This was her purgatory. And it was chiming with the living dead, a reminder that even death is no escape from the terrors that life holds.
And she thought it was bad before the apocalypse.
She toyed with a pile of pebbles beneath the heel of her boot, eyeing the sewage and decay that haunt the once quaint suburbs.
Lolita hated all the pretty houses with their warm, inviting oak trees and customized mailboxes. Look at what good all of those plans did them now, since the world had fallen to shit.
They had never owned a pretty house. They owned a trailer and her dad kept the guns hidden in the floorboards. You always knew they were there because everytime you stepped on one, you heard a strange creak, as if the floor had been hollowed out. Which it had.
When the shit began to surface, she tore apart the floorboards and packed 2 guns and a motherload of bullets into a sack. She threw random stuff inside; a toothbrush, (minus the toothpaste, oops) extra socks, her travel cup with the bud light logo printed on it, 2 bags of chips and left over mac and cheese, and a notebook and a pen. In a day, the food was all gone and she lost a pair of socks. She was merely skin and bone now.
It had been years. Well at least she thinks. She stopped counting. She stopped caring.
She had done well enough on her own, well at least she thought so. She already knew how to shoot. Her beefy father had once taught her, a present for her 11th birthday. She also knew how to run, although she only ever got so far as a mile. She had lived on both of these skills, and she planned on continuing for as long as her heart would allow her. She wasn't a quitter, not like her mother.
Lolita stopped occupying herself with the pebbles and wandered off too a cozy little ranch that was painted a bright robin's egg blue.
It was repulsing.
Entering wasn't hard at all. There was a window that was left open a crack, so she just let herself in.
With a dazed kind of expression she wandered the heart of the home, flicking through books to tear out pages she saw strange words in, and taking the house knives and stashing them in her sack, just in case. But of course, she wrapped the pointy ends in toilet paper first, so they wouldn't tear there way out of her bag.
When she found herself in the kitchen, she foolishly began to imitate a housewife. "Honey-- dinner is a'cookin'!" She sang, opening the stove and slamming it shut with such a force the glass shattered a bit. "Ya' know, now that I think about it, I think we should just grab something and go." She than proceeded to open all the cupbards to search for food, and found some stale bread and a can of ravioli. She took both, leaving all the cupboards open. Satisfied that she found something to munch on, she headed for the door.
And that was when she heard the echo of rough footsteps rattling through out the house.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Hearts (TWD Carl Grimes)
Fanfiction"Once upon a time, there was a poor child, with no father and no mother. And everything was dead. And no one was left in the whole world. Everything was dead." Lolita was all on her own when the group came and found her scavaging for food in a subur...
