Dots

Zombies

My sister Annabel is a nuisance.
She always has been. From the second she was born, she was constantly whining and complaining and pooping all the time (for a greedy kid who didn't eat much, she sure did produce a lot of shit.) It wouldn't have been so bad if our parents weren't such pushovers but they were. Whenever Annabel whined, they listened and whatever she wanted, she got. It's no surprise that by age 10 she became a huge entitled brat.

She was so entitled in fact, that when she turned 11 and the zombie apocalypse began, she didn't even care. She forced our parents to drive through a hoard of zombies just to get her a new iPhone (which isn't as useful in an apocalypse because all the networks are down and all your friends are probably dead.) But Annabel just had to have that stupid phone and our parents just had to get it for her.
Now they're dead and I'm in charge of taking care of the brat.

Much like them, I'm probably going to die soon because of her too.
Why?
Because once again it comes down to Annabel's whining and complaining and pooping.
Picture this: you're on the run from zombies (that just killed your parents) and suddenly your little sister says she needs the toilet. First you tell her to hold it and she complains. Then you tell her to pee in a bottle and she whines because she can't pee in a bottle because she's a girl. Finally you tell her you'll stop by a bush so she can let it out. Then she says It's a number 2 and she simply has to poop in an actual toilet. And just because she's a brat, the toilet has to be the one in the mall next to Gucci (because apparently rich people don't pee like the rest of us and no one ever uses the unrealistically clean bathrooms.)

So here I am. Standing in an abandoned Gucci store, in an abandoned mall whilst the zombie apocalypse rages on outside and all because my sister needs to poop.
No apocalypse book I ever read, says anything about how to handle your sister's bathroom break.
"Are you done yet?" I shout into the stall.
"No and if you keep yelling, then I won't ever be! I'm a shy pooper," she replies.
I roll my eyes. I certainly don't remember her being a "shy pooper" when she was being potty trained and taking dumps left, right and center.
"Well poop faster anyway! The world's about to end and I don't want to die in a bathroom, No matter how fancy it is," I shout back. I block out her rude retort and stare around the bathroom. It really is a nice bathroom. The lights are out (strangely, electricity companies didn't prepare for a zombie apocalypse) but it's still beautiful. It has stained glass windows and marble floors with those fancy devices that ensure that you don't actually have to touch anything when you use the bathroom.
Of course that's all useless now and as a result of the self drying and buthole sprayer on the toilet, there's actually no toilet paper. Annabel realises this at the same time I do.
"Get me some toilet paper!"
I roll my eyes but I comply, walking back into the Gucci store. I contemplate leaving her to die but my annoying conscience won't let me so I suck up my irritation, as I normally do, and search the isles of Gucci for something that could double as toilet paper.
I'm just about to use a cashmere scarf when I spot a storage closet in the back. I open the closet and low behold, it seems as if even the rich people at Gucci keep toilet rolls. I'm so enraptured by the toilet paper I don't notice the pair of bloodshot eyes behind them and I'm caught by surprise when I'm pulled deeper into the storage closet.

As my life ends, I expect it to flash before my eyes or to have some deeply religious revelation but all I can think of is Annabelle. All I can think of is the fact that she'll probably survive the zombies or at the very least die on the toilet like Elvis Presley instead of being eaten in a lame storage closet like me.
She really is such a nuisance.