The Strong Will Survive

Chapter Four - KC

Six months passed. I kept the time with my phone and a calendar. Being a fifteen-year-old, I also listened to music and played whatever game was popular this week. It was just like any other six months, but I was alone. For food, I started up a hot plate (oh, did I mention that I got the electricity working again? Yeah, I got bored in the first week. Don't judge.) and cooked things, singing all the while.

"Alouette, gentille alouette. Alouette, je tu plumerai." I sang the songs my father sang to me from his home in Canada over and over again. I cooked my family's favorite dishes: dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, crêpe suzette, and veggie burgers, respectively. (By the way, I preferred Mexican/Spanish cuisine, you know that sort of food.) I couldn't forget them, not after what happened. I couldn't forget who I was either.

My anger bubbled on the back burner, reminding me what I was there for. I learned how to use and throw knives with deadly accuracy. I learned first aid. There were other things I needed to do, too. Like, you know, EAT. I ate dessert first, and then the real food. It was kind of a final show of defiance to my mother, who always made me eat normal things like vegetables (ugh!).

My backpack sat on the chair across from me when I ate dinner. My only companions were my backpack and my music. That was pretty much my life before, though. Marianna was the only person who wasn't afraid of me. I was the weird kid, the foreigner, even though I had been born in America and spoke regular American-English only with a slight French accent on certain words. So, I thought, why not give them something interesting to stare at? On went the black eyeliner, the punk-rock clothes, the earbuds, the green hair dye. C'est la vie. Such is life here in America. I personally think it fits me.

Thankfully, there were chargers and outlets in my Costco. I call it mine because I was the only living person in it. On a day around the Fourth of July, a zombie got in through the employee door. He's not here now. I won't bore you with the details. But it was AWESOME.

My adopted Camaro was almost never used. Sometimes I would drive around, just to get out of the Costco. I felt really good, driving in a really freaking nice car. My parents drove a minivan and another sensible car. B-to the-O-to the-R-I-N-G!!!

That was the most joy I found, other than my training and you know, the thrill of being alone in this gigantic place all my own. I never thought that I would have to share it. But, quelle surprise! I did. Whatever.