Pieces of What Was Left Behind

Equanimity

Okay, welcome to my first ever, truly written story. Please, go easy on me. Now, I know that this story may be a bit confusing, but it'll get on track pretty soon. This is within the future of the actual storyline, so everything in italics are either going to be a flashback or dream. Most should be at the beginning of each chapter, so no major problem there. Secondly, with that in mind, I might pull out background info about people via this way, I'll make sure to use separators so you can tell. Aka the -0-0-0-0-0- transition. Thirdly, I know, my grammar isn't god-like. Lastly, this is meant to be a very slow moving story, but progression should occur rapidly at times. *wink wink*.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"No! I need to get to him, I need to make sure he's safe! He won't survive a minute alone, trust me, he'll end it all if I'm not there for him!" A frail teen spattered at the man before her. His hair was slowly receding with the beckoning of age, taking over his once young stature into one of more wisdom. Glassy ultramarine eyes met with trepidation-stricken ones, surveying every hint of emotion that seeped through her facial features.

"You'll die if you leave now, don't be childish for the protection of one when you can save many." His words were cold, but she understood. Guilt churned through her stomach as she glanced over at the others that stood around the duo, watching carefully in hopes that this chaos wouldn't go any more south than need be. The halls were filled with violent screams, blood curdling, but they made no move. They were to evacuate immediately, to return home in order to stay safe from the insanity that filled the town's streets, but at this point in time, it was far too late for such a 'plausible' resolve. Her trembling body slowed down, heart rate soothing as the jutting made no anvil. Biting back a panic attack, she forced herself to stay calm, hell, she needed to stay calm. There was no exception for the weak in this new world, and the girl made a good note of that.

"I understand," her words went against her own wishes.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A frail hand reach upwards, shielding two jaded eyes from the fluorescent lighting. A shattering sensation rummaged through her skull in a sickening swarm. The pulsation was almost unbearable, intoxicating. Vomit seared through her throat, burning a line of vile and horrid memories to flutter back through her corrupt mind. A groan rippled through her chest as she made way to crawl upon her knees, the blaring light of her phone agitating the already fragile eyes. '5:25 a.m., great...' she muttered to herself, seemingly like a jumble of pathetic words to any awakened viewers. Her strong gaze peered down at her own reflection, hissing at the sight of mangled hair and beads of sweat that dared to roll down in monstrous quantities. 

It had been 43 days since the outbreak occurred. Since she lost her life; since she lost everything important to her. No, the disease wasn't one to ravage a city within the span of a mere day, but it was consistent. She could remember the day as if it was yesterday. The townspeople's gossip flooded the streets and small apartment complexes. Counts of the infected began to rise, soon enough people were scurrying down dead ends and roads, falling in the grass with a full stomach of rotten flesh. She ignored those details and returned back to the forsaking reality. Ava's vision was blurred, almost doubled as she averted her gaze towards the horde of bodies jumbled up by one another, sprawled in interesting notions. Blankets covered the carpeted ground, providing some sort of cushion for their makeshift beds. A single blanket remained upon a wooden table, standing as a reminder of their fallen brethren. 

It was safe to say the rest wouldn't be awake for at least an hour or two, or so she believed. Her body forced itself up, trudging past the rows of tables and bookshelves. The door swung open with a delayed creak, bare feet sliding against the cool surface of the marble flooring as she took heed. She made a turn around the corridor, heading down a riddled hallway, not caring to look at the pieces of paper taped to the wall. It was always easier to forget, it helped with safeguarding them from the cruel reality they called life. Shoving a hand into her short's pocket, a soft jingle ignited in her ears, the key sparkled in the dimly lit hall. With a simple 'click' the door opened, allowing entrance into her most beloved room.

An image ran through her head, the reminder of her old cooking club sent jabs of agony rushing through her chest. Her hand almost flinched at the thought of reaching out and helping her friends with creating a beautiful entrée for their next competition. Her eyes closed, ripping the memory out of her focus, after all, she had work that needed to be done or else the group would starve for the whole duration of the morning. Quickly, she scurried over to one of the numerous openings, she preferred kitchen 5, it brought back joyful thoughts. She grabbed the metal soup pot that rested upon the stove, moving it to the sink to be filled with water. Tapping her chin, she relayed on what to create. Maybe a soup, oats? Regardless, it resulted in a meager dish. The pot soon rested upon the stove, heating from the almost crimson-hued coils beneath it.

Clearing around the counter, a thick door stood in her way. It was locked, clearly, sadly stealing had resulted in her locking the food pantry completely shut. They couldn't risk losing food. Yes, they had an ample amount, possible to last them a year or two, but the continuous stealing would shorten that length greatly. Unlocking the door, she moved past long aisles of grains and canned products before she met face to face with a cylinder object. Grabbing it, she backtracked, opening the freezer to grab one of the last bags of frozen fruit they had, at this time being blueberries. She felt generous today, why not spice it up every once in awhile? The sizzling noise grew louder as she returned, the water already heated to a boil as she shook out the oats; after cooking constantly for a group of six, you adapt rather quickly. Not wasting any more time, she spooned the thick concoction of oatmeal into numerous bowls, flooding the tops with a bright pop of cobalt, a sprig of cinnamon topping off each one. Slamming a spoon into the bowl closest to her, she headed towards the door, closing it behind her to prevent any from entering. Before her stood a stairway, the sunlight seeping through a door's minute window, adjacent to the incline. It was gorgeous outside, the sun pulling over the horizon as a mix of chiffon and orange colored the scene.