Rain.
It's my relaxation, it soothes me. I used to love taking myself out on long walks whenever it rained.Oh, and without an umbrella of course. Why on God's green Earth would I need an umbrella? Seeing the droplets of rain fall down, a flowing river on my skin, is lovely. Lonely walks by myself, sometimes going out to the river in the forest, sometimes just hopping onto the branch of a big tree and staring out into the distance.The familiar smells of nature: The soil, the evening breeze and musky smell of leaves seeping into my nostrils, as I sighed heavily. Let's not forget about the familiar sounds of crickets around the area, filling the empty night air with a calm buzzing.
The city lights and the noise annoyed me. So much movement, why couldn't people just stop and admire nature for once? That's the thing. We're so focused on doing what we need to do, and we hardly ever get the time to do what we want to do. I'm not focused on anything in particular. I've always been alone and I still am - but it's Ok. Remember this, you won't ever need anyone as long as you have the confindence in yourself. You have to be cold-hearted and emotionless. Especially now, in this time.
I used to care about people, now I just care about surving. Even before the outbreak, I was quite unsociable. People... Hmm. Why should I waste my breath on others who, in the end, are going to judge me? A good old squinting of the eyes, wrinkling of the nose - the look of pure disgust on their face right before they turn and walk away. That's how it seems to me. I've become quite the killer now, shooting at any of the bastards that dare to stumble my way. Not even a glance, a twitch of the eye, a shake of the hands. Just a straight bullet shot through at full speed towards their ugly faces. A stone-hearted, cold killer. That is what I am.
At the height of the plague, when people were turning, the panicky residents of the city began to toss them into ready made fires. They would sometimes throw an unconscious person in by mistake, and you would be able to hear their terrified screams of anguish as they were being burnt alive. It hit you like a punch in the heart, a slap to your face. They say that the memories of the past, belong in the past - but they're wrong. Those memories belong to you. To us, as humans. We are unable to forget, no matter how hard we try. And even if it seems like you've forgotten, you'll lay awake at night unable to sleep because of those haunting memories... seeping back into your mind from the dark abyss of nothingness you first sank them in to. The world is screaming. The world is being burnt alive, and there's nothing that the remaining can do about it. I am one of the remaining.
An hour before dusk, a busy Monday afternoon. That was when it had first started. Probably the most horrible choice for the world to decide to break out into a disease ridden hell-hole. The whole world has gone to shit. When there is no room for the dead, they come back to life and carry on surving. But not the way that you think they would.
