As I'm writing this, it's been about a week since I've written about the ''infection'' bullshit. And, my world, has gone to shit. People have been looting, there's screaming pretty much everywhere, if you choose to listen. We have nothing to eat besides the things that don't spoil. So, no cake or anything. Dammit.. I'm silently hoping Jason's okay. I don't even care about him that much, so don't give me grief.
Okay, okay, maybe I like him a little. *A little.* God, what am I even saying. I'm such a sap. I went into the attic of my house today, I found some things. Like, an ugly, ugly, sweater. Awesome. A hat I've been looking for, forever, that my mom took away because it has "profanity" on it. Really. A "Fuck Mondays" beanie isn't allowed? I also found a teddy bear, a Nintendo thing, a record player ( and vinyl disk thingies ), and a window. I was actually pretty happy about the record player and the window.
I'm looking outside now. Everything is either broken, or condemned. I think the military's rolled through. Now, I'm sure. There's guys with uniforms hopping out of a jeep as I speak, they're kicking in a door of a home, and- Oh. My. God. Mrs. Peterson staggers out, groaning. They shoot her, directly in the head. And she falls, obviously. Then, the armymen put on gasmasks, I don't know why though. I can't see them anymore in the pitch black house of my dead neighbor. I look at Mrs. Peterson, she looks sick, I think I see mushrooms-- no, those are spores, on her. All over her. I try to get closer to the window, so I can see her face. But, I can't. Damn.
About 30 have passed, and those army guys are out of the house, they have a bag of those spore things, probably to examine. Then, I see something familiar. Dark hair, and a uniform on.. Oh great. It's Jason. Aaand now I'm yelling, to get his attention. It works, and he yells back. I'm gonna go outside, unless my stupid ass parents stop me. Which, I'm sure is possible.
And now, Jason is in my house. We apparently are going to have dinner with him. Ugh. He's picking on me, and so, I leave. I'm in the attic now. It's surprisingly comforting, the silence of the attic beckoning me to take a little nap. But, I can't. Because, you see, Jason might come up. Heh, you get the point.
Well, it's been about an hour. Jason's chatting up my parents, of course. Well spoken son of a bitch. I go back downstairs, and meet my parents with the professional ass. I sit down next to him, and try to look uninterested as possible. He smirked at me, as my parents clean up the dishes used to serve dinner, or cream of mushroom soup again. He slid close, pressing against my side. "Why, hello Haddie. How's it going, in the apocalypse?" He asked, in that stupid deep seductive tone. I look at him, and play along, getting close to his face. "Depends. Am I with you, or am I alone with my parents?" He gets even closer. I do too. And, there, I kissed him. Then, I left him sitting there, stunned. As I went back to my silent paradise.
