No Way Out

A wise person once said that you don't know what you have until it's gone. Another said that in youth, you believe yourself to be untouchable, that you are never going to die, and as such become astounded when the very possibility of death becomes all too real.

Maybe I've gone mad, but the sheer truth to those words makes me laugh. Especially now that I'm surrounded by death and live with the constant reminder that whilst I am alive -for the time being - I have lost so much.

I spent most of my teens and early adulthood rebelling against the world and the shit chances it had dropped my way. My time was spent with my friends, my boyfriend, and archery. A bad day consisted of my boyfriend forgetting an anniversary, of a bad haircut that immediately meant consoling myself in an extra large tub of Ben and Jerry's.

But it's amazing what the zombie apocalypse can do to get your priorities in order.

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All tales have a beginning.

I grew up in King County, Georgia with my older brother Blaine, my mom and my good for nothing father. Where my parents had hoped I'd grow to be a doctor or a teacher, I turned my attention to archery. It was an outlet, loosing bullseyes at the age of ten.

Made up for all the blind eyes my mom cast my way when it came to my father.

Because of it, I was always physically strong, and despite the lectures from my father about how it would get me no where in life, and the utter disappointment I was to him, I won countless competitions.

My father up and left when I was 13. The last I heard he was in prison for battery and assault. It was where the fucker belonged.

My mom was utterly gorgeous, so remarried pretty quickly. Luckily, Tony was a nice guy, and had enough money to help her build a new life.  They moved to Australia when I was 16, and Blaine was 17. Kangaroos and dingos didn't have the same appeal to us.

We chose to stay in Kings County.

My mom and Tony still paid for Blaine to go to university, as well as my expensive past times such as my archery, and my beautiful soft top car.

And they did love me.

But unfortunately, a part of me was broken long before the dead stalked the earth. So I took the money and lived my life. My mom had managed to rebuild hers, so I took pride in building mine.

I made up for my past with acidic wit, a sharp eye, a cutting smile, a IDGAF attitude and a seriously dark sense of humour.

I turned my attention to my art work, and by the age of 20 I qualified as a tattoo artist. I never gave up my archery, and was proud of my choices, albeit not exactly conventional.

My main family was actually my next door neighbours, Rick and Lori Grimes, and their son Carl. They play a big part in this tale, along with mine and Rick's good friend Shane Walsh. They showed what a loving home was, looking after me even when Blaine left for New York for a shot at Broadway.

He was actually due to visit me that week...

The world had a different idea.

Total shitstorm struck, and it was survive or die.

But I did it.

I survived.

But I'm a changed person, no doubt about that.

At 24 years of age, I'm one of the best hunters (both of animal and zombie alike) in our group. I became one of the strongest and surprisingly, one of the more reasonable individuals, a role that I never thought I would fulfil.

My friends are probably all dead, and God knows what happened to my brother. I pray that he's okay. I pray they're all okay.

In this world, surviving is a must, living is a little extra you may get in brief instalments. But the alternative...

Not a fucking option.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Arianna Roberts. And I'm a survivor.

Now run.