Life is Dead

Bullets and Suicide Pills

It's amazing what you can buy on the internet with little to no ID, no wonder suspicious things tend to go down on the web. Luckily I managed to pick up some small hand held guns, and a handful of Cyanide pills from the DeepWeb before shit hit the fan, one second everybody was normal, and then the next people were literally eating each other on the street. The guy who I got the 'supplies' from was sketchy as fuck, he kept going on about me being a narc, and constantly checking over my shoulder while twitching randomly, but that's to be expected when hunting for underage handguns.

The world went to shit about a few days ago, the government said they had it under control and sent out the military to help conceal the issue; but instead they only added to the growing numbers of those undead pricks. I've lost contact with just about everyone in this damn town; I haven't left my room just in case I get cannibalized in my living room.

Without hesitating, I grab my black leather bag that's sitting on my computer chair and stuff a handful of random clothes inside it that's been spread out over my bed, the bright sun drifts it's way through my window, highlighting the American flag I have as a curtain into my cave. I've always placed bets on when this would happen, and if those people are still alive; I'd like to collect my well earned money, it's really hard being able to guess the correct date on when zombies begin to destroy civilization.

I smirk to myself wildly, pocketing one of the guns, and storing the other ones deep inside my bag along with a couple boxes of ammo I also got, free of charge from Sketchy. My eyes wander around the room, trying to spot the keys to my truck that's outside, only to find them under a pair of pants I had lying on the desk. I found another smaller box of ammo recently, that I stole from Step-shit downstairs. It's not like he needed it anyways. I hope he's long gone or else I'm killing him even if he's still alive. He bailed on us without saying a word the second he saw the signs at Blackwell, when students kept staying in their dorms due to being sick, dying randomly eventually became a thing on campus, and later they infested the fucking place. I haven't seen Max since before all this shit happened so I don't know if she's alive or not.

My non existent heart just aches knowing that I can't contact her to make sure that she's at least outside of the town alive and well. I'd give anything to have my Time Warrior by my side; think of how useful it would be to rewind time during this shit.

Carefully I open my bedroom door and peek around the doorframe, in case those undead fucks broke in undetected and rip my fucking face off without any warning; besides their inhuman gurgling and that damn awful stench they pollute everywhere. Biology was the only class that interested me before I got expelled; fresh corpses that decompose less is a major problem for the living, so to speak.

The narrow hallway appears empty, as for the rest of the house; fuck if I know. Quietly I make my way down the creaky wooden steps towards the kitchen, holding my breath every step of the way; with my fingers gripped around the gun's handle just in case anybody's loved ones want to play a game of peekaboo.

The house still looks the same as always, cheerful coloured walls with pictures hanging everywhere, some with my actual dad, others with Step-shit, curtains that aren't stained with the blood of the damned and the innocent, and all of the windows are intact so that's a plus. Everything's almost normal except for the major details; the screams of the living from outside and the smell of iron in the air.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I begin to notice the smeared blood on the walls. Automatically I tense up, I haven't heard from mom in awhile too, and if he left her there to die; I'll be pissed.

The gruesome display of blood smeared all over the place reminds me of the time when I was little, how I'd always finger paint on the walls. There's handprints smeared towards the living room's entrance, as well and stains of blood and piles of flesh just chilling on the floor by the front door that's wide open; revealing the true nature of outside and how fucked up the world has become.