𝐏𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘𝐀. tlou (discounted)

𝐈.

━━━━𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆.

  𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃, sticky and red, trailed from Mason Wright's nose, a damp cloth wiping the blood before it covered her upper lip. The little girl examined her bruising cheekbone in the dirt-smeared mirror, her face contorting into a wince as her fingertips brushed over the purple skin. A small group of hunters had caught the newly turned six-year-old, though she escaped. There was no doubt in her mind that she should lay low for the next few days. The abandoned home she had decided to take refuge in was dirty and reeked of decaying bodies, but it would have to do for the time being. Her trembling hand, lathered in reminisce of the outside, set the torn up cloth on the edge of the sink. 

The floorboards groaned under her weight as she walked down the stairs. The living room was small, two candles illuminating a soft light. Her blue sleeping bag lay in the corner, her backpack leaning against the wall with chipping paint. Mason's hand rummaged through the pack for a moment, pulling out a can of peaches and a spoon. God did she hate peaches; the girl found they were too sweet. Her stomach grumbled in pleasure as she wolfed down the cubes of fruit, yet her face showed nothing but distaste.

In only a few moments, the can of peaches lays discarded and forgotten on the floor. Mason now lay curled in a tight fetal position under her makeshift bed, small hunting knife at the ready as she faced the door barricaded by a grey and yellow plaid couch. The world outside the two-story house was complete and utter darkness, anything beyond the pitch black unknown. She hated the dark, the great mystery of what lurked in it terrified her to no end. Yet no matter how hard her heart hammered against her rib cage, her expression stood cold.

You can't be scared of things like that anymore, was the thought that played in Mason's head like a broken record. Now was not the time for kiddie fears. 

Hours later and her baby blue eyes lay open, the rising sun flooding the room in a warm light. Not a wink of sleep, she hadn't tried. The young and frail brunette tucked her knees deep into her chest as she pulled a spoonful of beans into her mouth, eyes never leaving the door ahead. The can of food soon joins the peaches, tucked into the corner, never to be touched again.

Mason attempted brushing out the knots in her dark brown hair, only to meet a handful of wet and dry mud. She scrubs the substance on her jeans, grunting as she pulls herself from the ground. There was a creak not too far, and if she was quiet, she could make it without a problem. The girl could bathe, fetch water, and go on her mary way without a scratch.

Though hesitant, Mason rolled up her sleeping bag, stuffing the fabric into her pack. The young brunette winced at the weight of her backpack but trudged along. The outdoors smelled fresh, the over-grown grass of the lawn reaching waist-high to the girl. Her knife was unsheathed, laying low at her side as she walked behind crumbling buildings. 

If anyone had seen her, Mason would surely look like a dead girl walking. She was practically skin and bones, pale, covered in blood and dirt, and not to mention the growing bags under her eyes that looked exhausting to carry. The small black hoodie Mason wore hung just below her knees, the cuffs of her jeans poorly cut to keep them from dragging under her sneakers. To the eye, she looked like a weak and frail four-year-old.

Her shoes moved over broken glass as she walked past a book store, stopping briefly. Under her foot was a coloring book, and she couldn't help the grin that swept her face. She had collected a box of crayons a few months back; now, they had a use. Mason bent down, grabbing the book, shaking off the glass before stuffing it in her bag. The moment of happiness quickly went away as hushed whispers broke through the silence.

"Don't let your guard down. Sightings of runners have been high the past few months." A man's southern drawl made Mason crouch behind a pile of bricks, knife held close to her chest. "Ain't helpin' with your talkin'." The second voice came not long after. The young brunette's hand shook as the sound of footsteps gained closer, heart pounding in her ears. The pounding in her ears soon dispersed as a body came barreling into hers, the runner going unseen and unheard. Mason's frail arms did almost nothing as the infected fought to take a chunk of flesh from her neck, tears washing away the dirt on her face as she thrashed beneath the body.

The runner's body fell against her's as a knife pierced its decaying skull. The girl was brought immediately from the ground, held tight against someone's chest.

"Joel, take her!" Thrust into a pair of tensing arms, Mason held tight, buried in the man's chest as he began to sprint. 

She never did make it to that creek.