Roleplay Character Shit

Zombie Short

I think it's been four years since it started.

By that, I mean since everything and everyone went to hell. If it wasn't for the monsters or the natural disasters killing you, it was suicide. If you somehow managed to survive that, then it was the inevitable insanity that was to come. Whether it be from fear, or stress, or loss, or depression, or hopelessness, the horrible delusions would always kick in. Not a soul was spared of this.  Not even my broken soul escaped without the scar.

As for my friends, they all became victims of such a mental state before their horrible demise. And after they slipped away, all at once, they were snatched from me. Each was bitten by the time we'd fought off the massive hoard.

Each either committed suicide or convinced me to assist them in death.

As for me, I was bitten. Two of my fingers had been ripped from my hand in my desperate attempts to save them all, then both of my severed fingers were eaten, gobbled up by the hungry mouths of the savage.

The thing was for me, though, was that I was immune. I couldn't change into one of the monsters, or zombies, as they're more commonly called. I never understood why me.

Maybe it was because I was being punished. Perhaps something, a greater power, desired for me to suffer through loss. Or maybe it was because I was already a monster, maybe I was mistaken for one of the zombies.

All that I know is that I refused to allow my mind to be engulfed, in the suffering. I couldn't allow myself to linger on it. I had to continue on, scavenging for any resources, food, life that I could find.

I could never shake the thought of any of them, I never tried, but I worked through it like someone would work through thick mud. It was a tough journey, one that I could scarcely progress through, but I made it.

And I trekked on, a hunter in the world of the dead.