It had been years since the world went hell, years since blood first stained the street and the roads cramped with abandoned cars. New York was where the apocalypse hit the hardest, where people were practically destined to die if they ever dreamed of going when the first wave of infection filtered through the streets. It also just so happened that New York was my home, although I hadn't lived there for many years, it was strange to adjust to the sound of no cars screaming through their rusting engines and blaring horns. I miss the sound of them cars, the sound of people rushing about on their everyday lives without a care in the world, where nobody was mortified by every little sound and the only sound more relaxing then silence was the sound of someone or somethings heartbeat, proof that life still existed in these dull times. Now the only thing living was the overgrown moss, weeds and vines that had sheltered the inner beauty of buildings and the once perfectly slated ground. The buildings lost their elegance, their colour slowly faded over time. That or getting covered by layers of spray paint saying the same thing over and over on repeat “the end of the world", "safety is long gone” or “gods punishment” sprawled across every inch that accompanied the now faded blood splatters that were once so vibrant in all of their disgusting, scarlet glory.
The world had lost its colour a long time ago, the sky was no longer baby blue but instead now the dullest grey, the birds no longer chirped and instead were replaced by the groans and grunts of the dead or the drilling sound of a raven's screams. The shattered glass crunched along the pavements below where most likely a beautiful window accompanied a gorgeous view of the once almost perfect city sat bathed in the suns light. Now that gorgeous view was covered by a thick smog, its beauty hidden beneath the layers of the vision blurring, lung filling fog that later mixed with smoke as those who were alive tried to take the world back, but their efforts were short lived once the undead buried their teeth into the world, leaving it as an empty and barren wasteland. Leaving it as a death bed for the few frays left of the fabric of society, left to rot and waste away into the monsters that had caused this very same mess.
(1)
memories of the first day of hell flashed throughout my rotting mind, the sounds of mortifying screams as the undead buried their teeth in them, the images of people's lives fading from their eyes as they succumbed to the disease without their consent. Not a single thought behind those dead, innocent eyes. Now they lay walking the streets in hopes of finding another living thing to drain.
Memories of the alley that had saved my life filled my head when the world had turned to complete hell. Most people either gave up and let the dead have them, sick of waiting for their death to eventually come, or smart people like me hid in dark alleyways in hope that the undead never saw. The shadows providing decent cover as they engulfed you in their strangely maternal arms.
My arm pulsed in pain, well they would if I could feel any pain. The world grew so cold that every part of my decaying body seemed completely numb at this point even through my thick and bulky clothing. My throat seemed scratchy and dry. Desperate for the cool, wet relief of tranquil water sliding my throat.
My leg dragged behind me as memories of how naive I was beginning to make my teeth clench and my eyes narrow at myself. Seriously, what kind of idiot never checks their surroundings before they sleep, as if searching for monsters or the boogie man as a child under the bed whilst your mum told you everything would be ok.
However, that isn't the case of me, my throat is sore from all the groaning and blood has now stained my skin in cracks that don't wash off in the bathroom sink, my skin slightly grey and my pupils the size of a pin. I created my own suffering, because of me I am left to wander the streets alone, unable to talk to anyone but myself with the little sanity I have left all because of my own actions. Because now –if you couldn't already tell- I am dead.
ns 15.158.61.16da2
