She's a Survivor ♡ // The Walking Dead Fanfiction

Chapter 1: Alone, again.

ADMIN NOTE:

I'm using a new style of how I lay out my stories!
Malia will rise!

Happy Reading!

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"Shit, groaners" i mumbled, hearing the familiar sound of the flesh-eating dead things approaching my quaint farm, grabbing my bag of the ground i sprinted quietly towards my small bungalow shack, my home.

Throwing open the door and locking it behind me i let out a deep sigh, the don't scare me anymore, i'm not scared of them, i'm scared of being ripped apart by their hungry mouths, nobody knowing i'd ever existed.

I let myself slide down the door until my knees reached my chest and thought. It had been six years today, i'd been separated from my Dad.

I never knew where he went, i remember the panicked screams of the restaurant we were having dinner at the week before my birthday, the utter fear in peoples eyes as they watched dead infected people try to devour them.

I remember glancing at my Dad in fear, only to realise he looked just as petrified as me, "malia, towards the exit!" I remember him yelling and the adrenaline pump threw my body as i hauled myself towards the door, only turning around to my despair that he was gone.

I shook my head, i mustn't let myself be reminded of that painful day, he'll of survived, i tell myself over and over again, he's smart, quick, brave.

I got up of the floor and placed my bag carefully on the table, my shack was small and dirty, but it was mine. With a mattress on the floor, a table and a small fireplace, i knew i had it well. Someday Mal you won't be alone, others are out there I remind myself.

The sweet smell of wood lingered in my home of when i last had lit a fire, the warmth still trapped inside. Cosy.

I emptied my bag of where i had pulled three carrots from the ground of my farm, and washed them with a splash of water from my flask, i huffed. They didn't look great, but whatever's going.

I took a bite and crunched it appreciatively taking one of the few books spread out on the table, "hm, of mice and men" i told myself, self-talking had become natural for me now, "haven't read that twenty times, let me guess George shoots thick o' lennie" i chuckled to myself before taking a seat on my mattress reading, carrot in hand.

A familiar day routine for me now.

I huffed, turning the pages in boredom, my sunny locks of hair falling in the way of the words, beach wavy and split ended, it was getting long now, but i didn't dare cut it. The smashed glass from a groaner incident still spread on my floor...

i sighed and got up to clean it but caught my face in the reflection; my hazel eyes were muddy as usual my heart shaped face, long luscious lashes curling high making my eyes stand out along with my dark shaped eyebrows that desperately needed plucking, and full lips.

My outfit consisted of dark worn jeans and brown walking boots, along with a light red shirt ripping at the elbows and a navy blue body warmer a tad too small.

I opened the window slightly that had been patched up with a plank of wood and began to throw the glass outside, step by step.

As i bent down to catch another shard i cut open my finger causing blood to ooze out quicker then imagined, "oh great" i mumbled irritated and headed over to my bag pulling out a small, medic box and opening it, my eyes scanned it for a bandage, "ah" i said, as i large plaster and applied it over my finger, before turning to carry on removing the glass.

I wish someone were here with me, i hated being on my own, i didn't even know if they was anyone left, the last time i caught sight of a survivor was three years ago, and that didn't end well, i thought glancing at the scar on the back of my hand where the bullet had entered...

I was lucky i survived, sometimes i wonder if it's luck thats keeping me going? The amount of times i wanted to just end it, and i still find some reason to keep going, why?

I flung out in rage knocking the other few books of the table onto the floor with several thuds letting out a frustrated cry, tears pricked in my eyes, i'd had enough. Everyday i leave in the morning, find food, come back, read, and sleep.

If there were survivors i'd of been found by now, the tears rolled down my hot face as i stood in the middle of my small shack... utterly alone.

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ADMIN NOTE:

Malia reminds me a lot of myself, so when your reading this imagine me, lmao.

Stay tuned for the next chapter when Malia hears a noise that could only be made by people... survivors.

Word Count: 853

Love Amy x