Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🧪 fifteen. a mi hermano ☆ ⊹ ࣪.⋆༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚
Mister and Mrs. Erskine were married in the summer of 1968 at the age of twenty within the state of Wyoming. On the west border of the city, near the outskirts, Mister Erskine built a house for his wife as a wedding gift and they have been living there ever since. Even when the outbreak happened twenty years ago, the old couple were away from the populated areas and Mister Erskine made traps to keep the infected away from his and his wife's home, but they rarely came by. They had no family besides each other because they never planned on having kids in the first place. But his wife was getting old and weary, albeit she got more snarky and sassy. Either way, he protected his wife like his life depended on it.
By their shack, a river had sprawled out and water easily streamed through the ground, but it froze over the harsh winters that came by. Despite that though, something strange happened near the river. Bodies of infected and dead people rolled down into the water to be washed away into an unknown area. Sometimes, the bodies were bloodied and burned, but it all ended in the same way; the bodies would tumble down into the river before floating away into wherever the water went.
Mrs. Erskine watched as these bodies floated away, bodies piling and piling until it either rotted away into the ground. She dubbed it as the River of Death, but her husband had denied her statements because he didn't personally see it.
A sheet of pristine white snow had fallen onto the ground of Wyoming and the day was easy enough for the Erskines. Mister Erskine went to go hunting while Mrs. Erskine made lunch and dinner with whatever food they had. Chickens, veggies, rice, whatever crops they grew over the summer and saved for the winter.
Mister Erskine's scruffy face was hardened from the years of living in the isolated outskirts of Wyoming and his hands were calloused as he hung up the carcasses of the dead rabbits he hunted. The blood was dried up on his cracked hands and he walked into his familiar home to see his wife knitting something as usual. She was starting to age, her memory was starting to become more foggier than it was before, and the rocking chair creaked as it swayed back and forth.
"Hello, dear." said the elderly man, greeting his wife who continued to knit as he unzipped his camouflage jacket and placed his crossbow down. He noted to himself that he needed to make more arrows later, but his mind was shrouded in confusion at seeing an empty plates clattered around the coffee table.
"And the gun."
Mister Erskine paused at hearing the voice of another person, a man this time, and he saw the middle aged man with a gun pointed at him. Slowly, the elderly man reached into his pocket, pulled out his caliber pistol, and placed it onto the nearby coffee table. "Why didn't you shoot him?" Mr. Erskine asked his wife.
