when and how I get there is beyond me.
As I float by in my catatonic stupor, I disregard the unclean feeling on my skin, my hands still dirty from burying my best friend. My arms and legs, covered in a brown mixture of dirt and dried blood.
What has this world come to?
I'm unsure if I still want to be a part of it.
My soul is empty. I'm an emotional and mental zombie. Will I become a physical one too? Do I care if I do or don't, at this point?
Dark thoughts repeatedly flourish through my mind and it's hard to fight them off, because I have never felt so numb. Yet I somehow manage to continue dragging one foot in front of the other.
I walk through the front door of my destination; the local art and craft store. I am in need of more paper and pencils. That was the only clear thought I was able to latch onto, the one thought that I apparently decided to move for. Prior to coming here, I had been sitting at Willow's fresh grave, unmoving for hours. That is where the numbness took hold.
Now I'm back in town, in this dark, unlit art store, abandoned like the rest of the stores in the street, and I find myself staring at the shelves that hold all the different drawing pads.
In my miserable, dream-like state, I manage to shove some paper in my backpack, then make my way to the pencil section and add some of those to my pack too, my movements feeling robotic. I yank my pack up to swing it over my shoulder, but it smashes into the underside of the shelf with a loud bang.
Plastic pen cups bounce onto the floor like a round of applause, clay pen cups roll off and shatter into pieces, pencils rain down. A tiny voice in the back of my mind says "shit" at the sudden cacophony, but I just watch it unfold, like an out of body experience. And when everything is finished falling and all is still once again, I stand there for a few moments longer, just staring and blinking.
Oops.
The next thought to mosey on through my catatonic brain is that I should probably make my way back home.
I eventually shuffle my feet and make my way back to the front of the store. Stepping out the door, I make a left turn but quickly halt as I lock eyes with an undead in my path. The decrepit thing is about five metres ahead of me, looking at me like I'm an oasis in a desert. It makes wordless noises, perking up at the sight of me as it trudges its way over.
