Broken Silence

Lost in this Dark World

(A/N) this chapter is dedicated to @Clau125 because of how amazing she is!

The first few days were pretty rough. Walking aimlessly around the house, cleaning things up and putting things away. I've gotten over the fact that my parents are gone. I doubt they'll be coming back. I try not to think about it. I've cleaned up their room a bit, removing all evidence of what happened. Makes me feel a bit better.

I've also learned that the people on the street aren't really people, although they once were. They still look like people, for the most part. Their brains are wired differently than before, when they were alive. They don't think at all, they just act. Their speed and agility is incredible, running impossibly fast for their beaten and broken bodies. They also crawl the ones without legs. They crawl inhumanly quick, which I guess is because they are inhuman. One look at them and you know that they're different. After all, it's not hard to miss the gaping wounds and dismantled flesh.

I haven't seen another human since my parents disappeared, so you can imagine that it gets pretty lonely. The only thing to keep me company besides the undead monsters outside is the tv. It only comes on for about an hour a day at noon. It portrays the scene outside, which I've already seen dozens of times. Flesh-eaters is what the news people call the things outside. Apparently the monsters don't just growl and slobber everywhere like cavemen, they also have a cannibalistic desire for my flesh. Wonderful.

So every day at twelve o'clock, I flip on the old tv and watch repeated showings of the flesh-eaters outside of city hall, where a group of about fifty or so actual, living people are hauled up. They all try and persuad everyone to come join them, hide behing the wooden doors of city hall until the flesh-eaters bust them down. I feel bad for them, actually. Trapped and scared, at least they have company.

With a yawn, i stand up from the couch and flick off staticky the tv. The ever-going loop of the news channel doesn't come on for another six hours anyways.

I walk over to the front window and slowly peel back the fleece blancket that i hung to seal myself away from the monsters outside. Rain still thunders down, like it has been for about a week straight. Its nightime, the flesh-eaters' favourite. In the day, a few of them stray along the streets, looking for living flesh. They move somewhat slow, hobbling and tripping at times, unless they see food. If they see a human, they run like animals. Oh, but thats only day. At night, they almost evolve into physically impossible death machines. They gain twice the strangth and speed, their tiny rotten brains seem to wake up a bit as well. I haven't figured out why they like the night so much yet. Possibly the darkness refreshes them? I don't know, I guess I don't think about it enough.

I walk slowly into the kitchen, pondering about what I should eat. Since this whole "flesh-eating, dead, monster" thing happened, my stomach seems to have grown ten times it's actual size. I'm always hungry, but I can't always eat. For when I eat, I leave behind garbage. Every three days I go outside, cautious and careful, to toss the trash somewhere far away. This is probably my least favourite thing to do. But it's got to get done.

I eventually decide on a box of already-open crackers. Plain, dry crackers. But they don't leave behind a big mess.

With the cracker box in hand, I return to the living room and thump down onto the couch.

I really have almost nothing to do. It's a boring life, on your own with nobody to talk to but a television screen that's mostly static for the entire day with he living dead roaming hungrily outside your door.

I let a sigh escape my lips as I shove a cracker through them. I wish I had someone. Anyone. Anything would be better than this.

Suddenly, breaking me from my rant of loneliness, a loud crash sounds from my front door.

I bolt upright, knocking the cracker box down in the process. I leave the mess on the carpet and walk quietly to the door, careful not to make a lot of noise. I bite my lip and peer through the peephole.

A man is outside, standing in the rain. Staring fogging at the door. Well, he isn't a man anymore. He reaches a rotting arm towards the doorknob and jerks it quickly, snapping the doorknob from he door.

"Oh my god," I whisper, backing away.

I sprint to the kitchen and grab a knife from the drawer. It isn't big or super sharp, but it will have to do.

The dead man slams against the door again. The door won't hold forever. If he hits it another time, it'll likely fall down. I have to get rid of him.

Taking the inside doorknob, the one that the flesh-eater didn't snap off, I slowly turn the metal thing and get ready to attack.

"One," I whisper, "two."

I tighten my grip around the knife and swallow the lump in my throat. "Three."

I throw open the door, catching the dead man by surprise. He grunts at me, confused, before a lunge forward and lodge the knife right between his eyes. With a snarl, he falls to the ground in a heap. It wasn't loud, but his final noise seemed to have attracted a group of nearby flesh-eaters that were feasting on a long-dead neighbour of mine.

They all turn to look at me slowly, baring their black and yellow teeth. There's six of them. Six, inhumanly advanced creatures that want to sink their teeth into my face.

They sprint towards me, seeming to glide across the ground. I barely get the door shut before they're banging on it. Long, mutated claws scratch on the wood, as loud, guttural noises escape their lips.

I bolt the lock and begin to barricade the front door.

I drag an old bookcase from the living room and prop it against the doorframe, dropping about a dozen or so dusty books in the process.

Next, I pull the kitchen table in front of he bookcase, giving the door even more support.

I stand back to admire my work. It should hold. For awhile.

I turn away to clean up my momentarily-forgotten cracker mess. Just as I'm sweeping up the last few crumbs, the bookcase falls over, smashing the table.

And the door swings open.