EVIL WOMAN / ben parish

chapter one

IT'S GETTING HARD to breath, fire is crawling up my lungs and taking home in the middle of my chest. I can't give up; no matter how painful this feeling is getting. If I do, I will end up as another meaningless corpse rotting somewhere hidden underneath these leaves.

The evening didn't even start off that bad. I woke up from a dream about a life that didn't seem so realistic anymore, and decided to embark in another adventure to keep myself sane. All this sitting around and waiting for death to fall at my feet was beginning to drive me hysterical. If there was anything I could do to help rid of these thoughts, it was going for a walk and hoping to find supplies that would assist my survival.

Except, it apparently wasn't going to be a walk. No, I just had to be chased by some crazed old man that had the intention of either hurting, or killing me—but what was the difference?

"Sir, stand down!"

What the hell?

His voice sends chills of uncertainty down my spine. Of course I didn't know what lied behind me despite the sounds of thundering footsteps trailing me; but I know whoever said that isn't speaking to me. As I began to register much more than my frequent panting, I can hear another set of stomping.

It's now or never—either I accept my fate with little to no fight against it or I stand my ground.

In one swift motion, I grab my gun from where it lives inside my book-bag and turn around sharply with it, ready to fire. The man, who looks about the same age as my dad, maybe even older, stops dead in his tracks in surprise. He probably wasn't expecting someone as young and naive looking as me to be capable enough to threaten his life with one single bullet.

I know that I have to do it. I know that I have the pull the trigger even if deep down I know it is wrong. That part inside of me is my own version of the plague. It's what kept me tethered to the girl that I'm not anymore.

If there is any rule about surviving in the alien apocalypse—which, by the way, there should be some sort of handbook for—hesitating is your greatest enemy; as well as the aliens, duh. Hesitating is what will get you killed but, yet, here I am, stepping all around these rules for some stranger I had no idea existed until he began to chase me. I study the man before me with the never-ending question: does he deserve to die? Does he?

Before-the-Arrival Mars would say no. Back then, I hated violence and certainly didn't believe in using it to solve your problems. Now, I know what the correct answer is: it doesn't matter as long as you're safe. I know, it's selfish and cruel but it's the only solution that keeps me alive for another day of misery.

Despite my revelation, the old me lingers inside of me. Lingers long enough to make me reluctantly place the pad of my index finger over the trigger.

Boom!

Red splatters across my face as if I'm the canvas and his blood is the paint. I, for some reason, don't anticipate the impact as I still flinch and gasp in shock. It all happens too fast for me to completely process the meaning behind what I have just done.

When the dirty old man face plants the leaves, reality presents itself in front of me. It waves with a smirk as it makes me feel horrible for my actions. This man was probably a father. He was a son and most likely a nephew and now—he was nothing. All because of me.

The gun shakes in my hands as I begin to think about my father and about Dylan. Oh, god, shut up.

"Put your weapon down, ma'am!" His voice, or the voice that yelled previously, makes it easier for me to latch onto the present. To the life I wished drowned like half the population did when the second wave hit the Earth.