TWD: Tally's song

1

Where to start? Hi, I'm Tally, a 16 year old, 5'5, independent bitch with two sisters. Alice is my twin. Emma is my 6 year old sister.

I have a story to tell. Its not a sad story, not a love story, not a happy story. I'm sorry if you were looking for a mushy love story with some, I don't know, sherriff hat wearing teen. Your not gunna find that here. Just saying.

So you know the story, everybody does. Jesus resurrected the dead, but somehow he messed up and he made creepy flesh eating monsters instead. And now they rule the world. Those of us who are left have learned that if your bit, your screwed, headshots are the cure, and gunshots are suicide.

We were running out of food again.

"Ok, I'll be back tomorrow with some of the vending machine food I saw last time" I say to Alice. she reminds me to look for ammo for our Dad's old hand gun. We only have five rounds for emergencys. It's not like we're ever going to need it though. I taught myself how to shoot a crossbow and if needed I carry a hatchet. guns are useless to me.

I left our little cottage and walked down the dirt road towards the city. I've only ever seen two walkers within a mile of our cottage, we were lucky. just as long as we stayed quiet.

As I walked along the railroad, I lose myself in thought. My mother, opening her anniversary ring. My father, revealing the plane tickets, the sense of responsibility when my mother said "There's only two plane tickets, sweetie," to Emma. Them packing, waving goodbye. Them calling to tell us not to stay up all night. Them never coming back.

I shuttered and continued walking. don't think, don't think, not of them. Not now. Something else, anything. My mind goes to Emma. Oh, poor Emma, all alone, nobody else her age. it must be so lonely. but she grew up like that. she didn't know what school was, I don't even think she knew what a "friend" was. but at least she never did. at least she didn't have that terrible sadness envelope her when she realized the world has ended. she was three. She hardly remembers her parents, our  parents. She just knows to stay inside and never yell.

What a horrible life for a six year old.

Hell, what a horrible life for ANYBODY. I suddenly stop and look around. I went way to far. I'm past the depot, I know that for a fact. Oh god, the suns setting. Shit. I have to decide, do I keep going around the bend, or do I go back? looking ahead, I spot a tree that I can climb if I have to. So I keep going. It's really getting dark now. I head towards the tree to spend the night.

As I climb, I spot a walker coming out of the woods towards me. I'm in a totally awkward position and can't shoot an arrow without jumping out of the tree, and I'm still in biting range. I keep climbing and when it gets two feet from me I swing my hatchet right down the middle of its head. talk about a close call. And I paid for that one, too. my hands are all scratched from me slipping down the tree while swinging that thing.

I get high enough and settle down for the night in the tree's large branches.

The next morning, I sit up and take in my surroundings. the leaf covered railroad tracks. The woods off to one side. the yellows, greens, browns. Somehow, nature has taken back the world. Except the dead people walking around. That must suck for her. I think of my favorite poem by Sarah Teasdale:

There will come soft rain,

and the smell of the ground,

and swallows circling with their shimmering sound.

and frogs in pools singing at night,

and wild plum trees in tremulous white.

Robins will wear their feathery fire,

whisling their whims on a low fence wire.

Not one will know of war, not one

will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind neither bird nor tree

if mankind perished utterly.

And spring herself when she awoke at dawn

would scarcely know that we were gone,

that we were gone.

(BY: Sarah Teasdale NOT ME)

I decide to go into the woods. maybe I find a deer or something. I wabder around for a couple hours. I don't find a deer. I find a fence. And on the other side, a large building.

Terminus.