Crushes, weirdos and the little things

The Diary of Melody St Pierre

You know what the worst thing about an apocalypse is? It's not the fact that a lot of the people you know have either died and/or turned into zombies. It's not even that you no longer have the option to just Netflix and chill all day. It is the fact that you're no longer able to go down to your local grocery store and get whatever you want. 

On the other hand, you'd be surprised how fast the new world order becomes normality. Keeping the doors locked and barred during all hours, living with boarded up windows and trying to not make a sound when you have to move around. Only leaving the house when absolutely necessary, like when food is in short supply or when you're sure you've gone stir crazy from only staring at the walls of you basement.

It used to be me and my dad. Well, it used to be me and my mom and my dad, but she was over in France when all this happened and we lost contact real quick. I really am distraught about that whole thing, but there's so much to think about just trying to survive that it gets lost in everything else. Anyhow. 

It used to be me and my dad, but about a month ago, at least I think it was a month, we went to the grocery store to try to find some food and only I returned. We always went together, it's obviously much safer that way. Both of us carried backpacks and we each had a baseball bat, it's not much of a weapon but it's better than nothing. 

Not only do you have to look out for the walking dead, you have to be really careful not to come across any of the assholes who are taking advantage of this whole "end of the world, no one really gives a shit anymore" scenario. 

Like, really. You feel the world isn't shitty enough already? You have to go around being an ass and wrecking other people's lives? I'd love to ask them these questions, but they never seem to be in the mood to talk. And me running away from them isn't' really helping either, is it? Maybe if I wrote a letter and left it for them to find? I could write: "To the Assholes" on the envelope. I wonder if they remember how to read and write?

That afternoon my backpack was full of cans. It gets real heavy, but carrying heavy bags and all this running and walking had really done me good and I had gained more muscle over the last year. I was worried though, about the time when there wouldn't be anymore cans of food to hoard... it's not like I can start growing vegetables in my backyard. 

But anyway, back to my dad. He had gone far back, into the storage rooms, looking to see if there was anything good we might have missed another time. I was stuffing my hoodie pockets with chocolates when I heard him shout. "RUN!" And I did. It was one of the two commands we had decided on. 

The first one was "Dead!", which obviously meant a zombie, and had the other one rush to the spot to help fight it off. The other was "Run!", which meant something that would endanger the other one if they came running. We always set off in different directions, trying to lose whatever was after us, doubling back several times and going through empty houses to trick them into thinking we lived there. We had a few empty houses around the neighbourhood we had boarded up, to use as decoys or be ready to move into if our house wasn't safe anymore. 

In the beginning I had spent hours in these houses, arranging furniture and making them seem used. It kept my mind off things and I found myself pretending to be a stager, getting the houses ready for potential buyers to come take a peek at it. But soon enough everything had boiled down to surviving the month, the week, the day.

After I got back I stayed at our house, hiding out and waiting for him to return. Only this time he didn't. I don't know what happened to him, if assholes got to him or if it was a zombie surprising him when he was trying to hide. I was losing sleep and getting restless, I had to go back and look for him, to see if I could find some trace of him. Just anything other than staying in the house.