What has become of me. Of my family. Of my life. Were do I go now. What do I do.
I have been searching for days. Unable to find what they are asking for. Unable to achieve what the want and when they want it. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough searching hard enough. I'm hungry. Unbathed. And scared. My clothes are tattered. Falling apart at the seems. My hair, looking as if a rats nest would. My nails full of dirt and grim from digging.
There is only a few of us survivors. Living by are selves. Only meeting each other twice are entire lives, if we're lucky. Their hair rats nests also. A home of little black bugs. Crawling around. We don't talk at all. We have become to wild from searching. Hunting down what they ask. Surviving against the Others.
I come to the place I call home. A small cave on the side of a cliff. I have made a crude ladder to get to my home off of this steep cliff, out of vines. I have to live here to stay safe from the Others. Their miss have gone somewhere else, but they know about what i am searching for, and they want to take it.
The Others have rotting flesh and jaws that click. Their moans are as loud as a roar. They live in the mist. Haunting it. Guarding what I'm looking for. What we all are looking for. Concealing it in the Mist. Keeping it hidden.
Mother used to say things about the world before. How it was beautiful and things grew out of the ground, not the sky. She said that i would have to become tough. That the world was going to fail again. Crumble. I would have to be a survivor. I wouldn't be dumb and unknowing like the others. I would have to do something to help. To keep away from Them. I couldn't though. They tricked me. They control all food and water. Feeding us like pigs. that was before it got worse. Before everyone was infected.
I reach the entrance. it smells of bat urine and feces. The sound of drips echo. It is damp and cool in my cave, my house. my bed a slab of flat rock. A single blanket for comfot and warmth. One book. It's covor worn from my reading. It is the only thing i have that was mine. Not from Them. One flashlight. I have restrained myself into 30 second a week, if it is going to last my whole life. The only power source i have. except the radio. The one that They talk to me on. Barking orders at me. Saying that i must find it. To keep searching.
They make it seem like I just sitting around, doing nothing.
I lay down in my "bed" i look up. I try to think of my room in my head. Picturing my Rise Against poster above my head. Iron bed frame and a white fuzzy blanket. Poka-dot lamp, hot pink fuzzy carpet. A pillow. It's amazing how you don't know how good you have it till its gone.
"I wish I was back home." I say with my flashlight on..
