Broken Silence

Finale

My breathing is calm. Serene, like an ocean breeze. A warm tingly feeling floods my body. My veins are no longer filled with blood, relaxation and a nostalgia now flows through me.

My heads a bit fuzzy, but I don't mind.

I flicker my eyes open, just a crack. I'm in my bedroom.

Luminescent moonlight trickles through the curtains, filling the floor with a soft glow.

My purple walls reflect the shadows and send them crawling away.

Oh, it's so relaxing.

My warm, fuzzy blankets are wrapped around me loosely. They keep me safe and happy.

My pillows seem extra comfy.

Serendipity.

I sit up a bit.

I expect to feel a bit of pain, anything.

But nothing hits me.

I haven't felt the good since the apocalypse began.

Apocalypse.

I jump out of bed and race to the window. I rip open the slightly ajar curtains and peer outside. Nothing.

A sigh of relief echoes throughout my body.

Maybe it was all just a dream?

The zombies, the death, the black blood. Mitch. Kara.

No, it wasn't a dream.

I slip on some violet bunny slippers and run out of my room.

My rejuvenating state of mind has been slaughtered. Panic and fear have taken over.

I run down the hall, but slow as I pass my parents room.

I have to go inside.

I have to.

I turn around and push open the door, expecting the worst.

Blood coats the walls, as I'd feared.

It's fresh too.

I take a step closer, towards the red-black liquid.

I'm about a foot away when-

"Cassie?" Someone says.

I release a yelp, thinking that is a flesh eater. But flesh eaters don't talk.

"Daddy?" I whisper.

"What is it, hon? Why are you up so early?"

Shock and nostalgia flood me. He's alive. My dad. My dad is alive.

I run over to the bed, where he lay, and wrap my arms around him.

"Cassie, Cass...what's this about?" He asks.

"You're alive! God, you're alive!" I can't contain my happiness, my joy.

"Of course I'm alive, what are you talking about?" He asks.

"Where's mom? Where is she?" I ramble frantically, ignoring his question.

"Mom? What, she's downstairs? Why?' My dad says.

"Oh my gosh, I love you, dad! Be right back!"

"Cass-"

But I'm already flying down the stairs, stumbling over my slippers.

"Mom?" I call out. Nothing.

I round the corner to the kitchen and the smell of cinnamon hits me like a brick wall. I stop in my tracks and spot my mother by the oven. She's bent down, peering at whatever she's baking. She hums a soft tune, sweet and melodic; like she used too.